Chapter 556: Alfred's Salvation

Chapter 556 Alfred's Salvation

It turned out Mr. Phineas had been here over a hundred years ago, which meant this place was not unfamiliar to Director Neo.

Recalling it now, from the discovery of the clues to Compasini's burial site, to the subsequent investigation, and even the determination of this departure time, everything had been driven solely by Director Neo.

Especially the departure time; the young master had used the end of his vacation, setting off under Director Neo's urging just as his injuries had barely healed.

While there was certainly an intention to proactively squeeze out a block of time so as not to affect their work within the Whip of Order, it was, in reality, still a bit too rushed.

Combined with what the ivory old man in the white robe had said about their timing being just right,

it was easy to deduce that Director Neo had, in fact, always possessed a timetable in his hands.

Yet he had kept this matter hidden all along, never making it public.

What Alfred did not understand was, why did Director Neo conceal it?

A special relationship involving the exchange of secrets clearly existed between him and Alfred's young master, and reasonably speaking, even if this kind of matter were made public, it would be no big deal; instead, it would only bolster everyone's confidence in this expedition.

Though, Director Neo had indeed arranged everything very well, ensuring that from leaving York City to entering this place, everything appeared exceedingly smooth.

However, there was one thing Alfred would never doubt: he believed Director Neo bore no ill will toward his young master, so the concealment was very likely due to other reasons.

"Back then, that Mr. Phineas, why did he refuse the inheritance?"

"He said he didn't want to get mixed up in the struggles between the sacred churches. Actually, I was quite curious too, because in my memory, the one most vigilant against and most aggressive in suppressing the remnants of Light was the Sacred Church of Order, yet it turns out there is a remnant of Light who doesn't hate the Sacred Church of Order. Don't you find that strange?"

It wasn't strange; right by his side, there was a remnant of Light who constantly maintained his loyalty to Order.

"That was probably his personal choice," Alfred replied.

What a man like Mr. Phineas pursued was true Light; he could even give up seeking vengeance on the descendants of his enemies on Dark Moon Island, so it was not difficult to understand why he chose not to involve himself in the vortex of church affairs here as well.

You couldn't call him pedantic, much less foolishly kind, perhaps because the height at which he stood was entirely different from everyone else.

For instance, although he did not exact revenge on Dark Moon Island, the island's former naval commander, Taofman, had become a devout believer of Light after that incident.

"Someone came down just now, he once dived into the bottom of the sand."

Alfred really wanted to know whether the ivory old man in the white robe actually remembered "Neo."

"Oh, he did not meet the requirements."

The Director did not meet the requirements?

"There was also a young man who came down with him."

"He, too, did not meet the requirements."

The young master didn't meet the requirements either?

It was fine if the Director didn't meet the requirements, Alfred could understand that, or perhaps the Director was unwilling to expend his thoughts on this matter, but that his own young master also failed to meet the requirements was something Alfred could not understand.

Even if the one picking the fruit was Alfred himself, he still felt indignant on his young master's behalf for being "eliminated" by someone else.

"So, why am I the one who meets the requirements?"

"Fitting is fitting, not fitting is not fitting. If I must state a criterion for judgment, there indeed is one, and that is the sand. There is a saying in the Sacred Church of the Desert: when the sand falls from your body, it already knows your thoughts.

Counting you, only three people have entered the sand pool. When the wind and sand brushed across your faces, the first one clearly carried resistance; his eyes did not like sand entering them, and he held an instinctive aversion toward everything false and blurred.

A person like that will use illusions as a means, but will absolutely never truly take them to heart, because he sees too clearly and will subconsciously keep himself in this state of seeing clearly.

The other one dived to the bottom of the sand, as if actively catering to it; he was very urgent and eager to enter that realm of true and false vanity, deliberately pursuing this.

A person like that will use illusions as a way to immerse himself, seemingly taking them to heart, but the distance is actually even farther; in terms of pursuing sensory and mental stimulation, he will never be satisfied.

Therefore, the two above are both very suitable, yet both are unsuitable.

As for you,

when the sand blew to your side, you maintained your sobriety while actively catering to it; you found it fun, you found it enjoyable, you found it very interesting.

An illusion, after all, is a very interesting thing.

My true body once said that illusions are a form of art."

"Why does this reason sound so much like it was just made up on the spot?"

"Yes, so stop asking, I really can't keep making it up anymore."

The ivory old man in the white robe did not argue, but instead continued to smile:

"Formulating these grand-sounding reasons really wears down a spiritual imprint. After all, you wouldn't want me to dissipate just like my neighbor next door before I finish passing the inheritance to you, right?

If you are unsatisfied with the reasons above, then let me give you a more practical one: I find you more pleasing to the eye, you make me feel more comfortable.

Your style of dress, your body movements, your facial expressions, they all make me feel like you closely resemble my true body.

As for how exactly to describe it, for a moment I really cannot think of..."

Alfred's eyes lit up instantly,

and he answered with absolute certainty and conviction:

"Flamboyant!"

The ivory old man in the white robe froze, blinking hard, seemingly pondering what exactly this syllable represented.

"This word is the best interpretation of your description of your true body."

"Is that so? Which language is this, it seems... very concise."

"Trust me." Alfred slightly puffed out his chest, "It is inside my name. I have always been deeply honored to add this word into my name; it is a supreme glory and affirmation."

This word, from Alfred's perspective, was no different from "Holy"—no, it was higher than "Holy," because it was an exclusive word bestowed upon him by the young master.

"Since you put it that way, then let it be so. My true body, Compasini, it is flamboyant."

"You can add modifiers of degree in front, such as: very, extremely, exceedingly, incomparably... you can also add after it: unimaginably, fiercely, terrifyingly..."

"Alright, my true body, Compasini, it is unimaginably flamboyant."

"Yes, that's right."

"Heh." The ivory old man in the white robe laughed, "I suddenly feel this syllable is truly rich in content, like an incantation, full of profound meaning."

"Yes, exactly."

"Then let us begin the inheritance first."

"No, not now."

Alfred lowered his head and continued putting the finishing touches on the formation array.

"I have said it many times, your young master is in no danger. When you see me and my neighbor who just dissipated next door here, you should clearly realize this point."

"I cannot leave my young master's potential crisis ignored just because of your words. The inheritance is very precious and important, but I must still persist in doing my own thing."

"Fine, as you wish."

Everything around them collapsed away. The area where Alfred had been standing previously was like a large round house built of sand; now that the house was dismantled, Alfred returned to his real field of vision.

"Mr. Alfred is out!" Ventura shouted excitedly.

"Then everything should be fine now." Muri said as he looked toward Neo. After a moment of hesitation, he still stood up and walked over, "Director, have you been here before?"

Ventura was still young, and Filomena was not yet accustomed to opening up her thoughts to the outside world, but Muri was much more mature. He had already sensed some anomalies from Neo's previous performances and decisions.

Neo puffed on his cigarette and replied, "I have never been here."

"But..."

"In this world, you often know of more places than you have personally visited."

"Your words are somewhat profound."

"If you do not understand, then do not ask. I am not in a very good mood right now. It is as if I had planned to withdraw vouchers from the bank, only to find that the vouchers I pre-deposited in my account had been taken by someone else."

"I even feel a bit like beating someone up."

"Why don't we,"

"have a sparring match? I have always been curious about the Benda family's close-quarters combat tactics."

"Director, now is not the time. After we all leave this place safely, I will ask for your guidance."

"Heh."

Neo stretched, waving his hand at Muri to signal him to move away from his sight quickly.

Muri walked back to his position and sat down, his intuition telling him that the reason for the director's bad mood was not merely because the vouchers had been taken.

Neo stubbed out the cigarette in his hand; he could not smoke any further, or he would become completely "drunk."

He raised his hand, lightly tapping his forehead, and then gradually increased the force.

In the past, he had been so tortured by the other voices in his head that he would smash his head against the wall until it bled.

That was a painful period in his life, but now, he desperately missed that time, because although he suffered, split, and tormented, he was absolutely never lonely or desolate.

After tossing himself about, he could still calm down and lie on Yilisha's lap. She would intentionally let her nails grow out a bit, and then gently scratch his hair and scalp for him.

She was no longer here, and he was no longer here.

Neo remembered Karen telling him that people have emotions; though intangible and invisible, they exist objectively and do not disappear just because you are strong.

You can choose not to weep bitterly or lose your composure in grief, but then you must endure the sudden, unexpected spasm that comes after being strong.

Philias, I have arrived at the place you once visited, but you still remain silent.

If I had known when you rode the sea turtle away from Dark Moon Island, I should have dragged you down. You tortured me for ten years, then left just like that, playing the accordion and singing songs to continue your journey.

You really are a beast!

Whew...

Yilisha,

my Yilisha,

I miss you more and more.

Forgive me for not visiting you at the cemetery as frequently now as before, because I find myself wanting more and more to dig you up so you can accompany me by my side again, or, wanting to bury myself to accompany you forever.

Neo lowered his head, his mouth open, covering his face with his hands.

Philomena shifted her gaze toward the director. At this moment, however, the director let go of his hand, his gaze cold and filled with fanaticism as he cursed:

"Dog, completely blind to real value, it serves you right that you were discovered as a traitor back then and put to death!"

Seeing this, Philomena shifted her gaze away once more.

Neo, whose emotions had fallen into a trough and who was nearly on the verge of breaking down earlier, leaned his back against the rock wall again, crossing his fingers back and forth over his abdomen, murmuring:

"Calculating

With those words, a yellow sheen flickered within Torisa's eyes.

The walls of sand surrounding Karen were rapidly dissolving; freedom was nearly within his grasp.

Yet at that exact moment, the sand walls that had been disintegrating suddenly reconstituted themselves, and the restriction—which had been on the verge of breaking—was not only restored but heavily reinforced.

"Splendidly done."

It seemed his intuition had won out after all, an unavoidable reality when dealing with certain individuals who possessed the innate ability to perceive danger even when confronted with ironclad facts.

"No, my Lord, you must not misunderstand!" Torisa's voice drifted from outside, laced with disbelief and sheer panic. "It is your own people, my Lord! They are using a formation to accelerate the movement of the quicksand pool!"

Torisa began to beat frantically against the sand walls, his voice growing high-pitched and anxious. This was highly unlikely to be an act; a creature newly awakened from a long slumber would hardly have the inclination to suddenly put on a theatrical performance.

"My Lord, I have lost control over the quicksand pool! It is accelerating under its own momentum now! This is not my doing—damn it, I cannot make it stop! Damn it!"

Karen noticed that as the sand walls around him thickened, they were simultaneously compressing his internal space, meaning that if this trajectory continued, he would likely be crushed into a pulp right here.

A sharp snap echoed.

As the greatsword he had obtained from the sword-bearer shattered, the momentum of the surrounding sand walls compressing inward became virtually unstoppable.

Karen felt a profound sense of the absurd.

"Is this really how I end?"

At that very same instant.

Alfred finished activating the formation. Watching the yellow sand swirl with ever-increasing speed all around him, a smile surfaced on his face.

"Young Master, I am coming to save you."