Chapter 604: Linkage

Chapter 604 Linkage

Night fell, and old Coya walked down carrying a brazier himself. After taking out the key to open the cell door, he placed the brazier in front of Karen.

Autumn in Wien was already equivalent to winter in many other places. Today's average temperature was around four degrees, and the night would only be colder. Added to the fact that this summer had been hotter than usual, climate experts had already published articles in the Wien Daily predicting that this winter would be longer and harsher than those of the past.

The Wien Economic Daily went even further, directly appealing to citizens to stockpile coal early. Because the war had disrupted shipping, electricity and heating bills this winter were bound to rise.

The deputy mayor of York City, during a government report session open to the public, even passed on small tips for the winter to the citizens, such as choosing to wash only a few crucial, small parts of the body when bathing.

However, changes in the secular world could hardly affect the church circle directly—or rather, the transmission time would be quite long.

The brazier old Coya brought was not burning charcoal. He took out a large piece of fire crystal stone, placed it inside the brazier, and then ignited it with a spell. Soon, the heat surged up with a sudden whoosh.

Although it was the lowest grade of fire crystal stone and not terribly expensive, it was a spell material after all. Using it just to warm oneself was truly extravagant, akin to lighting a barrel of gasoline just to light a cigarette.

Old Coya asked amiably, "How do you feel about the temperature? If it is not enough, I can add some more for you."

"It is very good, thank you. Sorry to make you spend so much."

"Look at what you are saying. Please use it without worry. For this half month, five bishops—oh no, six bishops are also being held in another cell. The logistics director specially approved the highest detention treatment over there."

Old Coya rubbed his fingertips together toward Karen a few times and continued, "But quite a lot has been left behind."

Sometimes exposing one's own shortcomings in front of someone was actually a clever way to draw closer.

Yet these words fell into Karen's ears and made him freeze for a moment before becoming amused, because he thought of his own move back when he stayed at a hotel on public funds and had Ventura completely drain the quota for alcohol and cigarettes.

Old Coya had clearly fleeced the cell treatment meant for those six bishops.

Karen asked, "Won't they have any objections then?"

Old Coya shook his head and smiled. "The lords have never stayed in a cell before."

"True."

Karen looked toward his brother staying on the opposite bunk,

and asked,

"Are you not using a brazier?"

Biting a pen in his mouth and lying on the bed with his legs crossed, Neo waved his hand. "I am young, my fire burns hot."

"What do you need prepared for a late-night snack?" old Coya continued to ask Karen attentively.

Neo caught the words and said, "Don't bother. If we get hungry, we will go out and eat ourselves."

Old Coya kept his slightly stiff smile and nodded. "Good, good."

Then, he stood up, walked to the cell door, hesitated for a moment, but still locked the lock.

After old Coya left, Neo turned his head to look at Karen opposite him and asked,

"How come even now, no obituary has come out?"

Karen replied, "Logically speaking, he should already be gone, but the time for the obituary to come out will still be a bit later. At least it must wait until the upper and lower levels have unified their public stance and reached a consensus on how to handle this matter."

"You are just that certain Wolfrun will die?"

"Yes."

"Is this a plan you discussed and agreed upon?"

"No, it wasn't discussed in such detail at the beginning. Just like you, I merely thought the Chief would use the method of crying out his grievances to shoulder the responsibility. He is qualified to do so."

"Yes, exactly, he is too qualified. Especially with his recent personal and family misfortunes, which added many layers of 'blessings' to him, gaining him a lot of political points."

"But when the knights rushed into the courtyard of the headquarters building, I suddenly understood. The Chief is going to die."

"How so?"

"Some things, before they actually happen, always carry a mysterious sense of superiority and control. Once they really happen... it is like walking from a heated room to the outdoors. You know it will be very cold outside, but when the cold wind blows and makes you shiver, your mind clears up instantly.

Once things reach this stage, if the Chief does not die, it will be very difficult to smooth everything over perfectly."

"Alright. If he really must die, if it were me, in order to maximize the value of death, I would choose to contact the Grand Priest, and right in front of the Grand Priest's face, I would die for him to see."

Karen fell silent.

"Hey, why aren't you talking?" Neo asked.

"Sigh."

Karen leaned his body back against the edge of the bed and spoke,

"If it were me, I would do that."

"What?" Neo sat up, spreading his hands. "I cannot understand."

Even though this method was spoken by Neo himself, he could not understand it. This was actually not strange. When playing chess, people would not substitute themselves into the role of a chess piece; if they really tried, they would often find the substitution impossible.

"What do you think is the essence of this entire incident?" Karen asked.

"Factional struggle, of course. You and Bourne can be counted as thugs for the Chief; on the other side is Bernie here—oh, and that Dunk, as well as whatever mess of big figures are even higher above Bernie."

Karen and Neo had analyzed the big figure behind Bernie, but after analyzing it over and over, there was never a concrete description, because if that big figure had noticed Karen's identity, he either would not strike, or if he struck he would have to crush him to death. Yet he happened to strike very gently, and then right after their side retaliated, he immediately shrank back, practically performing a vivid demonstration of what it meant to jump back and forth.

Neo had even cursed before: how did such methods and scope look anything like a big figure? It was practically like Paige and Fanni fighting out of jealousy in his own office.

But no matter what, the struggle between the two major factions had indeed formed, and with one side adopting a method that crossed the line, it had directly run over the other side.

"Did they lose?" Karen asked.

"Didn't they lose? Whether it is here at our headquarters or at the regional management office, this time at least half of the people will have to pack up their bedding and prepare to leave."

"Alright, they lost." Karen paused, then asked again, "Then did we win?"

"Nonsense, you call this not winning?"

"Where is the win?"

Speaking to this point, Karen suddenly opened his mouth halfway, lowered his head, and tightly gripped his own chest with his right hand.

Damn it, that feeling of hunger seemed to have come again.

Neo replied, "Bourne will become the new Chief Bishop."

Karen gritted his teeth and said, "But he will lose control over the garrison as well as those forces under the shadow. Even if the position of Chief Bishop is given to him, it is more like a consolation prize after being stripped of truly valuable things."

"You might become a director..."

"A director forever? I originally had a very bright future, but now it is gone. If nothing unexpected happens, hah, I will be just like my grandfather, sitting in only one position for the rest of my life."

"Wolfrun..." Neo found himself unable to continue.

"He is dead."

"Tsk tsk." Neo clicked his tongue and asked, "Then what exactly is his purpose in doing this?"

Cold sweat had already begun to break out on Karen's face, the hunger addiction continuously surging upward, but he still persisted in replying,

"He wants to use this kind of method to tell the Grand Priest..."

...

"He wants to tell me that York City has no factional struggles."

Grand Priest Norton spoke toward the void darkness ahead while playing with a fountain pen in his hand.

"Just moments ago, I summoned all the records concerning that Archbishop, and the conclusion I reached is that he was an excellent and responsible Archbishop; his duties were always flawlessly executed."

A voice emerged from the darkness, followed by the slow materialization of a colossal tortoise, its entire frame blanketed in armor-like scales, its sheer magnitude striking an astonishing figure.

In all likelihood, even if Augie, that Frost Dragon, were to reveal his true form, he would resemble nothing more than an earthworm before it.

Its silhouette had once graced the murals of the Church of Order, depicting a sacred war where the God of Order, grievously wounded, was borne aloft by this very creature, granted a fleeting moment to catch his breath.

Later, it became one of the several guardian divine beasts established during the foundational era of the Church of Order.

Of course, it had not survived continuously down to the present day; in truth, its lineage had spanned five generations, though each subsequent generation, while giving birth to a new self, would also inherit the memories of its predecessor.

The first-generation Baza held a position of supreme reverence, standing near the very pinnacle of the Church's hierarchy by virtue of meritorious deeds, so much so that the Church of Earth was willing to accept it as their eighth deity.

The second-generation Baza was active at the close of the previous era, flogged by Lord Tyranus for an transgression, suffering permanent damage to both flesh and soul, which directly caused the lineage of the following generations to grow progressively weaker.

As for the third and fourth generations, they had long since lost the glory of their ancestors, gradually relegated to the status of "tool beasts" within the Church of Order.

This was the fifth-generation Baza.

After Norton became the High Priest, he issued an decree to construct the temple he used for office work directly upon Baza's shell, though this was not manifested in a physical sense, making it difficult for ordinary men to discover that beneath the temple lay such a terrifying, monstrous entity.

Norton reached out, pointing a finger to his own brow: "I have no need for you to recite records to me; though I am the High Priest now, I remain fully aware of exactly what kind of man the Archbishop of each district truly is."

"You were touched."

Norton fell silent.

Baza continued: "Even a heart as unyielding as refined steel, capable of enduring the ruthless hammering of the ages, might yet develop a hairline fracture under the breath of a passing breeze at some random moment."

"I do not know if this is what it means to be touched," Norton said, "Before his death, Thyssen spoke at great length to me and left behind an extensive letter, but after reading it, I felt absolutely nothing."

"Because... Thyssen's standing was far superior to Wolfulen's; Thyssen was once your rival, and back when you entered the round table conference as an observer, he made his opposition explicitly clear.

No matter what Thyssen did, you would subconsciously perceive it as some sort of maneuver on his part.

Even if you understood that some of his words were true, even if you were well aware that his words deserved heed.

Yet, when you deliberately adopt a proper posture to listen, you have already raised all your defenses.

High Priest, you possess your own supreme pursuit, a grand objective to lead the Church of Order in forging a new era; you stand prepared to trample over all the fresh grass and green flowers that dare obstruct you, even if they are so vivid and so beautiful.

Wolfulen was neither flower, nor grass, nor even a tree; he was merely a fallen leaf that happened to drift down before you, pressing itself against the upper of your shoe."

"Are you reciting poetry, Baza?"

"Merely stating facts; you know that what I say is true; you are well aware of what kind of man Wolfulen was, and in his final moments, he must have felt regret, must have felt remorse...

You are worrying whether you, too, might face such a day in your own future."

"I will not regret."

"This is your virtue... but perhaps, it is also your flaw."

"Are you mocking me?"

"I dare not show disrespect to you; in truth, conversing with you is an affair of immense pressure, and each time I appear before you, my back and soul faintly throb with the pain of that ancient flogging.

Yet I dare not withhold my honest thoughts from you, for I know that any perfunctoriness in your presence would be deemed a far more unforgivable, supreme irreverence."

Norton spoke: "This is merely a trivial matter."

"Yes, though its nature is malignant, it is indeed a trivial matter; even if it is capable of stirring up a great tempest, you have long stood in a place where the wind can neither reach nor move you.

Yet it... has indeed blown upon you in another fashion.

I imagine you might be pondering whether Wolfulen's deliberate death before your eyes, aside from offering an accounting to you, to the Holy See, and to the Church, also contained a sort of... reminder and admonition directed at you?

An Archbishop of a single district possesses no authority to truly interfere with the genuine core operations of the Church, much less the authority to influence its grand political strategies, yet from his position outside the core circle, he saw things more clearly, and perhaps, understood them more profoundly.

He was an excellent Archbishop, carrying a touch of gentleness, a touch of shrewdness, capable of handling all facets with grace; had it not been for the lack of greater assistance and opportunity, he ought to have been promoted to the Dingle District, drawing closer to the core circle of the Church.

A man such as he, in the final moments of his life, chose the most radical method to purge the entire district...

High Priest, he was actually repenting to you."

Norton raised his eyes: "The tone of your words seems to be shifting."

"Speech is an art; if one wishes to give the finest expression to one's perspective, one cannot do without the necessary preamble.

In my view, he was not mocking you, nor was he using death as a means to remonstrate with you...

He was,

Agreeing with you!"

A black chair materialized behind High Priest Norton; he sat down, arms crossed over his chest as if his interest had been piqued, intending to listen seriously as Baza continued, yet inadvertently, his right hand came to rest over his heart, a flicker of fury swirling within his gaze, as though he were suppressing something.

"Is not the current state of the York City District the microcosm of the entire Church of Order? The Church of Order will continue to grow powerful, remaining powerful for a very, very long time, but its future will also follow the ancient path of the Church of Light, eventually marching toward annihilation, just like the laws summarized by those lunatics in the Church of Principles.

To deal with rotten flesh, the finest method is to use the sharpest blade to scrape it clean while one's body is still relatively young.

This rule cannot be applied to secular nations, for radical reforms might lead to a nation's disintegration and collapse.

But to the Church, it does not apply.

Because the Church is, by its very nature, an appendage built upon the foundation of God."

"Do you realize how much influence these words of yours will exert upon the subsequent handling of the York City District?"

"Do you refer to my words about Archbishop Wolfulen using his death to agree with and support you? These are matters you could likely deduce on your own in the time it takes to drink a cup of tea, without any need for me to voice them.

My existence, much like the existence of this grand temple upon my back, serves merely to save you a bit of thinking time."

"He not only gave me an accounting, gave the Church an accounting, but furthermore, he ingratiated himself with me."

"Yes, you are entirely correct; he was a child who committed an error yet chose to confess of his own accord, and paired with his smile, he leaves you not only lacking the heart to punish him, but even wishing to grant him a piece of candy.

Next, you will lightly dismiss this incident of extremely malignant nature in York City; that is precisely the... piece of candy he desired."

"Baza, I now understand why your ancestor was flogged by Tyranus; the wisdom of your clan easily causes you to cross the line unconsciously."

"No, I believe the reason my ancestor was flogged was that you foresaw the impending end of the previous era, the imminent fading of the gods, and realized that a Baza possessing a massive frame and terrifying wisdom would become an unstable element for the Church of Order, hence you flogged my ancestor ahead of time."

"Oh, is that so? It turns out he, too, would commit such a foolish act of... taking precautions in advance and severing his own arm."

"That was because the 'you' of that time happened to sit in that very position; without your final arrangements back then, the Church of Order... might have perished alongside the Church of Light long ago."

"He is he, and I am I."

"I am also I, and my ancestors are my ancestors, yet in many instances, my ancestors and I are indistinguishable from one another."

"You are a beast."

"Yes, your definition is correct; when you flogged my ancestor back then, you spoke these exact words as well."

"Heh," Norton waved his hand, "Withdraw."

"Yes, the beast takes its leave."

Baza's immense form dissolved back into the darkness.

"Sss..."

High Priest Norton took a deep breath, and within his eyes, another gaze began to circulate; behind him, a faint silhouette even coalesced into form—this figure held two books in its left hand, namely the "Regulations of Order" and the "Light of Order," while its right hand held aloft a scepter, seemingly gazing out toward the distant future beyond endless epochs.

"I have said before, I am I, and you are you, Tyranus; I have never acknowledged myself as any son of God, nor do I consider myself your successor. I am merely myself, the orphan—Norton.

As my position within the Church grows ever higher, I can sense that restless nature belonging to you becoming increasingly distinct."

"I know you have grown lonely,

but I am truly sorry,

for even if I have tired of this game,

as long as I sit in this chair for a single day,

you,

still lack the right to take a seat at the table!"

A black dagger materialized within Norton's palm, the artifact known as the Eternal Sigh.

In the next instant,

the dagger plunged directly into Norton's chest; the shadow behind him and the foreign gaze within his eyes began to quickly dissipate as the terrifying, agonizing pain forced him to grit his teeth, his expression twisting, utterly stripping away his majestic image as the High Priest.

Deep within the dungeons of the Whiplash of Order Headquarters in distant York City, Karen conjured a flame of holy light in his palm and struck it into his own chest; the searing of his soul stripped Karen of all decorum, leaving his entire body coiled in agony.

Norton (Karen),

let loose a muffled roar suppressed to the absolute limit:

"Get the hell out!"