Chapter 591: Shock!

Chapter 591: Tremors!

Cullen stood behind Neo, his expression calm.

It was not that he was deliberately masking his thoughts, but rather that when Neo stood before him, upending everything in a single breath, Cullen clearly felt the profound sense of security radiating from his old captain.

As a terminal addict of bureaucratic power, Neo had not hesitated for a single moment to strangle his own career prospects, solely so he could stand before Cullen at this instant, drawing all the fire that should have burned Cullen onto his own shoulders—before "running" straight into Minister Bernie's arms, gripping him tightly, and inviting him to dance.

Neo did not feel aggrieved, nor did Cullen truly feel guilt.

At times, even the two men involved could not fully explain how they had managed to cultivate such absolute trust in one another.

The trading of secrets was merely a manifestation of that trust once established, not its root cause;

Was it because they were both "Remnants of Light"?

Yet they were not at all like those other Remnants of Light hidden within the Church; not only did they fail to use their authority to serve the Light, but on the very contrary, they frequently weaponized their identities as "Remnants of Light" to pit themselves against the other remnants.

If one insisted on tracing its origin, it probably began when they learned Pavaro had "survived" and returned; Neo, out of a sense of respect, had come to "visit," and through Pavaro's connection, the two of them had established a fundamental point of mutual reliance right from the start.

Later on, Cullen entered the Whip of Order through Neo, learning and growing at a rapid pace; conversely, in the wake of Elisa’s death, Neo continuously drew confirmation of his own existence from Cullen to keep on living.

Cullen would often suffer from headaches due to Neo’s reckless pursuit of amusement, and Neo would feel a deep aversion toward the constant, impeccable decorum Cullen maintained;

Though they never stopped detesting each other's quirks, it never hindered the other from stepping up the absolute instant

Levin immediately chimed in, "Exactly! They actually have no idea that Lord Marvallo himself is standing right behind that kid Karen."

Marvallo’s gaze turned cold once more.

Pilo gently stroked his forehead in sheer helplessness. The divine son's status was incomparably noble, but he was still young, after all, and held no actual position in any official department. To speak of being a backer now carried a certain flavor of mockery.

Yet Marvallo did not truly lose his temper. Instead, he continued, "So, I am quite curious as to what their purpose is in doing this, and whether they received some sort of instruction. I know Director Harry; he has sat in that regional seat for many years. In the past, the regional Whip of Order department could practically be described as a neglected flock, so there should be no one behind him.

I am very curious about this minister named Bernie—exactly which line within the Whip of Order system does he belong to?"

Levin asked, "Why do you think there is someone behind him?"

Pilo could not help but curse, "You idiot, didn't you see the table was flipped right in his face?"

"Oh, right, that's true."

Pilo looked back at Marvallo and asked, "My Lord, do you feel there is something wrong with Karen's identity?"

Because if the higher-ups had signaled a desire to target Karen, and Bernie was merely obeying orders, it would highly likely imply that there was a problem with Karen’s background.

Marvallo shook his head and said, "There is nothing wrong with Karen’s identity; his talent is simply too exceptional."

"Then..." Pilo could not understand. Who among the higher-ups was so idle as to deliberately make life difficult for an outstanding youth within their own church?

In their circle, when they referred to the "higher-ups," it meant positions that were truly elevated, by default pointing to those with genuine power within the system.

Marvallo was a divine son himself and also the grandson of Thaicisen, allowing him to possess a special intuition that transcended others in his circle:

"Heh, it might not even be for the sake of targeting Karen."

"My Lord, you mean..."

"When gods fight, it is often the ordinary people around them who suffer."

...

"Pass down the orders. This time, the sky is very likely about to change in the York City Region, and many positions will be vacated when the time comes. Prepare a list in advance to see which positions we can fight for on behalf of our own people.

We cannot wait until the pickle jar is empty to think about what sauce to pickle; we must prepare the ingredients in advance."

"Yes, Master."

"Yes, Master."

Davens nodded, waving his hand to dismiss them, while he turned his head back to look at the projected image.

Then, he let out a sigh:

"What a pity. To think someone is still willing to protect you like this. I originally hoped to approach you after you were exiled from the Whip of Order. Oppressed by a corrupted Whip of Order, you would surely have been better able to understand the pure doctrines of Order."

Davens always remembered that during the examination at the Knights' Hospital, the youth in the projection had received a perfect score from him.

This was a young man of great potential, who was also incomparably devout to the God of Order.

However, what Davens would never know was that Karen had actually known of their existence long ago. Karen had even personally handled that quill used for testing and had attended one of their internal missionary classes.

Though he knew of their existence back then, Karen had not taken the initiative to contact or investigate them. After all, who would willingly provoke a pack of fundamentalists for no good reason?

Furthermore, they even called themselves the "Rebel Organization." Karen would have to be insane to get mixed up with them.

Of course, it was not purely out of fear for their extreme program. To a certain extent, compared to the path Karen wished to walk, their extremism actually appeared rather mild, or even... appeasing.

...

The array maintenance department of the headquarters building was currently as anxious as ants on a hot skillet. They could not comprehend who could have stolen the control rights to the defensive array of the auditorium area so quickly and swiftly.

Meanwhile, Memphis, sitting inside the auditorium, kept both hands tucked inside his divine robes as a small Rubik's cube turned smoothly.

Who could have imagined that the son of the former presiding judge of the York City Region's Special Array Department, who was also the current minister of that very department, actually held the status of a team member within the Whip of Order.

Yet to Memphis, if anyone dared bully his nephew, then he, as the uncle, would dare risk his life against them!

In truth, when making the original design, Memphis had not intended to leave anything behind. It was Neo who had specially sought him out, repeatedly urging and instructing him to leave a backdoor in the newly modified defensive array.

As it turned out, it was actually put to use now.

If he did not clearly know that this single defensive array alone could not achieve it, Memphis really wanted to try using the array to blast those leaders to pieces. He was truly capable of doing it, since he was, after all, a "lunatic."

...

Vic leaned his body forward and whispered, "Now things have blown up completely. Perfect."

Alfred nodded and said, "The Minister has already taken the plunge. I imagine it's impossible for him to follow the Director's example and run over to bow and nod to the Regional Director."

"Heheh." Vic took a deep breath, glancing sideways at Leon, who sat at the outermost edge. "Now we should change our way of thinking. If the Chief Bishop can stand on our side, we can completely turn this passive situation into an active one."

"He should stand on our side," Alfred said.

Vic expressed some concern, "But, it is just a grandson."

Alfred corrected him, "But, there is only one grandson left."

"You are right, Alfred." Vic rubbed his fingers together with some excitement. "Originally, they intended to discard our Director after using him up and squeezing out all his value. Now, we can try to take their route."

"Yes, one paints a red face to sing while the other paints a white face to sing."

"Uh, what does that mean?"

"A niche form of opera where faces are painted with colors. The red face refers to a friendly person, while the white face refers to a disliked person."

"In any case, Leon must be brought along for all the interrogations and procedures this time. The only one who truly holds the evidence of those bishops' crimes is his grandfather. I do not believe the Chief Bishop would be naive enough to hand everything over so early.

In this way, it will be much simpler and easier for us to operate from within, granting favors and playing the good guy."

"Mhm," Alfred responded. "Then let the Chief step forward to direct all the fury and pressure from the regional management office entirely onto the Regional Director and the Minister."

"Yes, exactly like that."

"However, there is one point I need to remind you of."

"Hm?"

"Do not think of reducing sentences, harboring them, or covering things up. The Chief will not agree to it, and the Young Master will not agree to it either. Those who are guilty should be sentenced according to the Regulations of Order. It was fine before when we lacked the conditions, but now, after all, we have the opportunity to sentence them."

"Then here lies the problem. If we enforce the law impartially, how do we sell favors, and how do we play the good guy?"

"That is very simple." Alfred straightened his cuffs. "Just arrest a few more innocent people and then release them."

Vic was stunned for quite a long while, finally squeezing a word from his mouth that came straight from his heart:

"Admirable."

...

Dinge Region, Whip of Order Headquarters, Secretary's Office.

Marlene held a pair of tweezers, carefully picking up a sugar cube to place it into the small bottle before her, which contained a dozen ants. These were the pets of the Whip Bearer, and she needed to care for and feed them with great attention.

On the bookshelves of her office, more than half the space was occupied by ecological boxes, within which lived various special ants.

In front of the office desk, a sphere of light levitated, projecting the scene from the auditorium.

"Heh, the development of matters is much more interesting than I imagined."

Just then, a clerk walked in and reported, "Lord Secretary-General, this is a summons that was originally meant to be sent to Group Leader Steven's office."

"Where is Group Leader Steven himself?" Marlene asked.

"According to the work log, he is currently holding a small internal development research meeting."

"Well, deliver it to his office then."

"Yes, Madam Secretary-General."

Marlene put away the vial and stood up.

She was the Secretary-General by the Whipper’s side, the one who held sway over the entire secretarial pool. Yet, owing to her relatively shallow seniority, she had always been regarded by her peers in the office as nothing more than an upstart who had earned her favor solely through her peculiar knack for breeding ants.

Among them, Steven, the chief of the secretarial office's third division, made his disdain the most blatant.

One had to understand that although the position of a secretary to the Whipper carried no grand official rank, their standing was utterly transcendent and their power immense. Within the orbit of these secretaries, they invariably constructed their own tight-knit circles, populated by the true power-holders across various departments of the system. Thus, these secretarial cliques frequently engaged in bitter, silent wars for dominance.

The Temple had twice dispatched Cullen's dossiers to the Whipper, and it was she, Marlene, who had personally presented them.

Yet, when it came to archiving the documents afterward, Marlene had deliberately assigned the task to an informant Steven had planted by her side—the very clerk who had just stepped in to deliver his report.

Furthermore, on that precise day, she had intentionally let slip a sigh in her office: It is really no wonder the Whipper was in such an immense rage; they truly treat the High Priest's decrees as mere wind blowing past their ears.

She had done only those two things—two very small, seemingly insignificant things.

Steven would see the official correspondence from the Temple; he would see those two identical dossiers. That part could not be faked.

And guided by the informant's whispered account, in Steven’s eyes, this man Cullen would appear thoroughly tainted by the Temple—someone who made the Whipper uncomfortable, yet whom the Whipper could not openly target.

As an attentive and eager secretary, Steven would follow this exact line of thought to set his own machinations in motion.

He had always been an excellent secretary, far more adept than she at handling those delicate matters the Whipper found inconvenient to touch directly.

He was stronger than her; this was a truth Marlene had never doubted.

But then, who told you to keep letting your ants die, so that you could never accompany the Whipper on his travels abroad as I do?

It had to be said that this fellow Bernie was actually a rather formidable subordinate. What a pity he had followed the wrong man. No, that was not quite right—it should be that the man he followed, who followed the man... had followed the wrong master, haha.

So long as your position is high enough, even a microscopic sneeze will cause a violent earthquake down below.

Who could have ever imagined that everything currently unfolding within the grand auditorium of the York City District Whip of Order Headquarters had its genesis merely in a petty squall inside the secretarial office?

Marlene stepped out of her office. She was on her way to report to the Whipper. The friction between the York City District Whip of Order and the Regional Administrative Office had escalated to a point of no return. It was highly probable that a new round of confrontation would erupt between the Whip of Order system and the local regional factions—one infinitely fiercer than the last.

However, when Marlene reached the threshold of the Whipper's office, she found the heavy doors frosted over with a layer of rime. It was the sign meaning "Do Not Disturb."

Yet, believing the intelligence she carried to be of the utmost urgency, and knowing that protocol permitted her to override the warning in extreme crises, she raised her hand and knocked.

Crack!

A black leather whip lashed out in a flash, instantly striking Marlene down and sending her rolling across the floor. A bloody, weeping gash split her skin, tracing from the center of her brow all the way down to her abdomen.

Terror gripped Marlene's face. This was a "Do Not Disturb" of the absolute highest order!

...

At that very moment, within the office that symbolized the supreme authority of the Whip of Order, Folden was prostrated on the carpet before his desk. And upon his own executive chair sat the shimmering phantom of the High Priest.

"Folden, I believe I have warned you before: I have no need for a dog that enjoys slipping the leash in my hand.

Moreover, pray tell me, why are your subordinates so remarkably fond of using broadcasting arrays to project live, church-wide transmissions at the slightest provocation these days?

Did the Holy Church expend such vast resources to construct this array network solely for your Whip of Order to stage theatrical dramas?"

"High Priest, your subordinate truly knew nothing of this. This was not my arrangement, it truly was not my arrangement."

A brief silence ensued.

Cold sweat poured down Folden’s face.

But it was the High Priest’s next utterance that drained every last drop of color from Folden’s visage, leaving him deathly pale.

"Oh, then that is graver still. An disobedient dog can be beaten, and perhaps one might still make do with it. But if it is a useless dog, tell me, why should I keep it?"

Folden remained utterly speechless.