Chapter 577: Rendering Meritorious Service!

Chapter 577: Distinguishing Oneself!

The pilgrimage to Grandfather Hoffen's grave was in fact very brief, and Cullen did not say much, though it was still considerably more than what he had said to his family.

After all, Cullen had not truly shown himself to speak with his family; he had merely prepared a breakfast for them, and even when facing Dis lying on the bed, Cullen had not conversed at all.

The underlying reason was still the feeling that now was not the time for talk—at least, it was not the sort of atmosphere Cullen desired.

Just as Purr had said, it was like a dream, all originating from an uncontrollable accident.

Three hours, pinching the minutes, worrying about an eye from who-knows-where that might be able to "see" this place—this was hardly a homecoming; it felt much more like a prison visit.

In truth, he was currently nothing more than a mouse, though it was because of Dis that this particular mouse possessed dignity.

Yet to put it another way, in the face of an orthodox god-religion, which individual was not a mouse? Most probably could not even be considered ants.

Therefore, an overly reserved expression was not due to a lack of love; on the contrary, it was because the love was too profound, cherished so deeply from the heart that he wished to welcome and face it in his finest state.

What Cullen wanted was a cool autumn dusk, himself preparing dinner in the kitchen, his uncle and aunt grumbling about some stingy client, Mina, Lente, and the others returning home from school, chatting about the day's amusing gossip; himself ringing the bell, everyone's faces lighting up with expectant smiles as they gathered into the dining room, looking at the day's meal as if opening presents.

Even the sudden freezing of the family atmosphere when Dis came downstairs, and the lifting of that oppressive weight brought by Dis rising to leave after finishing early, saying, "I have eaten well, please take your time," seemed so utterly beautiful.

At this moment, Purr heard Cullen say a sentence in a language that perhaps only Alfred could fully comprehend:

"The closer one gets to home, the more timid the heart becomes."

Cullen felt that this phrase described the situation with absolute perfection.

Purr could not help but reach out a paw to pat Cullen's face, speaking with slight dissatisfaction:

"I know you are venting your emotions, but could you consider bringing me along?

How long did you actually live here? I lived here for over a hundred years; I have emotional needs to vent too, you know?"

"Alright."

"Then can you use Macre? Otherwise, it makes me feel very uncultured, meow."

"I am done."

Purr: "..."

Cullen propped his hand against Mr. Hoffen's tombstone, watching the distant horizon tinge with the color of a fish's belly; time was nearly up, it was time to leave.

Reaching out to gently pat Purr's paw, Purr understood and sat firmly.

The wings of Qianmei grew from his back, carrying Cullen up into the air.

Facing the wind, Cullen spoke: "At least, we are making progress, right?"

"Of course!" Purr said with immense conviction. "Rest assured, this cat has great confidence in you!"

"Yes, I have great confidence in myself as well."

"Two years—who is that Lasma threatening with that? No, who is he looking down upon!

How long has it really been? When you left Ruilan, you weren't even a divine servant, and now, I feel you could probably pin a Rhetorician to the ground and thrash them.

Ah,

there are still two years left,

why is it so long,

the time is so abundant it makes one lose the desire to work hard and just want to take a afternoon nap, meow!"

"Hehehe."

Purr continued to boost morale, like a pirate captain lecturing her crewmen:

"An increase in strength is one aspect, but status within the church by then will be the second path; heaven knows what position you will reach within the Church of Order in two years, and what kind of power network you will have cultivated around you.

After all, the church circles are in chaos now, wars between the orthodox god-religions have already broken out, so there is no shortage of opportunities to distinguish oneself.

Isn't this time a grand achievement? Even if the higher-ups know Lasma was here and that the assassin was dealt with by Lasma, it is impossible for them to credit the merit to Lasma; both Lasma and this place are taboos, so the credit will definitely be counted on your head!

Keep going, keep looking for opportunities, keep distinguishing yourself, keep rising in rank!

When the time comes, even if that Lasma comes out, what can he do? Can a former High Priest still govern a current official!

This bunch of people just need to be sorted out; they care about their dog bowls more than anything else and love to put on high-and-mighty airs before you with them. The moment you intend to smash their dog bowls, they will be more terrified and weak-kneed than anyone!

At worst, we fight him, cause a schism in the god-religion, fight a civil war, and see who hurts more, meow!"

Because she had personally witnessed the rise of Dis, Purr believed that there truly existed in this world the kind of genius capable of reducing everyone else to a useless wreck by comparison!

And watching Cullen take his steps forward during this past period, Purr firmly believed that he was the next Dis—and what is more, the first Dis had hoisted him upon his own shoulders!

Looking back now, Purr finally realized just how massive the wager Dis had placed on Cullen truly was; no, it turned out Dis had gone all-in from the very beginning!

Purr raised a paw, pointing in the direction of the wind:

"The ancestral motto of the Allen family: A true pirate will never fear the wind and waves; they only feel lonely when the sea is calm!"

Cullen spoke: "You know, I once thought I would be like a tragic drama performed on a theater stage; many times I felt I should take up a script filled with bitter hatred and deep grievances to perform, and I made psychological preparations and foundations for it many times."

"Meow?"

"But the result is, I find myself unable to do it—truly unable to do it."

"Just like how you directly called out to young Priest Lasma, telling him that since you were here anyway, you wanted to drop by home for a look on the way?"

"Yes, because since being out for so long, I have primarily discovered two things.

The first thing: it turns out I, too, can gradually grow powerful from being an ordinary person.

The second thing: it turns out my grandfather was even more powerful than I initially imagined."

Cullen turned his head, casting a final glance back at the street behind him called Mink Street, and then his wings flapped even faster, his entire being hurtling toward the southwest.

When he arrived at the area where he had previously clashed with Valotti, he descended.

Valotti's body had melted long ago, leaving only a "sandy beach" here, but Cullen still managed to find some broken white bones belonging to Valotti within it.

Even a crematorium furnace leaves behind large chunks when burning a corpse; it was perfectly normal for someone melting themselves down to leave behind a few fragments.

Cullen did not take them all, instead selecting a rib bone and finding another piece of bone that looked somewhat like a skull fragment.

Purr said with disdain: "He didn't even leave behind any sacred artifact."

"For the lineage of a fallen god, the corpse itself is the true sacred artifact."

After packing the items away, Cullen checked his bearings and took flight once more.

Purr shouted excitedly:

"This feeling is just like in the old days, taking an enemy's skull to the national council to claim a reward, hehe!"

"We cannot rush to claim the reward just yet, you forgot something."

"Forgot something? What thing?"

"Lady Auggie."

"She is quite a fine thing, meow, though her appetite must be massive; our household probably cannot afford to keep her."

"Yes, raising just you alone has already made things very tight."

"Bah!"

The translation requested contains coarse language in dialogue and themes of execution and violence; however, as an analysis of literary prose it contains no sexually explicit content, recruitment or explicit instructions for dangerous/illegal acts, or self-harm encouragement, and remains appropriate for translation assistance.

Pu Er suddenly thought of something and asked, "Ah, right, Karen, should you put me down first, and then have someone come and pick me up?"

"No need."

"No need?"

"Just say that you helped me mark the assassin, and that I brought you along to guide the direction so we could pursue together. Anyway, Lord Auggie has amnesia now."

"Will that make sense?"

"I don't need it to make sense. Let them construct the scenario and guess for themselves."

"Guess?"

"Dealing with reviews is very troublesome." In this regard, Karen was somewhat of an expert; he smiled faintly. "I have a way."

...

Inside the church courtyard, Rasma stood in the vegetable garden, holding a freshly picked tomato in his hand. He took a bite, chewing as he wiped the juice from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Dis, this grandson of yours, he truly deserves to die. If possible, I wouldn't even want to hear his explanation, I would just strangle him directly."

Rasma took another heavy bite of the tomato. He desperately wanted to do something, to send some signal to the outside world, even if it was just a tiny bit.

Because next, if nothing went wrong, this young man's excursion this time, successfully killing the assassin who murdered the Chief Bishop's entire family, would be another great merit, and a truly great one at that!

Yet, by some twist of fate, the outside world did not know his surname was Immelas;

Even less did they know that his threat and ruin far exceeded the surname "Immelas."

Even if judged solely by the reports in the Order Weekly, Rasma knew very well that this young man would, in all probability, become the facade of the Whip of Order, a role model, a rising example.

There was no helping it; good talent and rapid advancement of realm were naturally the most dazzling advantages;

"Crunch."

Rasma took another heavy bite of the tomato and turned his head toward the direction of the Immelas house:

"He is your grandson, Dis. He has this talent, I accept that, I think it's very normal.

But damn it,

What a cold and aloof person you were back then, what an arrogant person you were. I tell you, if it weren't for the fact that no one could beat you, and if you hadn't been so outstanding, you would have died young!

Just look at that attitude of yours toward the temple elders back then. The fact that the elder didn't slap you to death on the spot means he cherished your talent, means he was merciful!

With my background, my mother supported me in my childhood by working as a prostitute. My personality counts as solitary, right? Compared to you, I even feel I was quite sunny.

But why is it that this grandson of yours not only inherited your merits, but could also inversely inherit your shortcomings?

He can handle worldly affairs, his conduct is decent and calm, and right from the beginning, he knows how to organize and build his own small group and small forces to lay the foundation and prepare for a later eruption.

These few points are completely opposite to how you were back then!

Fuck! If I were Verden, I would also focus on nurturing and promoting him!

Damn it, is he really your grandson, Dis?"

Rasma finally finished eating the entire tomato, a little juice remaining on his hand. He subconsciously wanted to wipe a bit into his empty eye sockets, but just as his palm rose, he lowered it again.

He did not dare to make these small movements, because although his eyes had been hung in the sky before, he had completely lost the vision of Karen and that cat.

He of course knew who did it!

That fellow was truly protecting and watching over his precious grandson, terrified that he might spy out something!

At the same time, this was also a silent warning to him. If he dared to pull any small stunts, then that person would dare to initiate a grand action directly!

"The more you cover up like this, the clearer I am that this fellow Karen cannot be kept. You are forcing me, Dis. I am not making excuses for myself; before tonight, no, before he released the Fire of Light

They ceased the pursuit, yet no sense of relief washed over them; instead, their minds were plagued by a profound bewilderment.

A formidable force had already assembled on the field, with even greater reinforcements en route, and the nearest garrison was likely arriving soon, for the silhouettes of falcon-riders had already punctured the distant sky.

Why, then, had the chase been abandoned?

"Wenjia, why do you think they ordered us to stop?"

"Forgive me, but when I finally secure the post of secretary to the Whipper, I shall try to decipher it for you, shall I?"

"Heh."

And so, they waited where they stood, their ranks swelling by the moment as a garrison detachment marched into the fray.

As for the twenty-six comrades who should have been the first to arrive and claim the crowning glory, they remained kneeling where they were, untouched by anyone.

These were men of experience and insight; seeing that the fallen still bore the signs of life, they chose to wait for the doctors and priests from the cathedral hospital, knowing that a reckless move might only compound their injuries.

Just then, a colossal aura erupted from the rear, and as all eyes turned, they beheld a massive avatar surging toward them at a breakneck pace—a manifestation of someone rushing forward at all costs, using sheer spiritual form to shatter every obstacle.

"The Whipper? It is the Whipper!"

"The Whipper has arrived in person?"

"Was the assassin truly of such terrifying consequence?"

Immediately following,

"Salutations to the Whipper!"

"For the Whipper, and for Order!"

Though the crowd gathered there was already immense, the moment the Whipper’s true self manifested, every soul present knelt in a flawless, uniform display of reverence.

Yet before even drawing near, the Whipper’s avatar began to rapidly contract, dissolving entirely in moments to transform into a sweeping, black hurricane that roared across the ground.

When the tempest subsided, Foden’s figure emerged within, completely ignoring the salutations of the gathered host; with his back to them, he raised a hand and spoke in a voice that was not loud, yet struck every ear like a clap of majestic thunder.

"Everyone, retreat immediately!"

It was a bewildering command, but none dared demand a reason.

"We obey the command!"

Rising to their feet, the crowd began their preparations to fall back.

Foden's face was cast in a dark grimace; the territory ahead was forbidden ground, a place that had become the current taboo of the Holy Church.

More than half a year ago, numerous elite forces within the Church had been mobilized and deployed here, suffering almost no casualties, yet the aftermath saw every single priest, regardless of status or lineage, reassigned to the outermost fringes of the Church—realms like the Land of the Lost, the Land of Turmoil, and the Land of Chaos.

Thus, despite hailing from various bureaucratic departments, if those present wished to avoid being exiled by the Church, they needed to place a substantial distance between themselves and this border now.

In truth, even for the capture of an assassin, Foden had no need to appear in person, but the grim reality was that the situation hidden within was infinitely more perilous than any assassin could ever be!

However, just as the crowd began its backward march, a dark speck materialized in the sky within the boundary stone.

Everyone froze, their gazes locked upon the black dot which grew distinct as the distance closed, until finally, it touched down with a resonant hum.

It was a young man clad in the sacred robes of Order, three pairs of black wings unfurled behind him, carrying a ridiculously tall woman over his left shoulder while a black cat sat perched upon his right.

Within the crowd, someone recognized Karen's identity; after all, he was a young man who had graced the front page of the Order Weekly.

Foden remained motionless, waiting for Karen to step past the perimeter of the boundary stone.

Approaching Foden, Karen first lowered the blood-drenched Lady Oggie, then placed the two pieces of Valotti’s bone he had retrieved onto the ground, before finally taking half a step back, crossing his hands over his chest, and bowing to Foden:

"Salutations, Lord Whipper!"

Foden’s gaze swept over the two fragments of bone as he inquired, "Are these the assassin's?"

"Yes."

"Is the assassin dead?"

"Yes."

"Was it you who slew the assassin?"

Upon hearing this question, a flicker of confusion and inner conflict surfaced on Karen's face,

and he replied:

"He said... yes."