Chapter 694: Tomb!

Chapter 694: Tomb!

"Ha, you lose again!"

Judia raised her chin, looking down like a conqueror at Borge, whom she had just knocked to the ground.

"Yes, I lost."

Borge stood up, first brushing the dust off his clothes, then checking the frostbite on his arms.

He was already long accustomed to losing to the young girl before him, a familiar, bitter smile hanging on his face.

For the past six months or so, the elderly Patriarch Anderson had been deeply depressed about one thing: though the emergence of the young master of the Immeules family had breathed new life into the once-decaying Allen Manor, and everything was now progressing in a wonderful direction with family members gaining access to cultivation resources far superior to those of the past... the bloodline talent of the family members was truly not something that could be mended overnight.

Especially every time he looked at that black cat—the ancestor whose portrait was allowed to hang in the study—Old Anderson felt a profound sense of shame.

How high-spirited and dashing the ancestor had been in his day, and how grand the family had been back then.

Old Anderson had once read the diary of a male ancestor from that same era. In that day's entry, that male ancestor had written a line filled with immense self-reproach:

"Today was the core family council to discuss the future development plans of the family. I was not qualified to participate because only members of Level 6 or above in the family's belief system are permitted into the meeting room. Alas, forty years old and I am still stuck at Level 5, unable to break through. I am truly a piece of trash."

Only those above Level 6 could attend the core family council, and back then, this Level 5 ancestor had lamented in his diary that he was trash.

In the past, Old Anderson would often sigh with emotion; if only this ancestor could have lived another two hundred years, he would have discovered that a Level 5 could directly become the Patriarch.

After all, before Karen came to Allen Manor, the highest-ranking member among the entire lineage in the manor was only at Level 3, trembling in fear before the backlash of a former servant family.

Although his granddaughter, Eunice, had awakened the family's belief system at the cost of being lethargic for half a year, waking up directly at Level 5, Old Anderson did not view Eunice as a pure member of the "Allen" clan now. Once married, her surname would be changed to "Immeules."

Furthermore, his granddaughter did not seem to care much about cultivation. Despite possessing exceptional talent, she preferred to spend her time on those "meaningless" matters.

Yet Old Anderson dared not say much about this. After all, his granddaughter's "family mission" was accomplished flawlessly. For the current Allen Manor, the most important task was to ensure "Master Karen" visited home frequently.

Thus

"Family members still require discipline when discipline is due."

"Yes, Young Master, I understand." Old Anderson stood beside Karen by the French window, having witnessed the entire scene that had just unfolded below.

Cold sweat had already beaded on the old patriarch's forehead, yet he did not dare wipe it away, for this was the first time Karen had expressed dissatisfaction with the estate.

"I will have Eunice gradually take over—"

"No need," Karen cut him off directly. "Unless she requests it herself, let her live according to her own wishes."

"Yes, Young Master."

"Knock, knock..." Alfred arrived.

Old Anderson immediately excused himself, and the moment he stepped out the door, he pulled out his handkerchief and began wiping his sweat furiously.

"Young Master, District Chief Sousse will officially step down the day after tomorrow, and he does not plan to hold a farewell banquet."

"By 'does not plan to hold,' do you mean a simple, small gathering instead?"

"Yes, exactly. When the District Chief's secretary communicated with me, he conveyed the Chief's wishes; he wants to eat a meal cooked by your own hands one last time."

"I understand."

Sousse wanted a quiet departure, gathering in a small circle before he left to make his final farewells.

Karen turned around, walked over to the sofa, and sat down. "Then we shall return tomorrow."

Vacation time was always fleeting.

"Aside from this, there are three other matters your subordinate needs to report. First, the civil war within the Desert God Sect has officially begun. Bloody confrontations have erupted across multiple holy lands, with factions slaughtering one another as heretics. The scale is steadily expanding.

Chief Byrne’s adjutant conveyed the Chief’s sentiments to me. He mentioned that the Order might form a mediation delegation to intervene and arbitrate. If our district receives a quota for the delegation, Chief Byrne wishes to recommend you, Young Master."

"Mm."

Karen nodded.

Whenever there was a good opportunity, Byrne would think of him. This was because Karen was still young and possessed the potential to break through his bottlenecks, whereas Byrne himself was advanced in years and held no further hope for advancement in his position.

Of course, this kind of favor required a reciprocal gesture from Karen, which was to ensure the continued, bound cooperation between the Whip of Order and the Regional Management Office.

"The second matter is a message from Richard. Chief Inquisitor Gaspoir herself has already arrived in York City."

"So soon?" Karen was somewhat surprised. Sousse had not even officially stepped down yet; a successor should not be arriving in such a hurry at this juncture. It would embarrass Sousse and make her own ambitions look rather unseemly.

Reasonably speaking, since Sousse was leaving the day after tomorrow, it would be most appropriate for Chief Inquisitor Gaspoir to arrive and take office about three days after that.

"Yes, your subordinate also found it quite swift. Logically, Chief Inquisitor Gaspoir should not have made such an abrupt move, so I believe her early arrival must be on account of Son of God Mavalio."

Karen lightly tapped the handle of his teacup a few times with his fingertips and said, "Perhaps she is intentionally using this method to tell me, to tell Byrne, and to tell the existing system we have established, that she is merely here to romance and prepare for marriage, with no intention of vying for power."

"The Young Master is wise; that is indeed a possibility."

"Still, who can say for sure?" Karen shook his head. "After all, she does not seem like someone who would contentedly marry and simply enjoy domestic life. Perhaps she is brewing a series of maneuvers to disrupt the tacit arrangements we previously made with Sousse."

"Young Master, the third matter is that your university admission notice has arrived. Within the next two weeks, you must proceed to the University of the Church of Order in the Dingle District to complete your enrollment procedures.

However, since you are enrolling while holding an active post, you only need to complete a certain number of credit hours after registration. Furthermore, the required hours are not lengthy, so your time will be quite flexible."

"Mm, I think I ought to finish the registration procedures before Gaspoir officially assumes her post."

"Yes, that way, when you formally meet Chief Inquisitor Gaspoir, you can address her as 'Senior Apprentice-Sister.'"

This was not done to flatter her, but rather as a political gesture, signaling that Karen had no desire to clash with her and was even willing to proactively align himself with the faction behind her.

Karen did not mind being labeled as part of a faction, because he himself was already a major label. Shifting camps was merely a means to reduce pressure and confrontation, buying time for growth.

"Young Master, there is one more minor detail. Salaina, the Son of God of the Luna Sect, has sent an inquiry regarding the treatment of the Luna Sect’s exchange priests."

Evidently, Salaina had also noticed that whether it was living accommodations, cultivation resources, or work assignments, this batch of young Luna Sect priests was being clearly suppressed.

The Dark Moon Warriors had already been integrated into various Whip of Order squads to execute missions, whereas these young priests of the Luna Sect had been assigned to various grassroots departments to handle menial chores—some were even sent to man the information desk in the first-floor lobby of the Educational Affairs Building.

"Has this month's payment come in?" Karen asked.

"It has. She dares not stop it; she fears that if she does, their treatment will deteriorate even further."

"We do not need to reply to her inquiry ourselves. Let Chief Inquisitor Gaspoir handle the response once she officially takes office. After all, the profits from this are shared between the upper and lower echelons."

Karen had not monopolized this income; it had been laundered into the headquarters' welfare system. Gaspoir could hardly cut everyone's benefits the moment she took office.

"Has that matter been scheduled?" Karen asked.

"The appointment was successful. Over at Eisley’s parents' side, the surgery can be performed at any time. Muri brought the surgical plan over today, and your subordinate has already conducted a preliminary review."

"Are there any findings from your review?"

"Eisley’s parents thoughtfully highlighted several difficulties and risk points of the operation, and they hope we can submit a request to the higher-ups to mobilize higher-level researchers, technicians, and physicians to assist with the surgery.

However, this would inevitably pose a risk of exposing you during the procedure, Young Master. We cannot control those high-level researchers and technicians, and their eyes might see through our concealment.

Therefore, your subordinate suggests that you summon Loya sometime soon. The sealed space contains too many divine artifacts and artifact spirits, some of which have survived from ancient eras. If Loya can find an artifact spirit with the right expertise, having them adjust and optimize the plan should yield much better results."

"I will summon Loya tonight."

Karen did not wish to delay.

"Only, Young Master, no matter how much we upgrade the configuration for the surgery, the risks remain. And the symbiotic covenant involves your very life."

Alfred still wanted to offer a word of caution.

Karen shook his head

and said,

"But Purr cannot wait any longer... to change back into a human."

...

Because the dominant hue of the robes of Order was black, wearing them inevitably imparted a cold and solemn impression. Yet there were some people in this world whose aura had absolutely nothing to do with what they wore;

Mavalio felt that his fiancée was precisely that kind of person.

A white shirt, a coffee-colored skirt that fell below the knees, hair let down, bracelets, earrings, and even lipstick applied—it ought to have been the kind of exquisite attire worn by an urban office worker that inspired romantic fancy, yet it still exuded nothing but an icy chill.

It was like the same evening gown: worn by one person, it looked like a wedding reception host; worn by another, it looked like a funeral director.

Gaspoir sat on the sofa, flipping through the thick stack of documents before her, which recorded the progress of various works in the York City District over the past year.

Mavalio sat on a chair opposite the sofa, his legs pressed tightly together, his hands resting on his knees. Every now and then, he would swallow hard, emitting a nervous clearing of his throat—the very picture of an errant schoolboy sitting broad-sided and anxious before his homeroom teacher.

His fiancée had simply arrived like this, appearing at his lodgings, knocking, entering, sitting down, and working, without uttering a single word to him throughout the entire process.

Mavalio wished he could contact his only good friend, Karen, to come and rescue him. Even if they discussed work—no, even if they started arguing or fighting right now over the distribution of authority, it would be vastly better than sitting here alone enduring this silent treatment.

In short, he was suffering immensely right now. He felt less like a Son of God and more like a son.

When dinner time arrived, Gaspoir pulled two bottles of energy potion from her pocket. She placed one opposite her, uncapped the other herself, downed it in a single gulp, and continued her preparatory work.

Mavalio thought: *Damn it, does she usually skip the entire process of eating as well!*

After sitting for another hour, Mavalio finally could not take it anymore. He stood up and said,

"I'm going to sleep."

His department was still in the process of being established, so he temporarily had no work to keep him busy.

Gaspoir gave no reaction.

"Don't you have a place to stay?" Mavaryo asked.

Gaspar frowned slightly, clearly displeased at having her work interrupted, as she raised her head to look at Mavaryo.

Mavaryo's heart skipped a beat, and an image immediately flashed across his mind—a black python coiled up, looking down upon a tiny white mouse.

Most of Karen's impressions of Chief Inquisitor Gaspar came from their interactions in the tribunal, and perhaps even Karen himself didn't realize that the Gaspar in the courtroom was already her most "amiable" side in life.

"Go to sleep."

"Aren't you going out?" Mavaryo asked.

"I am your fiancée, and since I have come here, I should stay with you; staying anywhere else would reflect poorly on us."

"I can't sleep with you here."

Mavaryo believed that when he walked into the bedroom to sleep and saw the light filtering in from the living room, he would definitely feel as though his mother were still working hard for the family's livelihood while he rested.

"We are only engaged, not married, and premarital pregnancy would also reflect poorly on you."

"What on earth are you talking about!"

Did she interpret it as him wanting to sleep with her!

"After we marry, we need to have a child as quickly as possible. I will pre-order a constant-temperature incubation syringe. When the time comes, you can produce it and draw it out yourself, and I will inject it at my convenience while I work.

This way, it won't interfere with my work, and the efficiency will be high."

Mavaryo: "..."

The Son of God instantly recalled the words Karen had spoken to him: "How could a pig farm ever let premium bloodlines escape."

Oh, Karen, you never expected this, did you? I've been stripped of even the most basic rights of a breeding boar; she actually wants me to use a syringe?

The Son of God's anger was thoroughly stoked, for he would never allow his dignity as the Son of God to be trampled upon in such a manner;

But just as he was about to say something more direct and unpleasant, he remembered Karen's other words: "Perhaps, she is even more repulsed by this marriage than you are."

"Hehehe..."

Mavaryo began to laugh.

Gaspar looked at him with a hint of confusion.

"Being engaged to me has wronged you. I know you probably look down on me, but neither you nor I can possibly request to call off the engagement, can we?"

"Yes, that is correct."

"How about this: in public, we act together as a betrothed couple, and after we marry, we will present the image of a formal husband and wife. At home, we will not interfere with each other's work and career. As you know, once my department is established, I will be very busy too."

"And then?"

"I have only one requirement. I do not need you to treat me with the deference due to the Son of God, nor, of course, do I need you to treat me with the posture of a wife toward a husband. But since we are forced to live under the same roof, we should at least maintain the basic respect found between co-renting roommates."

"I understand what you mean, and I apologize for my attitude just now." Gaspar stood up and gave a half-bow in apology.

"I also apologize for my attitude from the moment you walked in until now." Mavaryo bowed in return.

"Well, I shall go to sleep first. The guest room is at the very back, and that will be your room from now on."

"All right."

Mavaryo breathed a long sigh of relief and walked toward his bedroom. As he pushed the door open to enter, he heard words coming from the living room behind him:

"Good night."

Mavaryo turned his head and looked at her as she kept her head down, working. Suddenly, she seemed somewhat different from before, possessing a subtle, refined elegance.

Stepping into the bedroom and closing the door, Mavaryo slapped his own forehead:

"Damn it, I'm starting to hallucinate."

But very soon, Mavaryo discovered this was no hallucination. His eyes began to glaze over with white, a gold-trimmed starburst pattern appeared beneath his feet, and a halo of light radiated from his body.

When he had first accepted the inheritance, he had dreamed almost every night during that period, constantly digesting the memory fragments of that "Lord." Later, it had virtually ceased, but now, he had actually triggered a new occurrence, allowing him to receive another fragment of that "Lord's" message.

It was a fragment of sound, a conversation between two people:

"How does married life feel?"

"Tyrannus, do you want to hear the truth?"

"Tell me."

"Our God awakened me, allowing me to revive and see this world again; after marriage, I feel as though I have lain back down into a grave."