Chapter 43: Prepare the Dishes

Chapter 43 Prepare the Ingredients

Alfred was at the wheel,

While Karen and Dis sat facing each other in the back of the hearse.

Dis had his eyes closed, resting his mind;

Karen kept his gaze fixed on the rectangular pit in the floorboards of the hearse before him;

With every bump and jolt of the carriage, the Chief Editor and Mr. Morfe crossed and embraced each other repeatedly.

Inside the cabin, the smoky aroma of cigars blended with the faint, pungent scent of fountain pen ink, forming a smell that wasn't unpleasant—with the windows open for constant ventilation, it was even somewhat agreeable.

Purr lay curled beside Karen, seemingly drifting in a light slumber.

Karen reached a hand out of the window, feeling the rush of wind flowing across his palm.

The weather was still quite chilly, especially at night, yet Karen felt his palm burning with a lingering heat.

When facing Mr. Morfe as he lay on the ground, he had spoken from the bottom of his heart:

"Praise Order."

Yet reason constantly reminded him that while the Church of Order must indeed be immensely powerful, he still could not fully believe the sole reason he could act so wantonly tonight was because his grandfather was a local Inquisitor of the Church of Order;

To put it another way, it wasn't because Dis was an Inquisitor, but because the Inquisitor was Dis.

He remembered Alfred once mentioning that his grandfather was no ordinary Inquisitor of the Church of Order;

Indeed,

How could a grandfather who dared to declare "The God of Order is a son of a whore" right to his face, a grandfather who did not hesitate to perform an grand descent ritual just to resurrect his grandson,

Ever be just an ordinary Inquisitor?

Looking back on it now,

Yesterday on the hearse, Alfred had suggested to him: Young Master, you could go ask your grandfather.

And what Purr had said at the foot of the stairs: Go find Dis, he can always give you the calmest and safest advice.

Were the two of them really referring to Dis's status as an Inquisitor?

They,

They must have been talking about Dis himself.

Perhaps what was currently revealed before him was merely the "tip of the iceberg" of this world's true countenance.

So,

What should he do next?

Should he continue to pull back the veil, or should he cast everything to the back of his mind after tonight's indulgence and return to the life of an ordinary person, just like Uncle Mason?

The true face of reality meant cruelty; the deaths of "Karen's" parents were the ultimate proof;

Yet after witnessing such "wondrous" scenery, burying one's head in the sand like an ostrich felt a bit like self-deception.

Could he,

Could he truly resign himself to that?

He likely could not, for he knew his own character well; at his core, he was a very driven and competitive man;

A person accustomed to striving in his past life might pause briefly to rest in a state of peaceful tranquility, but if he were truly expected to lie flat forever, he simply could not do it.

However, whether he could or could not did not seem to be his choice to make.

Dis's attitude was perfectly clear; he had personally told him that before he died, Karen shouldn't harbor any other ideas;

But if that were the case,

Why bring him out tonight, and deliberately use that array in hopes that he could... enjoy himself to the fullest?

In truth,

Dis must have been able to tell that the array had practically no effect on him; it might not have been obvious then, but what about now? He was definitely aware of Karen's current mental state.

Yet it was as if he were intentionally giving himself a graceful way out.

Clearly forbidding him from learning to drive,

Yet loving to carry him along to appreciate the true scenery on both sides of the road,

So,

Dis,

What exactly is it that you want to do?

Is it truly that complex, interwoven affection of a grandfather?

"Are you happy?"

Unbeknownst to him, Dis had already opened his eyes.

Karen withdrew his hand from outside the window and nodded:

"I am."

"Is there a burden?" Dis asked again.

Karen nodded, then shook his head, replying:

"There is, but it can be overcome."

Watching living people die right before his eyes was indeed a significant psychological shock;

However, he was naturally adept at psychological adjustment, and moreover, these people—like the Chief Editor and Mr. Morfe lying right here—handled the lives of others as if they were merely playing with a pen cap or a cigar;

It was only under the rules of conventional society that they were difficult to punish, where even the exertion of immense strength would at most brush against the hems of their clothes;

But they truly deserved to die.

A life for a life,

No matter where this principle was applied, it held true.

Therefore, he had been doing something that everyone believed to be right, yet in reality, almost everyone deemed impossible to accomplish.

Of course,

Karen did not consider himself Batman, nor any other embodiment of justice in the city's dark underbelly,

Because what he could not deny was,

In this process, he had actually experienced a sense of pleasure.

This pleasure had been accumulating ever since he received Dis's reaction, while frying spring rolls, while watching the funeral proceed, while watching group after group of people perform to their heart's content;

His expectations had been stacking up continuously until nightfall, when those grand expectations began to gradually transform into pleasure.

He,

He was enjoying this process.

Mr. Morfe, who had choked to death on smoke,

The chief editor, stabbed to death with a fountain pen, dying by his own instrument—

Ah,

what an artistic expression.

Karen’s consciousness suddenly drifted back to that afternoon a month ago,

when he had picked up the telephone,

and the voice of the aberrated demon possessing Mrs. Hughes came through the line:

"You have disturbed my artistic creation."

"Then, do you require some professional advice regarding art?"

Mrs. Hughes,

look at that,

now that is what you call art.

A sudden chill ran down Karen's spine, like a child playing with building blocks who, midway through, suddenly shifts from burning enthusiasm to absolute tediousness.

Dis spoke up: "So, do you wish to turn back now?"

"No, I do not," Karen replied.

"Why? I just read negativity in your eyes."

"Because it is not yet finished."

Karen swallowed the words "work of art,"

and said instead:

"The matter is not yet finished. The Light of Order above Roga City has not yet wiped away all the dust."

"Good." Dis nodded. "Very good."

A moment later,

Dis spoke again:

"You must remember in the future, the first step of Order is always applied to oneself."

"I will remember, Grandfather."

So,

that is why those heroes like to wear masks.

Perhaps it is not to conceal the occasional instinctive smile of enjoyment that surfaces when they punish evil,

but rather to hide the fading of emotion and the sheer dullness they feel during the process.

Recalling Dis’s two previous instances of "enforcing the law,"

Karen suddenly couldn't help but sigh with emotion:

"Order is just like a mask."

Dis closed his eyes, seemingly entirely unresponsive to these words, but his hands, folded in front of him, had fingertips that trembled uncontrollably at that exact moment.

Pu'er, who had been pretending to sleep all this time, lifted its head at this moment and looked at Karen sitting across from it, as words from decades ago surfaced in its mind—words a young Dis, just returned from the headquarters of the Church of Order, had said to it:

"The Temple Elder asked me a question. He asked me, what does Order seem like to us believers?"

"Oh, and how did you answer, Dis?

Is it light, the sun, the air, the truth by which all things operate, the faith one yearns to realize through a lifetime of struggle?"

"My answer was: it is merely a mask. Those outside the mask cannot see the real you, yet you can use the name of the mask to do anything you wish."

"Dis, that elder of the Temple of Order was truly merciful, otherwise I can think of no second reason why you would have returned alive."

...

Alfred, who was driving, spoke up:

"Master, Young Master, we have arrived. They are waiting for us there."

Ahead,

the Splendid Hotel of Roga City.

The gathering

was on the thirteenth floor.

Karen got out of the car and gently twisted his neck a few times.

Just then, a group of singing and dancing youths walked over from across the street. The youth leading them, wearing a red jacket, carried a large radio on his shoulder, which was currently blasting fast, rhythmic music.

In this era, this kind of scene was actually very common—carrying a radio meant you could instantly gather a lot of followers, and you could all sing and dance together, releasing the excess energy of youth.

Noticing Karen’s gaze, Alfred took the initiative to step forward and said to the youth in the leather jacket:

"Sell it to me."

"Hey, man, are you crazy? This is my faith, faith, faith! You, you, you actually dare to defile my faith with filthy money? Please vanish from my sight immediately, or I will kick your ass hard with my canvas shoes."

Alfred drew a stack of currency from his pocket and placed it into the hand of the youth in the leather jacket:

"Three thousand rubles."

A new model cost only fifteen hundred rubles in the shops, and this was an old one. Even though it was covered in stickers and graffiti, unfortunately, that did not make it appreciate in value.

"Hey, man, now I de-de-de-decide to entrust my faith to you. Please treat it well!"

The youth in the leather jacket took the money and shouted to his friends behind him:

"Target bar, move out!"

The youths, having abandoned their faith in exchange for alcohol, let out a burst of cheers.

Alfred walked back carrying the radio:

"Young Master, I feel you need this."

Karen shook his head.

Hmm? Did I misinterpret his meaning?

Karen corrected him: "No, the night needs it."

"You are right, Young Master."

Alfred's finger slid across the buttons of the radio,

then he balled his other hand into a fist and placed it by his lips.

Immediately,

the sound of a guitar emerged from the radio, deep yet brisk, like a folk accompaniment.

When a great existence requires music, what you must do is put on the track, rather than foolishly asking him: which melody do you prefer?

Alfred began to sway his body slightly, proactively breaking the awkward atmosphere.

In his eyes, addressing old Master Diss as such was merely acknowledging his biological relationship to the young master; he respected Diss, yet it did not necessarily mean he truly feared him.

The sole fixture of his vision was the young man before him, upon whom he had staked his entire future.

Karen also raised his hands slightly, his body swaying along with the rhythm.

In his past life, he never liked going to dance halls or enduring the clamor, so he did not actually know how to dance; yet, just like the men and women who frequented the Crown Dance Hall in Roga City, how many of them truly went with the intention of practicing choreography?

Standing further back, Diss

watched Alfred and his grandson as they paced and danced with restrained elegance to the music.

Purr, who had chosen to return to Diss's shoulder to avoid disturbing Karen, watched the scene and remarked,

"That is what youth is, I suppose." Then, Purr teased, "Are you envious, Diss?"

Diss replied, "When you grow old and constantly envy the youth of the young, it means your own youth was actually squandered by you—much like a free soul being perpetually trapped inside the body of a cat."

"..." Purr.

Entering the hotel,

stepping into the elevator,

the bodyguards on the thirteenth floor, under Alfred's benevolent gaze, voluntarily entered the elevator, dancing along as they pressed the button for the underground parking lot.

Subsequently,

the three of them arrived before that particular private room.

Alfred stopped the music because the pleasant sound of a piano was echoing from within, right at the climax of a piece.

"I recognize this piece. The news over in Vien said it's 'Companion of Nature,' composed by Dailis herself."

"The piece is quite beautiful," Karen remarked.

The cheerful rhythm made it easy to picture running through a jungle and dancing with a gathering of green elves.

Alfred chimed in, "Yes, so generally speaking, people who actually get things done are ill-suited to become excellent artists, because human energy is, after all, finite."

"You are quite right."

"Young master, do you need me to push this door open for you now?"

"No, wait a little longer. Wait for this piece to finish. This is... respect for music."

"Yes, young master. I shall reflect on myself."

...

Inside the massive private room,

Dailis's fingers flowed gracefully across the keys, the crisp piano music rippling throughout the entire floor.

Old Councilor Hagget, already slightly tipsy, leaned back against his chair, his gaze toward Dailis becoming increasingly unrestrained.

A few years ago, he had been exposed for committing beastly acts against a young girl, but he had later used his own power to smooth it over; the influence of such a long-standing councilor in Roga City was never to be underestimated.

Mr. Orca swirled his wine glass, lost in a state of self-intoxication.

Mr. Ford smiled to himself, completely drunk by now, continuously muttering:

"Hello, please call me Ford."

"No, please

"What on earth is that?" the senior councilman, Haggert, roared as he surged to his feet, glaring at Dis. "Which precinct's detectives are blind enough to stumble in here and disturb us—"

Mr. Ford, on the other hand, was raising his wine glass,

and shouted with drunken, hazy eyes:

"Call me Lord Mayor, and I'll treat you to a drink!"

Mr. Oca immediately raised both hands and cried out:

"I am willing to accept any investigation from the great Church of Order, and I will cooperate unconditionally with everything!"

His behind-the-scenes master was a certain Duke of Wien, a gentleman who also held a powerful position in the government's commercial sector; once, while attending a banquet, a fair-faced young man had stood beside the Duke.

That young man had once asked Oca: "Do you have faith?"

Oca had been rather complacent back then, replying that his loyalty belonged solely to the Duke, though he did indeed have quite a few friends within the Church who would occasionally offer him plenty of assistance.

The young man had asked him again: "Then do you know of the Church of Order?"

Oca had answered: "I've heard a bit. The Church of Order is like the police department of the religious world. However, officers are human too; they can make friends, and they need friends."

"You are correct, but I must remind you that just as when real-world police level a gun at you, when the people of the Church of Order question you with the 'Statutes of Order', your best reaction is to... raise your hands."

"Is it... that serious?"

"When they recite 'According to the Statutes of Order', it is like real-world police handling a case with journalists standing nearby holding cameras, while behind them stands the God of Order Himself."

Therefore, Mr. Oca now held his hands aloft.

"Proud power of nature, please shield your faithful believer, deliver us from the torments of purgatory, and grant us the fragrance of nature."

Alotta chanted as he strode toward Delice, grabbing her hand in a sudden clutch; the red robe upon him instantly expanded, enveloping Delice within it, before he lunged directly into the floor-to-ceiling window of the private box.

"Crash!"

The glass shattered,

and the two plunged straight down from the high rise,

as cold air swept in through the broken window, making everyone present shudder involuntarily.

Mr. Oca, his hands still raised, felt a sudden, sharp shock in his heart:

Is it really that serious!

And it was then

that Mr. Oca spotted the young man who had claimed during the day that he would deliver fried spring rolls to him, standing beside the elder who had spoken earlier.

He spoke:

"The heteromorphic monster chose to resist arrest, and has taken the poor environmental activist girl, Delice, as a hostage."

Dis spoke as he walked toward the floor-to-ceiling window:

"According to Article 5, Chapter Four of the 'Statutes of Order', adopting an attitude of resisting arrest during questioning doubles the severity of the offense."

And then,

Dis jumped down as well.

Watching his own grandfather leap straight down from the thirteenth floor, Karen's eyelids twitched instinctively; though he understood that Dis would be fine, emotionally he still felt that an elderly man shouldn't engage in such perilous exercise.

"Young master, you need not worry about the master," Alfred said with a smile. "The master is very powerful; even I cannot defeat him."

Karen nodded,

turning instead to face Mr. Oca over by the banquet table,

and said:

"Mr. Oca, in accordance with your instructions, I have come to deliver the fried spring rolls to you."

Alfred immediately bowed and said: "I am deeply sorry, young master, I forgot to bring the spring rolls. Please punish me."

"To work with so little attention to detail, isn't that letting our Mr. Oca down? It tarnishes the reputation of the Inmeles family."

"Yes, young master, but you can prepare them right here on the spot. Spring rolls made this way are fresher, and I am certain Mr. Oca will be thoroughly satisfied."

Karen said with feigned difficulty: "But there are no wrappers."

Alfred immediately spoke up: "The senior councilman, Mr. Haggert, has a very thick face, which can be borrowed for use."

"There is no filling; I prefer my spring rolls to be more vegetarian."

"The mayoral candidate, Mr. Ford, has a head entirely full of grass, which can be borrowed for use."

"There is no oil; how shall we fry them?"

"Mr. Oca has plenty of grease on his body. Only fine food must never be let down, and I am sure Mr. Oca is undoubtedly willing to lend it."

Karen nodded,

and said:

"How wonderful, everything is actually right here. Alfred."

"Present."

"Prep the ingredients."