Chapter 572: Surprise or Scare?

Chapter 572: A Pleasant Surprise or a Fright?

"Very well, my Lord, I shall follow your arrangements."

"By the way, why is Vic in your squad?"

Karen understood that Lasma was merely stalling for time for whatever was happening on the other side, deliberately finding topics to chat about.

Before this, he must have wanted to see Karen beaten black and blue, preferably unable to leave his bed for a period of time, clearly driven by a sense of petty revenge.

But because Karen had brought up Vic, Lasma began to worry that the misfortune Karen suffered today would be inflicted tenfold upon his own student.

From this, it was at least evident that Lasma still cared about that student of his.

It was just that Vic was truly pitiful, belonging to the sort who had joined a collapsing faction right on the eve of victory.

"My Lord, I get the feeling you must know a few things about me."

"I read the newspapers," Lasma explained. "But what I know of the outside world is strictly limited to newspapers. I cannot actively reach out to gather information. This isn't entirely because of your grandfather, but also because I require an absolutely quiet environment, free from disturbances."

Pausing for a moment, Lasma continued, "Sometimes, for instance, like this..."

Lasma opened his palm, and a black beam of light flew from it toward Karen, coiling around his wrist. "Any established relationship is mutual. This connection is not merely limited to what the naked eye can perceive or the consciousness can detect; the acquisition of information operates on the same principle. Whatever I wish to know here will bound to be sensed by those with a mind to do so on the outside.

Heh, I say this, but can you understand?"

"Something akin to the perception of faith, though far from reaching the heights of true faith?"

Lasma's brow furrowed tightly. He had originally intended to use some ambiguous, high-sounding rhetoric to brush Karen off while running down the clock, but to his surprise, this kid before him actually understood his words.

This was by no means a concept someone at Karen's level should be able to comprehend...

Looking at the young man now, a strange sensation washed over Lasma as he began to overlay his image with that of another person in his youth.

This was, after all, that man's grandson.

Lasma had crossed paths with other members of the Inmmelais family. He could perceive that although they bore the surname, the soil for the power of faith no longer existed within them. They were ordinary people, and could only ever be ordinary people.

Even if one were to view the Inmmelais family as a pure lineage of Inquisitors, the descendants of this surname, relying on their bloodline, should find stepping onto the path of faith much simpler and easier. Such multiple instances of extreme divergence should absolutely not have occurred.

Therefore, this could only mean one thing: Dis had sacrificed the family's bloodline of faith, yet had left out exactly one—the one standing right before him.

Lasma could not help but feel a headache coming on. Although Dis was asleep, he was not dead, after all.

And this descendant, whom Dis valued above all else, if he truly possessed a talent akin to his grandfather's, then it would not be many years before the Inmmelais family gave rise to another entity that would cause a headache for the Church.

Though it was only during the encirclement and capture more than half a year ago that Dis had officially condensed his godhead fragments, according to Lasma’s own observations, by the time Dis was between twenty-five and thirty years old, he had already reached a level of transcendence. This was further evidenced by the young forms among his three godhead fragment clones.

How old was this young man before him? Seventeen?

With these thoughts swirling in his mind, a sudden, heartfelt rage welled up within Lasma!

In any other divine church, the appearance of such a talented family bloodline would be a monumental joy that they would be eager to announce to the entire ecclesiastical circle. Even the Church of Order, which had always strictly demanded a clean background for the High Priest and remained vigilant against internal families monopolizing power, would be no exception.

If Dis had been willing, with his strength to condense three godhead fragments by himself, upon entering the Temple of Order, he could have instantly surpassed the so-called seniors who had existed within the temple for one or two centuries. He could have directly become a mid-level figure in the temple, and might even have challenged the higher echelons in the future.

And his grandson, this Karen, if he truly inherited that talent, would inevitably receive the full cultivation of the Church, enjoying treatment comparable to the successors of those "great Lords."

In the future, if he could follow in his grandfather's footsteps, it was not impossible that the Church would make an exception for him before he entered the Temple of Order, allowing him to serve as High Priest for a time!

Bloodline was of paramount importance. The bloodlines of many families could be traced back to the exceedingly distant past, and there even existed bloodlines within the Church handed down from the previous epoch.

However, older did not necessarily mean better; rather, the older it was, the thinner it became.

Thus, the most ancient was not guaranteed to be the best, and it was entirely possible

The mighty dragon's form, as it turned out, could be just as fragile; within Oggie's wretched screams, there was an unmistakable undercurrent of terror and despair.

The disparity in absolute power could indeed obliterate the differences inherent to one's race.

"My Lord, I was wrong! My Lord, I was wrong!"

Oggie began to beg for mercy, but Rasma paid her no mind. He resolutely persisted until that orb of lightning was fully stuffed into Oggie's body, only then stepping back two paces and clapping his hands together with complete nonchalance.

"Ahhh!!!"

Miserable shrieks tore continuously from Oggie's throat. Her skin was rupturing relentlessly, her blood splattering without pause, her bones enduring wave after wave of fractures.

This was no momentary injury; so long as that lightning orb remained inside her, she would have to bear this manner of torture indefinitely.

The physical constitution of the dragon race kept her from dying immediately, but at times, a living death was an agony far transcending death itself.

"For the time being, there is nothing left for you to do. I shall find you a place to quiet down."

Rasma extended his arm and swung it downward. Lord Oggie plummeted once more, crashing into a small lake below. The lake began to freeze rapidly, and then, after the ice had congealed to a certain thickness, it shattered entirely. This transformation repeated itself in a continuous, cyclical loop.

The only difference was that the bloody hue within the lake was growing heavier and heavier.

Karen had to admit that Rasma's style of combat was indeed more exhilarating to watch than his grandfather's.

This exquisite sense of impact, where every punch found its flesh, was sufficient to rise to the level of a violent aesthetic.

"Boy, do you know what angers me the most?"

"Please enlighten me, My Lord."

"I am very good at fighting. I have the confidence that within the same realm of cultivation, I can be the strongest." Speaking to this point, Rasma let out a deep sigh. "But your grandfather has always stayed one realm ahead, pressing down upon me."

Karen chimed in agreement, "Grandfather really is too much."

"Indeed. While I was still striving for a single fragment of a godhead, he had already condensed three, as if he were deliberately humiliating me."

"My Lord, my grandfather likely had no such intention..."

"Yes, he did not even bother to humiliate me."

Karen: "..."

Rasma lowered his head, looked down below, and said, "This dragon will not die, but she ought to be taught a lesson. Furthermore, although I also know how to erase a person's relevant memories, a dragon's brain—while not a large proportion of its body—is truly massive in volume. Erasing her memory is simply too exhausting.

Therefore, it is simpler to make it so that every time she recalls today's events in the future, her soul will suffer a lightning strike. This will likewise achieve the effect of sealing her memories.

Whoever dares to read her memories shall have their soul perish amidst the lightning strikes."

"So that is how it is."

"Rest assured, I will not erase your memories. After all, your grandfather might very well be watching this place right now."

"Uh... I was not worried about that."

"Heh..."

Rasma's expression turned somewhat cold.

Karen felt rather helpless; whenever his grandfather was involved, this former High Priest always habitually displayed a certain fragile sensitivity.

Rasma shifted his form to Karen's side, reached out to grip Karen's shoulder, and applied a slight pressure:

"Oh? Your physical conditioning is exceptionally good. How did you manage that?"

"Perhaps because I usually pay quite a bit of attention to the balance of my diet..."

"You are certainly much braver than that dragon. Tsk, if Veke were not with you, I would definitely have given his grandson a thorough tormenting today, right in front of your grandfather's face."

"As long as there is progress and a harvest to be reaped, that is fine. I am willing, My Lord."

"Excellent. Next, perform well; this is an examination of you on my part."

"An examination?"

"If you pass the examination, I shall take you as my student."

Karen: "..."

Being your student is hardly a good thing.

His own future and development had already been beautifully arranged and designed by himself and Neo. If the title of Rasma's student were added, it would not only mean tearing everything down to start anew, but his new starting line would become a negative value—just like Veke, losing straight at the starting gate before the race even began.

"Hmm?" Rasma seemed to discern something from Karen's reaction and immediately said, "Very well, that was an oversight on my part. Let us do this instead: for the upcoming test, if your performance is not good enough, not outstanding enough, I shall take you as my student. Furthermore, I will announce this matter to the outside world so everyone knows.

If your performance is outstanding enough—so outstanding that I would feel too ashamed to brazenly act as your teacher—then I will not announce this matter.

Though this reward sounds somewhat strange, an examination always requires some form of incentive, does it not?

Since the positive approach will not work, we shall employ the negative one, heh."

"My Lord..."

"Come now, it is about time. We can begin."

...

"Boom!"

"Boom!"

"Boom!"

"Little Rasma, yes, just like that! Thrash him, thrash him, thrash him hard for me, meow!"

Pu'er, sitting upon Rasma's shoulder, continuously waved her fleshy paws, directing Rasma's clone to keep delivering a violent beating to Valotti.

Valotti was very strong; if he were not strong, he would not have dared to assassinate the Chief Bishop's entire family single-handedly, much less inflict an unhealable, grievous wound upon the Chief Bishop.

But now, he felt like a complete joke.

First, his body had been inexplicably frozen in place. By the time he snapped awake and broke through the restriction, the cat he had originally been holding in his hand had somehow ended up in that man's grasp.

Following that, the man began to launch attacks against him. The defenses he had managed to construct with great difficulty were like building blocks piled up by a child in the other party's eyes—collapsing at a gentle push.

The opponent managed to strike him heavily every single time, while his own attacks were easily evaded by the opponent time and again.

From the very beginning, the battle had turned into a one-sided crushing. Yet after fighting to a certain extent, the opponent clearly began to hold back his strength, appearing to focus only on worsening his injuries rather than intending to kill him.

Or rather, the opponent had never been in a hurry to kill him from the start. Striking heavily at the beginning was merely out of confidence that he would not die so easily; now, the opponent was performing a calibrated assessment.

This sensation of being thoroughly manipulated throughout the entire process left Valotti immensely stifled and frustrated.

"Boom!"

Valotti stood up unsteadily from the ruins, bare white bone exposed in multiple places across his body. At this moment, Rasma halted his hand.

"Little Rasma, why don't you just kill him directly?" Pu'er asked.

Rasma did not answer.

"Can this clone of yours not speak? Then where is the one of you that can speak?"

"Right here."

The form of a second Rasma appeared. By his side stood Karen.

"Oh, my little Karen, you must have been frightened. Grandma Cat is here, you don't need to fear."

Pu'er immediately lunged forward, intending to throw herself into Karen's embrace, but Rasma intercepted her midway, catching Pu'er and moving to the periphery.

Rathma looked at Valoti and said,

"Defeat him, and I will grant you a chance to live."

Valoti asked, "Are you a man of your word?"

Rathma nodded. "Of course. I, Teshisen, have never broken a promise in my life."

"Very well, I accept," Valoti said with a laugh. "I'll do my best to take someone down with me."

Clearly, he did not believe the other party would actually set him free.

"You may begin."

Rathma descended onto a hillside with Purr. From his sleeve, he produced a notebook and a quill pen, looking very much like an examining proctor preparing to take assessment notes.

Purr asked in confusion, "Little Rathma, have you gone mad from boredom? Why insist on playing this game?"

"Is it not wonderful? Family gatherings always feature a traditional routine—the younger generation coming forward to showcase their talents."

Purr blinked, instantly retorting, "Then the elders should also prepare gifts for the younger ones."

"Of course, I have prepared one. That is, taking Karen as my student."

"Um... are you certain that is a reward?"

"Only if his performance in the assessment is poor will I take him as my student."

"Then who determines whether the performance is good or bad?" Purr immediately seized upon the crux of the matter.

"Me, of course," Rathma replied as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

This was the brilliant solution Rathma had devised. By granting Karen the status of his student, he could avoid exposing Karen's true identity while ensuring the Holy See took genuine notice of him.

In Rathma's eyes, this was far better than allowing Karen to continue growing wildly and secretly on his own. It was also the turning point he had conceived to gradually detach Karen from his grandfather's influence.

As for the notion that being his student was a misfortune—and how miserably Wick had fared before—Rathma brushed it aside. He did not feel he truly owed Wick anything; all the grievances Wick had suffered would be doubly compensated in the future.

After all, he had stepped down from the position of High Priest with absolute decisiveness, catching the other factions within the Church completely off guard and leaving even the Temple blindsided. All of this was done merely to clear the path for the one who would follow.

In short, no matter how Karen performed, Rathma was going to take Karen as his student.

Rathma could not help but turn his head to look back in the direction behind him, thinking: By doing this, even you won't find a reason to refute me, will you?

"Hehe, he is Diss's grandson, after all. I truly hope he can bring me a bit of a surprise."

Purr responded,

"Are you sure it will be a surprise... and not a shock?"