Chapter 490: Grandfathers' Stories

Chapter 490 The Grandfathers' Story

If you keep your back to the sea, avoiding the sight of the ruined town, the scenery of Fire Island is actually quite beautiful;

Of course, if you lay down your moral scruples and include the ruined town within your field of vision, purely from the perspective of visual imagery, it could also be considered "beautiful."

Karen believed that if his prospective father-in-law, Mr. Bedd, were here, he probably wouldn't have been able to resist sitting on this small hillside, setting up his easel, and beginning to create.

Fortunately, Mavarro had no such inclination; at this moment, his back was to the town as he faced the sea, with a wineskin resting beside him.

The afternoon sea breeze blew across his body, stirring his hair, appearing very youthful and soft.

"Sit."

"Yes, Mentor."

Karen sat down beside Mavarro.

Mavarro handed the wineskin to Karen: "Care for a taste?"

Karen took it, opened it, and took a sip.

"How does it taste?"

Karen wiped his lips with the back of his hand and replied: "It's terrible."

The wine was not only very turbid but also set his teeth on edge, possessing a strange flavor.

Karen didn't usually drink, but he could roughly discern whether a wine was "good or bad," or rather, "expensive or cheap."

"Yes, it really is unpleasant; I took it from the cellar, it was likely brewed using bananas and the like as raw materials, supplemented by very crude methods."

"Then it must have been prepared for impoverished pirates who couldn't find any business, and by now it has become a customary drink?"

"In Lord Marchetini's memory fragments, there are memories concerning this wine; he liked it very much. I used to seek it out deliberately from time to time to taste it, but unfortunately, I have never been able to grow fond of its flavor. No matter how I drink it, I can't get used to it."

Karen spoke up: "Perhaps what Lord Marchetini liked wasn't the wine itself, but the years he could reminisce about when drinking it."

Mavarro froze for a moment, staring blankly at Karen;

Karen wore a smile, took another sip of the wine from the wineskin, and his smile vanished, turning into a bitter smile; it truly was too terrible to drink.

"Very interesting. I think what you say is correct. You, an outsider, seem to understand Lord Marchetini better than I, his successor."

"This is just a small detail. Perhaps in your eyes, Mentor, your frequent drinking of it is to show a form of respect, whereas I, I do not have that psychological factor."

"Yes, for a form of respect. Actually, I often find myself unable to distinguish clearly whether I am myself or Lord Marchetini;

If I feel that I am still myself, that is a lack of respect for the succession; if I feel that I am Lord Marchetini, heh, what right do I have to represent the true Lord Marchetini? That would be another kind of disrespect to him."

Karen nodded; there were many examples of such occurrences around him, which was a kind of loss of self-cognitive orientation.

"However, I feel that you haven't been too troubled by this, Mentor."

From Karen's observation, Mavarro actually lived quite easily; usually, people lacking self-cognitive orientation would exhibit emotional irritability and imbalance, because if even one's self-cognition isn't clear, how could one manage to face the surrounding environment with patience?

"Yes, I don't want to ponder over this. When others call me 'Lord', I just grunt in response; they can call me whatever they like, and I'm too lazy to obsess over who I really am.

I just feel that who I am doesn't seem to be an particularly important matter. Since Lord Marchetini chose me as his successor, then I will do some things I ought to do within the Holy Church.

Some questions have no answers, or rather, when there is a high probability that an answer cannot be pursued, I simply choose to shelve it, which could also be called giving up."

"You are very open-minded," Karen praised, "Perhaps, this is also the reason why Lord Marchetini chose you as his successor."

This wasn't flattery, because among the people he had seen with similar issues, Mavarro was in the best condition; this wasn't a form of self-abandonment, but a kind of wisdom.

On the path of life, everyone has their own right to choose, and the purpose of making a choice is to make oneself live more comfortably. Therefore, after fulfilling one's due responsibilities, one can completely refuse to be swept away by the mainstream crowd.

Karen could never accept the existence of another person within his own body, because it would make him feel uncomfortable; even if it were the "Dis" within his body, that was merely the inheritance of the family belief system given to him by his grandfather, and that phantom wasn't the real Dis.

The same went for Neo, which was why Neo had spared no expense over the past ten years to fight against "Philias." A hunting hound was Neo's most authentic portrayal: either you kill me, or I bite you to death.

But Mavarro didn't necessarily need to be the same as himself and Neo.

"Heh," Mavarro took a deep breath, then slowly exhaled, "I'm sorry for calling you out, because I wanted to find someone to talk to, yet I discovered that here, I have no one else I can speak with."

"What about Wick?"

"Do you like Wick?"

"Perhaps we just haven't become familiar with each other yet."

"People who are too clever often find it difficult to make others like them."

Hearing this, Karen nodded.

"Apologies, I didn't mean to imply that you aren't clever enough. Before coming to Fire Island, I told Lord Tethysson that you are the most naturally gifted person I have seen since I accepted the succession.

I still remember your performance when I initially taught you the [Black Prison Castle]; it truly left nothing to be desired, and could even be said to have surprised me. War spells are actually the most difficult to learn."

"But..." Karen hesitated to speak.

"Say whatever you wish to say."

"But you still haven't stated the reason for calling me out to chat."

"Do you remember when I branded the mark of the [Scythe of War] onto the back of your hand?"

"I remember. Because of you, Mentor, I witnessed the majesty of a divine artifact."

And then while sleeping on the hotel bed at night, he dreamed of a deep water pool and that scythe, blood staining the sheets red.

For the next few days, Ventura had been sleeping right at his doorway, terrified that his captain might die suddenly in his sleep.

"In truth, I was observing you at that time."

"Observing me?"

"Yes, I noticed that compared to others, there was something missing from your gaze."

"What was missing?"

"A kind of awe in your bones."

"Mentor, you shouldn't speak so carelessly..."

"It's no big deal. Just as Lord Tethysson said before his death, the 'Regulations of Order' still contain the Scroll of God, and we, the believers of Order, should dare to stand with our backs straight before God."

"Is it because of this that you feel, when speaking with me, I won't bring a barrier of awe toward you?"

"Your description is very precise."

"Understood, Mentor."

Karen nodded. Mavarro felt this way because everyone he encountered around him treated him as the incarnation of "Marchetini." Although Marchetini was only one of the Twelve Knights of Order, in the mythological narratives of other orthodox holy churches, he was a branch deity, and a very prominent one at that.

Many people of noble status possessed this kind of mindset; they would find it novel if you didn't take their status seriously, and they would look at you differently, becoming curious about you.

But one must never assume that acting this way continuously is correct, because a person's sense of novelty has its limits.

It was just like pursuing a girl; showing a bit of unconventionality at the beginning to attract attention was fine, but one couldn't put on airs indefinitely.

"Lord Tethysson was my grandfather."

"Then please accept my condolences."

"He was truly a very stubborn man, yet he was also a very kind man. He insisted on calling me 'Lord', even when he and I were alone together, he maintained that title.

Do you know, it was only when I was speaking with him in his room two days ago that he showed a bit more genuine emotion, and that was still under the premise that we both knew, and he himself knew, he was about to die."

"He was merely adhering to the rules, I suppose."

"Yes, though I do not blame him, for I have tried to place myself in his position. If another soul resides within your grandson's flesh, is he still truly your grandson? Could you continue to bestow your affection upon him? Even if the blood in his veins remains unchanged, we are priests capable of touching the very spirit; we understand with absolute clarity that the soul is the true core that shapes and defines a man.

Forgive me, such a question is somewhat unbecoming. After all, who would contemplate such things, and who could ever truly put themselves in that place?"

Karen blinked.

"He has gone, yet I cannot weep. I wished to conjure some measure of sorrow, but I found myself unable, and it leaves me uneasy. I feel it ought not to be this way."

Karen spoke to offer consolation. "Sorrow manifests in myriad forms, and I believe Lord Theisen departed with a serene mind. He walked his earthly path to its very end; it is time for him to rest. Therefore, we have no inherent need for grief. It is much like facing a completed work of art—we have only to appreciate it and perceive its meaning."

"Is that truly so?"

"Yes, precisely so."

"Thank you for your comfort."

"It is not comfort." Karen reached down and gathered a few pebbles from beneath him. "You have no need of my comfort. Every man possesses his own path, and as we journey along it, we may halt out of weariness or confusion, or we may turn back and linger to steal a few more glances at a cherished landscape.

Of course, that landscape can also be etched upon the heart. If one does not turn back or linger, it is not because the view lacked beauty, but because its beauty has already chosen to follow you."

"Your words carry a profound weight. I shall ponder them slowly upon my return. By the by, you are to return soon as well, are you not?"

"Yes, it should be within the next day or two. Back to York City. If things move swiftly, perhaps tomorrow? It depends chiefly upon the arrangements at the teleportation array."

"Then I know not when we shall meet again. This time, you fared exceptionally well. In the conducting of affairs, you are far superior to me. Quite apart from the matters of choices, paths, and opportunism of which my grandfather spoke, you are truly remarkable.

Regrettably, my own temperament is ill-suited to initiating tasks. I prefer to be commanded in what I must do, and then, very well, I go about fulfilling it. Since my youth, I have adored games of filling grids—a dreadfully tedious pastime, yet one I have never grown weary of."

"This is hardly a matter of superiority, for there are times when one intends to exert one's own subjective initiative... do you understand the meaning of that phrase?"

"I comprehend."

"Yes, sometimes you wish to take the initiative to perform certain deeds, to make yourself appear occupied, or perhaps to grant yourself the illusion of being busy. Yet in the end, you suddenly realize that all your previous rushing to and fro was entirely mistaken.

Ah..."

Karen leaned back, supporting his weight with his hands upon the earth, and sighed softly.

"So weary..."

"To be able to candidly engage in self-denial is something the vast majority of people in this world simply cannot manage.

If Grandfather could hear you say these things, he would undoubtedly be most pleased. He always held you in high esteem; he reviewed your record, and he fancied the exceptional youths within the Church.

I know his character; had he not truly favored you, he would never have deigned to 'educate' you."

"For that, I am deeply grateful to Lord Theisen; I thank him for his guidance. You see, many a time, the inability to turn back is not because one remains ignorant of one's errors, but because the mistakes are simply too numerous, leaving no path whatsoever for retreat."

"And what of you? To which sort do you belong?"

"The road must be walked. If the path taken is wrong, then one must forge a new, correct one. I... no, the lives of most individuals possess no retreat. One can only steel oneself to believe that while the choice of path may be fraught with hardships, the direction of progress must inevitably ascend in a spiral..."

Karen extended his hand, gesturing a "spiral ascent" toward Mavaro.

"Heh." Mavaro pointed a finger at his own temple. "The road is tortuous, but the objective remains steadfast. Face yourself directly, examine yourself, criticize yourself, and errors shall become nothing more than stepping stones upon your path to success."

"Your words are truly profound; I shall ponder them deeply upon my return as well."

"They are not mine."

"Oh? In which book are they recorded? I shall seek it out to read upon my return, provided my clearance permits it."

"It is a peculiar voice within my memory, spoken by a Great Existence. It lingered within the mind of Lord Marchetini, and subsequently, it was read by me, his successor.

However, this passage is recorded in the mythical narratives of the *Light of Order*, taking place after the Great Existence and Reincarnation came to a divergence of opinions."

It was... spoken by the God of Order.

After a divergence of opinions?

Which meant the God of Order had sought out the God of Light, declaring to him that the Gate of Reincarnation constructed by the God of Reincarnation disrupted the order between life and death, yet the God of Light chose to treat the matter with indifference. After all, the God of Reincarnation also belonged to the faction of Light.

Inferring from this scenario, when the God of Order uttered these words, did it imply that he too was reflecting upon his early choice to stand within the camp of the God of Light?

Karen hesitated for a moment, then stood, crossing his arms over his chest, and said with earnest devotion:

"My gratitude for the teachings of the Great God of Order."

Mavaro found himself caught between tears and laughter, but given Karen's posture, he could only rise to return the salute.

Presently, Mavaro patted Karen on the shoulder and remarked, "Though it may sound somewhat irreverent, if it is only the two of us speaking in this manner, there is no need for such displays. For whose benefit would we be performing?"

A performance... It was well enough for you to say such things, but entirely inappropriate for me, as no one would ever doubt the loyalty of Lord Marchetini's successor.

Mavaro stretched his arms and smiled. "I know not why, but conversing here with you brings me a great sense of comfort. Standing beside you, I feel a distinct lightness."

That is because we share nearly identical plights.

Karen drew out a cigarette and inquired, "Do you smoke?"

"I could learn."

Mavaro was pleased, for he noted that Karen had ceased utilizing formal honorifics.

"Do not bother; it is hardly a virtue."

Karen slipped the cigarette away once more.

"I shall sit with you a while longer, then. There is no need to search for conversation."

"Thank you."

...

"He is not even the High Priest yet, and already his reach extends so far. When he truly ascends to the seat of the High Priest, will there be any room left for us to speak?"

"Indeed. Though by virtue of his status we all acknowledge he will be the next High Priest, he remains far too young at present. Furthermore, I propose that we must begin making arrangements regarding certain matters."

"I say, what cause have you to fret over this now? High Priest Lasma is still with us; we possess ample time to make our preparations, ensuring that even should he take the seat of the High Priest, he cannot act recklessly."

"Quite so, arrangements must be made. Some of his proposals and policies are so radical they send a chill down my spine. It has, after all, been a mere thousand years since the demise of Light."

"Word has also arrived from the Temple indicating a desire to suppress him somewhat. It seems the Temple too fears that once he occupies that position, he will become ungovernable."

Theisen struck the table with his hand.

"The Temple ought not to meddle in ecclesiastical affairs. Having entered the Temple, they should serve the God of Order with undivided hearts, and lend their strength only when the Holy See requires it.

I have always opposed the extension of the Temple's tentacles into the operations of the Holy See. This view I shall not alter; hence, I do not consent to an alliance with the Temple.

A gathering of entities who know only of cultivation realms—what mind have they to care for, let alone understand, the governance of the Church?

Today's council shall conclude here for the moment. Return to your quarters, all of you. Once High Priest Lasma returns, I shall present my report to him."

"Understood, my Lord."

"Understood, my Lord."

The figures around the round table faded into nothingness.

Theisen rose, threw open the balcony doors, and walked out, leaning his hands upon the balustrade to catch his breath.

Yet very quickly, his frame stiffened. Turning his head, he beheld the figure of a middle-aged man standing behind him.

"It is you." Theisen pursed his lips. He, whose speech and conduct were ever rigorous, now parted his lips and laughed so thoroughly that he skipped on the spot. He rushed forward instantly, intending to embrace the man, but before him, he froze. His hands rose and fell, stiff and entirely at a loss.

The middle-aged man stepped forward, reached out to gently draw him into an embrace, and patted him upon the back.

Tears and snot streamed down Tyhisen’s face as he choked out, "What, am I so ancient and withered that you deliberately changed your appearance just to come mock me?"

"No."

"Then seeing me aged to such a state brings you joy?"

"Yes."

"Hahaha," Tyhisen burst into a hearty laugh. "Only you could slide in and out of this place so effortlessly. My security clearance here is by no means low, though of course, it means nothing to you."

"Your rank is high now."

"Weren't you the one who forced my hand? Once I laid eyes on you, this was the only path left to tread."

"You are weary too; your soul and body are already in decay."

"I've reached the age for it, quite natural. Though, admittedly, I might be aging a bit faster. But the crushing weight of ecclesiastical duties is truly unimaginable, beyond anything we could have conceived in our youth, you know?

Oh, you don't know, nor could you be bothered to care. Tell me, could you shift back into whatever your current form is? By comparison, I feel utterly decrepit and slovenly, like I'm ready to drop into a coffin at any moment."

"Are you going to the First Knights' Order?"

"Of course."

"To think a piece of trash like you is fit to enter."

Tyhisen flailed his hands in a fit of irritation. "I am, at the very least, a piece of trash sitting in a very high seat. I'm entitled to this small token of special treatment. Besides, my realm of cultivation isn't low; it's decent enough. Though there's no hope of condensing a godhead, I've barely scraped into the reserve ranks."

"What does a high realm matter when you don't even know how to fight? Even if a divine artifact were bestowed upon someone like you, you'd likely just wield it like a fire poker to bludgeon people."

"Did you come to see me? Have you been waiting here a long time? My apologies, I was tied up in a meeting just now. If I had known you were coming, I certainly would have..."

"Just arrived." The middle-aged man drew a letter from his robes. A flame flickered to life within his palm, reducing the parchment to ashes. "I had no intention of waiting for your meeting to end. I meant to leave a letter and depart directly. I am somewhat occupied at present, with another destination to reach."

"Oh, damn it all. Is our youthful camaraderie not worth a brief delay to you?"

"Is it possible that your camaraderie does not weigh so heavily with me?"

"Dis!"

"Mm."

"You are exactly as you were before, forever looking down on everyone."

"Mm."

"Yet I am exactly as I was before, still considering it an honor that you would deign to open your mouth just to tell me how much you despise me."

Dis let out a quiet sigh.

"What a pity Lasma is not at the Holy See; he has gone abroad. If he were here, I would dearly love to see the expression on his face upon beholding you. Hahaha, back in our youth, he proclaimed countless times that he, Lasma, was your lifelong nemesis, Dis."

"I saw him."

"You saw him?"

"Mm, he is before me now."

"Right before you?" Tyhisen realized something instantly. "He went looking for you?"

"Mm."

"He went to pick a fight with you? No wonder he didn't bring his guard detail. Truly scandalous—the grand Great Priest of the Church of Order, throwing caution to the wind and sneaking off just to bicker and fight?"

"It was fine."

"So you simply came to look in on me?"

"Mm."

"And then? Surely we must say something. Let us begin from when we first met, when we were in the same squad..."

"Save those tales to be recounted at your own funeral."

"Fine, then let us speak of the present. Are you living well?"

"Very well."

"Do you have children? At your age, you must have grandchildren by now? Perhaps even great-grandchildren?"

"I have but one grandson. My grandson is very obedient and exceedingly brilliant."

Upon hearing this, Dis finally opened his mouth to volunteer, "I also have a grandson. He is the greatest pride of my life."

Perceiving the shift in Dis's tone—and most importantly, the fact that he had actually taken the initiative to expand on the topic rather than offering a terse "mm"—Tyhisen instantly squared his shoulders and lifted his chin.

"I may not match up to you, but my grandson is bound to be more brilliant than yours. Heh, my grandson was handpicked by Lord Marchetini himself to become his successor!

Well? Brilliant, isn't it? Formidable, right?"

The middle-aged Dis cast a sidelong glance at Tyhisen, whose fists were raised and whose face was flushed with exertion, before turning his gaze back to the nocturnal landscape unfolding ahead.

"Heh."

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