Chapter 562: Partial Grandma

Chapter 562: The Partial Grandmother

"Where is my iced coffee?" complained Neo, sprawled atop the stretcher in profound discontent. "Hey, I said, where is the Director's iced coffee!"

Karen replied, "I didn't buy you one. You know how exorbitant the prices are at the shops in the teleportation matrix hall. To anyone with a normal household spending mindset, purchasing anything here is sheer madness."

With that, Karen took a sip of the coffee in his own hand, his brow furrowing slightly; Ventura had added far too much sugar.

"Karen, don't you think you're being utterly outrageous? Every single one of you has a drink in hand, yet the moment it comes to me, you suddenly preach thrift and frugality?"

"I didn't buy it for you because I was afraid whatever you drank would just leak right out. Are you truly blind to how many holes are currently riddling your body? Right now, you possess a physical constitution that would make any gardener green with envy, seeing as you are quite literally a walking watering can."

"I could hardly help it. Who could have foreseen that Torrisa would imbue his blade with such a sickening attribute of power? It has grievously hindered my recovery, otherwise I would be nearly mended by now. Karen, I am parched. I need something to moisten myself; I feel as though if I were to touch my lips right now, the flesh would peel straight off."

"Endure it a little longer. Once we return to the district and you are admitted to the church hospital, you can indulge in whatever food and drink your heart desires. In any case, there will be nursing staff to clean up after you."

"You make it sound as though I am an octogenarian, paralyzed in bed and utterly incapable of self-care."

"Is it not similar? You can hardly compete even with an elder of that state."

"And you harbor no guilt, treating me in such a manner? Has your conscience been pickled away in a jar of brine?"

"In this condition, even a biological son would loathe to tend to you. So, spare me your censure."

"Your logic is maddeningly sound, but do you not fear that the next person to be grievously wounded will be you?"

"Very well, you may exact your vengeance whenever I am wounded next. Settle the account then."

"I certainly shall. My memory has always been impeccable. Whoever wrongs me, no matter how much time slips away, I remember each of them with crystal clarity."

"To put it plainly, you are petty."

"Heh."

In truth, Neo knew perfectly well that Karen's refusal to grant him a drink was not born of a dread of cleaning up after him—for even if Karen himself were too indolent to lift a finger, Ventura and Muri were standing right by. The true reason lay in the stitches freshly binding his wounds; ingesting anything now could easily cause the treated lacerations to rupture and worsen.

The ancestral lineage of the Bloodthirsty Fiend granted the power to accelerate physical mending, yet it was a far cry from true immortality. Due to the peculiar nature of this particular injury, if Neo’s wounds were handled carelessly now, there existed a genuine peril of sudden, fatal collapse.

As for these grievances, they were merely complaints voiced for the sake of complaining, a idle pastime to whittle away the tedious hours.

"The master's light lies just ahead, dispelling the haze, guiding our path. We must obey the master's..."

Catching the drift of these words, Neo turned his head toward the neighboring stretcher, fixing his gaze upon his fellow invalid... Alfred.

Karen looked toward Alfred as well, caught between amusement and dismay.

Alfred had inherited the legacy of the phantom beast, Compaccini, an event that should have called for celebration—and indeed, it did. However, the aftereffects of the inheritance were now manifesting, leaving Alfred currently adrift, unable to sever the boundaries between dream and reality.

His present state bore a striking resemblance to a man placed under heavy anesthesia; those subjected to such sedation do not merely drift into deep slumber or unconsciousness. In truth, a vast percentage of individuals transform into garrulous chatterboxes under the influence, capable of prattling on endlessly even when addressed by no one.

Fortunately, this condition required no intervention or anxiety. After a few days, the inheritance would naturally digest itself and he would restore to normalcy, much like a drunkard clearing his head after a night's sleep.

Still, such a display was a rare spectacle indeed for Alfred, who ordinarily guarded his personal image with meticulous care.

Neo quipped, "I strongly suspect the fellow is feigning unconsciousness, deliberately spouting these words to flaunt his loyalty."

"Then perhaps you should emulate him next time."

"Naturally. The next time Bernie tends to my wounds, I shall bellow a few slogans myself: Under the guidance of our Minister, we shall forge a new and glorious epoch for the Whip of Order... Listen to that, I have already devised the phrasing, though it still requires a touch of refinement—ideally, a string of rhyming, parallel clauses."

"You had best refrain. I fear you would only find yourself sweeping the streets for several days thereafter."

"Sweeping streets is of little consequence. Compared to your side effects, I consider myself rather blessed."

Karen paid him no heed.

"A pity about this venture. That mental imprint chose to dissipate into nothingness rather than depart with us. Had we managed to extract it, constructing illusion-type arrays in the future would have been vastly simpler and more efficient."

"One must not harbor excessive avarice."

"Ah..." Neo blinked, offering a weary yawn. "How much longer until the teleportation? I am growing quite drowsy."

"It should be shortly. The hour is upon us, after all."

"Let us return home swiftly. Venturing abroad is truly exhausting."

"I found it manageable. This expedition was much cry and little wool," Karen remarked, offering his assessment. "So, did you withhold the truth from me beforehand simply to afford me a greater thrill of adventure?"

"Am I truly that tedious?"

"You are."

"Whew..." Neo let out a heavy sigh. "I care not to explain. You will comprehend in due time."

"No longer wish to exchange secrets? I recall you still owe me a great many."

"You shall learn soon enough, once this gentleman regains his senses."

"Can you not speak plainly?"

"Certain matters lose their savor when spoken too bluntly."

"Very well. Regarding that cavern, does it require reporting?"

"What do you think?" Neo countered. "Torrisa is already dead, perished by the most brutal of means, wiped entirely clean from existence. Why should we perform an superfluous act? Furthermore, if you report it, that Sword of Diamans currently strapped to your back might no longer remain yours."

The squads of the Whip of Order operated under their own tacit rules, but the premise of such unspoken understandings was that they must never be brought into the open light.

This was doubly true regarding spoils of war. Items kept away from the light could be claimed as one pleased; yet if a report were submitted to the higher authorities, and they dispatched personnel to handle the cavern, it would defy all reason for a man to have perished there while his weapon and holy artifacts vanished without a trace. Compaccini was a phantom beast, not an iron-eating beast.

Moreover, some among them might well hail from established families. The legacy of the family itself most likely endured, and for them to reclaim the weapon and holy artifacts of their own ancestor was a demand of the utmost normalcy.

"When I told Torrisa I would report it, it was merely to make his dying moments a fraction more agonizing. Now, such an act holds no meaning; he can perceive nothing anyway, and it is the prize in hand that truly matters. The spoils brought back this time are sufficient to re-equip your entire squad. Even with so many young masters and ladies in your ranks, their families are seldom willing to spend a fortune to provision the younger generation with high-quality weapons and holy artifacts. Especially that Sword of Diamans of yours; it absolutely harbors a grander value. In the future, you are forbidden from employing this blade when we spar—it possesses the capability to suppress my lineage's recovery."

"A true damage effect?" Karen mused. "Or perhaps an effect that retards the circulation of flesh and blood?"

"I see little need for you to research it, for under normal circumstances, you are unlikely to encounter another Bloodthirsty Fiend of a rank as exalted as mine."

"Since ascending to the rank of Adjudicator, I have yet to engage in a thoroughly satisfying battle."

"Why did you not fight Torrisa while he was still present?"

"Because I knew that within the sand pool, I was no match for him. Furthermore, there are times when a matter can be resolved with intellect, and I harbor no great fondness for brute force."

"Then your life is destined to lose much of its pleasure."

Karen nodded, taking another sip of the overly sweet coffee. "Perhaps it is because my pursuit of pleasure is nowhere near as intense as yours."

"Heh, another insinuation at my expense."

Just then, the semi-conscious Alfred suddenly burst into song: "There has never been any savior, nor any heavenly emperors or gods..."

This was the administrative building of the Church of Order, a gathering place for the faithful of the Gods, yet Alfred's singing rang out with such clarity, borders on resounding—though the tongue he employed belonged to another world entirely.

The passing clergymen turned their gazes upon them one after another, yet the meaning of the lyrics eluded their comprehension.

Karen drew a deep breath, and closed his eyes.

"I can see it," Neo said. "You have this sort of dark thrill right now, like you're touching a taboo."

"Yes, I suppose that is where my pleasure lies."

...

The activation of the teleportation array was delayed by half an hour, longer than anticipated. The reason given by the front desk was a dust storm in the Dingle district, a domino effect that forced the teleportation array projects in other districts to be affected as well.

Karen found this reason utterly absurd, because the Dingle district was situated on a peninsula, adjacent to the sea, with humid air and remarkably beautiful natural scenery. Moreover, its greenery coverage was exceptionally high, making it a paradise country that symbolized romance and beauty in the Macrai language family.

So, where did a dust storm come from?

Did those grains of sand intentionally cross the ocean from another continent?

But now was not the time to argue over this. Perhaps they had just thrown out a random excuse for their delay; the fact that they didn't claim it was caused by the extreme drought in Wien was already quite respectful of his intelligence.

There was quite a lot of luggage, mostly consisting of spoils of war. Originally, Karen had intended to save some tickets by packaging the luggage separately and sending it via the cargo teleportation array, which would have been much cheaper.

However, doing it this way had one drawback: you might have teleported over long ago, but your luggage would have to wait for several hours or even an entire day, as the other side undoubtedly preferred to gather more goods for a single large wave of transmission to save on costs.

But Karen needed to attend his uncle's birthday banquet, which his grandmother had repeatedly requested over the phone, so he could only painfully pay the extra luggage fee and let the group carry everything on their backs to teleport together.

To be honest, he really wasn't very worried about Richard. Relying on that little Jerry inside his body, Richard could slowly recover no matter how severe his injuries were, and his parents wouldn't truly kill their own son no matter how angry they got.

Mainly, his grandmother had even let him listen to her biological grandson's miserable shrieks, favoring him to such an extent that it would be truly inappropriate for Karen to make any more excuses.

Teleporting to the York City district and walking down to the parking lot below, Bart, Mars, and Blanche were already waiting early, while Dincomb and Pick in the back had specially driven the hearse over to carry the people and haul the goods.

Karen commanded, "First send the Director to the church hospital, make it quick, the Director is about to pass away."

Hearing this made Neo feel very comfortable inside.

"If the Director passes away along the way, just drive him back. We're driving a hearse anyway, so when we return, we can directly go through the funeral parlor's procedures."

Neo: "..."

"Settle these things first. Muri, you will be in charge."

"Understood, Captain."

"Someone is picking me up outside. I have to make a trip to the Guman house, so I'll leave first."

"Captain," Philomena followed him.

"What's wrong?"

"I'll go with you."

"Are you worried about Richard?"

Philomena raised the Incubus Blade in her hand and said, "I want to return this blade to Madam Tangli in person."

"The old lady didn't take the initiative to ask for it back, which is a form of tacit approval. Besides, she is old and has no use for this anymore. I think instead of letting it sit there gathering dust, she would probably prefer this blade to be of some use."

"The old lady doesn't like me; I cannot keep her things."

"Well, alright, as you wish."

Truly a stubborn and proud, introverted girl.

Karen continued to walk outside with Philomena, arriving at the road opposite the main gate, where he saw a brown sedan parked, with Mr. Eisen standing by the car door.

As they approached and prepared to get into the car, Karen discovered that Old Man Delon was actually sitting in the front passenger seat.

Karen could only sit in the back row with Philomena.

Aside from a simple nod upon meeting, Mr. Eisen spoke no further and began to drive.

His illness was much better, but what he needed to do now was relearn how to engage with this world, such as relearning how to get along with his wife.

Of course, it also included returning the paternal love he owed to Richard, twofold.

Not wanting the atmosphere in the car to be too awkward, Old Man Delon smiled and asked Karen, who was sitting behind him:

"Been out?"

"Yes, went out, took care of some business."

"Oh, did it go smoothly?"

"Quite smoothly."

"That's good."

Old Man Delon remembered the fruit he had specially brought when they set out, which he had placed beneath the back seat. He turned around, reaching out his hand to grab it, intending to invite the two young people to eat some fruit.

Seeing the old man extend his hand, Philomena misunderstood the gesture, reached out, and shook his hand.

The old man froze, left with no choice but to shake hands with Philomena.

Then, to avoid awkwardness, the old man could only turn back around without taking the fruit:

"Are you alright too?"

Philomena shook her head: "I am fine."

"Well, I know about what happened to your family."

"Oh."

"You can come sit at our house often in the future. His grandmother only looks a bit fierce, but her heart has always been very soft."

"No need."

"Your grandmother's remains were collected by us. After processing, she was buried in a small cemetery."

"How much is the cemetery maintenance fee?"

"Uh... there's no need to be so polite about this. If you want to know the location, I can tell you."

"No need."

"Right, alright. In any case, you are welcome to visit my home as a guest."

"Oh."

Old Man Delon didn't feel the slightest aversion toward this 'impolite' girl. Many times, people would greatly dislike themselves, which was the reason he believed his wife disliked Philomena so much.

Thinking back to the first time he brought her to his own home, her personality had been exactly the same, capable of making the entire family freeze at the dinner table who knows how many times, but this didn't prevent her from later becoming a virtuous wife and mother.

Old Man Delon believed that a woman's personality needed to be tempered.

As long as you, the man, possessed wisdom, you could polish her character. An even wiser approach was to become that whetstone yourself, letting her grind away at you until she lost her temper.

In short, he was immensely satisfied with Philomena.

Aside from the affinity of the eyes and the sense of déjà vu from the past, there was another reason, much like how wealthy families would sometimes choose excellent athletes when selecting spouses for the next generation.

The family already possessed all the necessary material conditions, so the genetic improvement of the next generation became crucial.

This point was actually exceptionally valued within church circles, and within family faith circles, people fought tooth and nail just to inherit the other party's family faith legacy.

The old man had always believed that the excellence of his eldest daughter was influenced by the lineage of his wife's side.

And except for the eldest daughter who died early, his remaining pair of children had both advanced to the rank of Judgment Official by middle age, a situation the family had never experienced before.

But by Richard's generation, the old man no longer harbored any hope for Richard himself. If Richard could find an excellent girl to give birth to the next generation of descendants, it could be considered as Richard fulfilling his historical family mission of bridging the past and the future.

Of course, humans always held double standards. When the old man originally chose Madam Tangli, he had never given any thought to improving his own family lineage; after all, the lineage of the Alter family carried a curse, and he had married the woman he loved even with the mindset that he would rather let the Guman family line end.

But that did not stop him from making a slightly philistine arrangement to give his grandson a little push.

It was just that the old master had no idea that the young man sitting behind him had long since elevated the bloodline carrying the Guman lineage to what an absurd degree.

The car drove up to the entrance of the house, and everyone got out.

Karen saw that his grandmother had been standing in the courtyard waiting for a long time; not instantly teleporting directly into the car was already the greatest restraint she could muster.

"Oh, my little Karen is back, let Grandma see how your injuries are."

This tone, this expression, gave Karen an extremely strong sense of déjà vu.

Then he remembered,

Wasn't this exactly the tone of voice Pu'er used every single time he returned!

Even as Madame Tangli spoke, she trotted over to Karen, her right hand gripping his wrist while her left lightly caressed his face.

"Tsk, tsk..." A look of pleasant surprise appeared on Madame Tangli's face, "You really have mostly recovered, it's truly unbelievable."

If an ordinary person encountered that level of soul injury, they would basically be ruined, but Karen was able to forcefully recover from it; he truly was worthy of being her grandson.

At this moment, Philomena, who was very inept at reading the atmosphere and the situation, raised the Nightmare Blade and said to Madame Tangli:

"Returning it to you."

Madame Tangli turned her head to look at Philomena, and the rich affection originally in her gaze instantly turned to ice.

"Since it was given to you, it's yours, I don't want it anymore."

Grandmother was still very magnanimous. This blade was originally intended as a gift for Karen, and since it ultimately wound up in the hands of Karen's subordinate, it could help Karen out anyway, which she found perfectly fine.

In addition, Madame Tangli also noticed the sword Karen carried on his back; though a seal had been applied, she could still perceive that this greatsword was anything but ordinary.

Philomena shook her head and