Chapter 566: You Are Back

Chapter 566: You Are Back

Kallen had never underestimated the bishop before him, considering a single family had taken three generations to completely replace the inner workings of the Pamireth Faith.

The reason old Saman chose suicide was because he had been driven to utter despair by this very situation.

Every time he faced this Lord Bishop, Kallen felt an immense pressure, yet he did not feel too much panic.

This was mainly because, although Bishop Bourne was dripping with black filth from body to soul, he always held the faith of Order high above his head and refused to let it suffer any defilement.

He was terrifying, but if you truly stood on the side of the Church of Order, he would not bite you.

"So, my Lord, you were testing me earlier?"

"No, not at all." Bishop Bourne shook his head. "You gave me quite a bit of new inspiration. For instance, that phrase about the assassin being a perfectionist. Heheh, that is excellent news."

"Why?"

"Because the end for perfectionists is always tragic; otherwise, it would not fit the aesthetic style their kind pursues."

"Is that so."

Bishop Bourne reached out and placed his hand on Kallen's shoulder, bringing his face closer as he whispered:

"Everyone actually has a perfectionist streak in their heart, but reality forces us to make compromises most of the time. If one insists on refusing to compromise, it is a disregard for reality."

Kallen hesitated for a moment and asked, "But the assassin could also have brought the mask in from the outside. He might not necessarily have needed to find someone to make it in the York City area."

Hearing this question, Bishop Bourne seemed somewhat surprised. He looked at Kallen and asked, "Do you really not know?"

"Is there something I ought to know?"

"To my knowledge, masks are divided into two main categories. Well, in fact, most artifacts are distinguished by these two main categories: permanent and single-use disposable ones.

Among masks, making one that can be held permanently is highly difficult, and usually requires a certain material—the facial skin of the person being mimicked.

Disposable ones do not require this. The flaw lies in the fact—and I am referring to high-quality disposable ones—that once completed, they can only be placed in a special preservation solution. Once removed from the solution, they naturally begin to deteriorate, perhaps within half a day, and certainly not exceeding a single day.

It is just like a sliced apple left on a coffee table; after a few hours, it begins to brown.

Therefore, I am certain the assassin found someone in the York City area to make the mask."

"Then are you aware of all the artisans in the York City area capable of making such masks?"

"The way you ask that question makes it seem as though you are certain I will not dig deeper into you regarding this matter."

"Your subordinate is merely concerned."

"I expect the artisan family you know will, barring any accidents, also be arrested by my men. In order to get results with the utmost speed, I shall order severe torture."

Compared to the Whip of Order which had only just begun to revive here, what Bishop Bourne held in his hands was likely the true underground power of the York City district. In fact, it went far beyond that; his true identity was absolutely not that of a bottom-ranked bishop of this district.

At that moment, Bishop Bourne drew a black, red-bordered ritual paper from his sleeve and handed it to Kallen.

"Write down the name of the one you are familiar with. I will have my subordinates interrogate him last. You had better pray someone confesses before then."

Kallen took the ritual paper, pulled out a fountain pen he carried with him, and without hesitation, wrote down "Lemar."

Just as Bishop Bourne had said, one could only pray "this batch of goods" was not made by Lemar. Otherwise, Kallen would not be able to protect them either. This incident was incredibly severe—so severe that even if you were entirely unaware, you would still face severe punishment from Order!

Bishop Bourne took it back, glanced at it with a smile curling his lips, applied his seal, folded the paper, and finally released the black crow.

"I have seen many clever people, but at your age, they generally do not possess a composure like yours. You seem very adept at stroking the tiger's whiskers. Of course, it is also possible that in your eyes, I am not a tiger, but a small cat?"

"My Lord, my palms are still drenched in sweat right now."

"Heheh."

"Thank you, my Lord."

"It is nothing. After all, you are one of us. When handling matters, it is only natural to grant whatever convenience can be granted. Remember, this is the second favor you owe me."

"The second?"

"The first is that I will not investigate the exact time of Mr. Pavaro's death." Bishop Bourne laughed. "In fact, when I received the dossier back then and knew Pavaro's corpse had been incinerated, I already pondered in this direction. A corpse that cannot be shown to others—is it because there is no face to show?"

Kallen bit his lip.

"Two favors. Remember, they must be repaid."

"My Lord, I shall remember."

"Very well. Remember one more thing as a bonus: I never believe in the character of those who borrow money from me. I only believe that they dare not fail to repay me."

"Yes. However, I have one more request."

"Speak."

"I wish for Leon to undergo convalescent care. I hope he can avoid the upcoming investigation."

Leon was already mentally dazed right now. If he were to find out that the assassin carried out the assassination using his "appearance," and that what his relative saw right before death was his face, Kallen worried he would completely break down.

"I, however, hold a different view. My definition for utilizing the young masters of these great families is that they possess excellent personal qualities, but their temperament must be tempered.

This time is an excellent opportunity. You might worry that he will be unable to endure it and collapse directly, but that does not really matter. If he is ruined, he is ruined.

Most importantly, it isn't as if his grandfather only died just now. Isn't Minister Bernie inside?"

"He is a member of my squad. I feel I need to be responsible for him."

Bishop Bourne looked at Kallen and said in a deep voice, "In the future you will understand. The more power you hold beneath your hands, the less your benevolence will become."

"Perhaps I am simply not mature enough to reach that point yet."

"No, you merely look down on my way of doing things. You, too, are a perfectionist."

"My Lord..."

"Do not quibble, for only a perfectionist can resonate with another perfectionist."

Just then, a peculiar ripple of power transmitted over. This was a transmission of news, relying not on a black crow, but on mental strength, grandly announcing to everyone from the Church of Order present exactly who had arrived.

Even the Chief Bishop of this district did not possess such grand style for an appearance.

Bishop Bourne spoke, "It should be the Whip-Wielder who has arrived."

Forden was here?

"What happened here has already alarmed the higher-echelons within the faith. I expect the High Priest has also issued instructions regarding this matter."

"My Lord, do you think the higher-echelons will take action?"

"First, let me ask you: do you think this was done by someone within our own faith? Excluding myself."

"No."

"Why? The Chief Bishop certainly has no shortage of political enemies."

"My Lord, I witnessed the process of Lord Tycheson's passing on the Island of Fire."

"Oh, it seems you understand. Yes, exactly. If internal conflicts are resolved using this sort of method, it breaks the rules for everyone. Therefore, it is almost certain that this is an external provocative action targeted against our faith.

Consequently, before investigating this matter completely and thoroughly, the higher-echelons will not strike. Otherwise, they might fall into the rhythm designed by the opponent.

Regarding this matter, the Church will certainly vent its fury, but not blindly.

Alright, let us go greet the Whip-Wielder."

Bishop Bourne walked downstairs with Kallen following closely behind. As the two stepped out of the entrance hall, they happened to see Forden entering the garden. Everyone on both sides of the garden had already knelt down, including Philomena and Leon.

Behind Verden followed a flock of retainers, their expressions grim and their gazes sharp; in each of them, Karen could detect a scent similar to that of Bishop Bourne.

At Verden's side stood two women: one Karen recognized as Marine, the Whip-Bearer's assistant, whose position resembled Alfred's by his own side, and who was also tasked with tending to the newly collected, adorable ants for the Whip-Bearer.

The other woman wore a long dress of intermingled white and black, her hair cascading over her shoulders, her complexion porcelain-pale, yet her physique was towering, easily approaching two meters in height.

She did not possess a bloated frame, but her curves were pronounced; beneath a slender waist and long legs, her upper and lower proportions were exceedingly voluptuous, imparting a formidable sense of oppression.

Karen did not know this woman, but as she drew near, he perceived a piercing chill—not an impression of the mind, but a physical feedback from his own senses.

The woman’s gaze also seemed to linger intentionally upon Karen, a strange color swirling within her eyes, while a sinister smile played at the corner of her lips.

Overall, however, it seemed the Whip-Bearer had arrived in great haste this time, so his entourage was modest, and it even appeared he had not arranged sufficient security forces.

Bourne began to kneel in greeting to the Whip-Bearer, and Karen followed suit, dropping onto one knee.

The Church of Light had never been one to place great emphasis on elaborate etiquette, preferring a simplified approach; under normal circumstances, even when meeting an entity of the Whip-Bearer's stature, a salute with hands placed over the chest would suffice.

But these were not normal circumstances; at a time so official and intensely solemn, to forgo kneeling would make one feel utterly improper.

"Greetings, Whip-Bearer," Bishop Bourne said, lowering his head.

"Greetings, Whip-Bearer," Karen said, his head held high, his right hand clenched into a fist against his chest.

Verden did not stop at all, passing directly between the two of them as he spoke: "Brief me on the scene."

"Yes, Whip-Bearer."

Bishop Bourne rose immediately to follow Verden inside, and the retainers Verden had brought along followed as well.

Karen rose slowly to his feet, choosing not to press forward to continue making his face familiar, but instead walking over to Leon.

"Leon, I advise you to take a period of leave now."

"Captain, may I decline this advice of yours?"

"You may."

"Whew... Thank you, Captain."

"The assassin likely used an identity mask; he used your likeness to enter your home, so what your family saw before they died was your face."

Leon: "..."

Since the path was chosen by the boy himself, Karen adhered to the Immels family tradition: secrets do not outlive the night, and what must be told should be told immediately.

Leon’s facial features began to twitch slightly, and he suddenly reached out to clutch his chest tightly—a physical spasm triggered by a rapid, violent fluctuation of emotion in a short span of time.

In Karen’s pocket was a pack of cigarettes specially provided by the Church of Thunder, which he had slipped out when Alfred was unconscious, even saying in front of Neo lying beside him: This is what he specifically hid for the Young Master, and Neo must not know, otherwise he might snatch it away.

However, just as Karen was preparing to pull out a cigarette to help Leon forcibly clear his emotions, a pale, long arm reached over, fingers nearly as long as chopsticks tapping against the center of Leon’s brow.

In an instant, a white speck of light appeared, rapidly blanketing Leon’s entire body.

Leon felt as though his entire being, from soul to flesh, had been plunged and rinsed in an extremely frigid pool of water; his whole body shuddered, and then he exhaled a plume of white mist from his mouth.

Yet he did indeed calm down, saying in a voice laced with fury:

"This assassin is utterly detestable!"

Karen turned his head to look at this tall woman who had appeared beside him without his noticing; regardless of the method, her "physical cooling" technique was undeniably effective.

"Your family is dead, and your grandfather is gravely injured; you should grieve, but that should be at the funeral. Right now, you must keep yourself clear-headed."

The woman’s voice was crisp and cold.

Leon looked at the woman with some surprise, but immediately bowed in salute:

"Yes, Milady."

"Oh? This one is rather interesting." The woman reached her hand out again, this time toward Philomena's face.

Philomena’s gaze narrowed slightly, yet she remained standing there without moving.

The woman’s hand gently pinched Philomena’s cheek, and she smiled: "You are very cold too; this feeling pleases me a little."

Philomena made no reply.

Just who is this great figure? Shouldn't you be following the Whip-Bearer into the villa to understand the situation?

Then, the woman lowered her head, looking at Karen who was closest to her: "I am hungry. Can any food be procured around here?"

Now is hardly the time for you to want to attend a feast.

"I will have someone prepare food for you immediately."

Calculating the time, Muri and the others should be arriving soon.

"Forget it, forget it, I won't get full anyway, and if I'm seen I might get scolded. Ah." The woman let out a sigh. "The Whip-Bearer has a fire brewing in his heart right now; I must be careful not to get lashed by his whip."

The woman seemed to suddenly discover something else, a rich smile blooming across her face, and she reached her hand out once more, this time toward Karen.

Karen took half a step backward.

But the woman showed no intention of relenting, continuing to extend her hand; by the look of it, if her hand failed to touch Karen, she would keep following him as he backed right out of the courtyard.

Left with no alternative, Karen had to stand there and allow the other party to place her hand upon his face.

However, she did not pinch his cheek as she had done to Philomena, but instead gently stroked Karen’s cheek and jawline with her palm.

Karen had once tasted the dark ice drink with Lord Dahl in his cave within the Gate of Samsara; at this moment, the sensation of the woman caressing him was exactly like applying a piece of dark ice directly to his face.

"Hey, little thing."

This form of address... was truly bizarre.

"So you've advanced? Advancing is no surprise, but how did your aura shift directly to the peak of an Adjudicator? Little thing, you truly are interesting."

"Milady, have we met before?"

"Met? Of course we've met. You've even ridden me."

Philomena blinked.

Even Leon, whose emotions were gripped by grief, found his feelings momentarily knocked off course at this juncture.

Karen’s eyes widened as he stared at the woman before him—someone by Verden’s side whom he had ridden...

"Are you... Lady Augi?"

"Mm, it seems you've finally remembered who I am."

She was that frost giant dragon by Verden's side!

To think she could transform directly into a human... Save for being a bit tall, one could hardly discern any difference.

The phantom beast Compasini could also turn into a human, and he had seen its skeletal true form after death in the sand pool, which was already immense, but compared to a frost giant dragon, it was nothing.

Furthermore, Compasini’s human form still retained ivory tusks, whereas this woman possessed a completely human shape.

He had previously wondered if the Whip-Bearer had come in such a hurry that he failed to bring sufficient security forces; it was now proven that he had overextended his thoughts. When you are accompanied by a frost giant dragon, what security forces could you possibly need?

If she were to truly unleash her wrath, without an exceptionally powerful figure to intervene, destroying York City would be an effortless task.

For once this giant dragon revealed her true form to rampage, it would be enough to whip up a natural disaster!

"The aura upon your body is quite interesting; through external perception, you seem just like an ordinary person, but you must be careful—the fluctuations of your blood and qi can be sensed by certain special existences, such as myself."

Augi put a finger into her mouth and gave it a suck.

"Thank you for the warning, milord."

"I heard it was the work of the Desert Cult?" Augie asked suddenly.

"Milord, if this matter piques your interest, you may step inside now and attend the briefing by Bishop Byrne."

"No, my mind is not built for such things," Augie said, gently tapping his own forehead. "Compared to my massive frame, my brain occupies a rather meager proportion."

"I am, after all, quite simple-minded."

...

The Pavaro Funeral Home.

Pick and Dincombe were occupied with their daily sweeping; though business had been desperately scarce, it was the entrance to their home, and a standard of spotless order had to be maintained.

In the master bedroom of the rear courtyard, Purr lay curled on the bed, flipping through a romance novel with rapt amusement.

Kevin lay prostrate on the floor, a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles balanced precariously on his snout, leafing through a volume of notes left behind by Mr. Hoffen—not on array formations, but a collection of observations regarding the various orthodox churches, essentially an encyclopedia of the ecclesiastical world.

With a fountain pen clutched between his paws, Kevin would occasionally make corrections to sections of the notes that touched upon mythological accounts.

In all likelihood, even if Mr. Hoffen were to rise from the grave and witness this scene, he would find no reason to take offense.

All at once,

Kevin snapped his head up, the spectacles sliding down his snout and the fountain pen tumbling from his paws, while his tail shot straight up into the air like a rigid pike!

"Dumb dog, what is it?"

"Woof!"

At the entrance of the funeral home, a man stepped inside holding an umbrella; once beneath the shelter of the eaves, he collapsed it and shook the residual beads of water from its folds.

Pick and Dincombe instantly set down their broom and mop, bowing with deep reverence.

"Young Master, you have returned."