Chapter 699: Assassin

Chapter 699: The Assassin

Inside the colossal subterranean cavern, an altar carved with mysterious runes was turning slowly, grand and solemn.

At the very peak of the altar floated a chessboard, a relic of gladiatorial chess that had been popular in the previous era but had long since lost its lineage, a divine artifact belonging to Yali Loran, the Goddess of Infatuation.

Goddess Yali Loran was not a main deity, occupying the lower reaches of the divine hierarchy, nor had she established a church of her own; at the end of the previous era, she was designated a heretical deity by the God of Order and suppressed by the forces of Order.

According to the records in "The Light of Order," Yali Loran had attempted to bewitch a certain "lord" within the Order faction, scheming to make him forsake the God of Order, but the plot ultimately failed.

As for who this "lord" was—whether one of the four great retainers of the God of Order, one of the twelve Knights of Order, or another deity aligned with the Order faction at the time—it remained unknown.

This was not an intentional concealment to protect the lord's reputation, but rather because it had never been made public at the time and had always remained a secret.

Some bolder souls speculated that the one the Goddess of Infatuation had attempted to seduce was none other than the God of Order himself.

A similar account existed in the mythological narratives of the Moon God Church, which claimed that the God of Order had indeed been bewitched, and that Artemis, the Moon Goddess, had offered her purest tears to help him dissolve the enchantment.

Nowadays, as the Moon God Church leaned ever more heavily on its relationship with the Church of Order, the revisions to their respective mythological frameworks, especially on the Moon God Church's side, were bound to become more pronounced; in a few years, the newest edition of the Moon God Church's chronicles would surely incorporate more "interactions" between the Moon Goddess and the God of Order from the previous era.

Karen, having personally attended a meeting regarding the revision of mythological narratives, had once lamented: when the descendants prosper, they can even help their ancestors find lovers.

Yet Karen, who had glimpsed the truth, knew very well that no such ambiguity existed between the God of Order and the Moon Goddess; when it came to matters of emotion, the God of Order had always been utterly "ruthless."

After all, even Ankara... was not a daughter born through conventional means.

As for the tears of the Moon Goddess Artemis dissolving the bewitchment infusing the God of Order—well, if the Moon Goddess's tears were truly effective, Karen's position would probably lead him to believe that the God of Order had beaten the Moon Goddess until she cried and then taken them.

This chessboard of Yali Loran's could lock away a person's essence, energy, and spirit within each of its squares and pieces, allowing her to enter the board for her own pleasure whenever she desired.

It could be said that this was a divine artifact combining multiple regular elements into one: sealing, confinement, imprisonment, spirit, soul, bewitchment, and space.

However, a wide variety of functions sometimes meant a lack of specialization, so during the previous era, this artifact was not particularly illustrious and was even considered a lowest-tier divine artifact.

Yet in this era where the gods did not appear, a highly intact divine artifact possessed far greater value.

The chessboard was exceptionally well-preserved, and its characteristics happened to suit the present circumstances perfectly; thus, it was tasked with drawing and suppressing the entire altar, and though situated at the very top, it served the function of "holding the bottom."

In addition, two other divine artifacts were floating around the altar, both of them books.

These two books were also divine artifacts, originally the research notes of two branch gods of the Principle Church before they achieved godhood, which were subsequently nourished by their divine sparks and evolved into artifacts.

One directed inward and the other outward, they respectively performed "adjustments and corrections."

Their function was somewhat akin to the Guman family's inherited [Rubik's Cube Key], but more high-end than the [Rubik's Cube Key] and unconstrained by the user's own configuration; they could analyze and resolve issues on their own, ensuring that this extremely complex altar could operate smoothly.

Below the altar, facing the four cardinal directions, stood four statues: a crystal priest, a golden warrior, a black stone sorcerer, and a silver summoner.

These four statues all originated from the Principle Church, products created by the ancient sages of that church who had sealed the abilities of a powerful master of a specific profession inside them, making them exceedingly precious;

In this era, even the Principle Church itself no longer possessed the ability to manufacture them anew, and it was difficult to even repair them when they suffered wear and tear.

Around the periphery of the altar, hundreds of priests wearing the holy robes of the Principle Church were working at their posts, with a small number of priests in Order robes weaving among them, though their proportion was not high.

Evidently, in terms of experimental manipulation, the Principle Church remained dominant, but along the outer ring of the cavern, a large number of Order priests were responsible for security; though they wore holy robes, special-grade cold weapons hung from their waists.

Clearly, they did not belong to the local priesthood of York City, nor did they have any connection to the garrison; instead, they had been temporarily reassigned from the "pioneering zones," possessing immense combat experience and differing vastly from the Order priests who worked in traditional dioceses.

It had to be said that the deployment of personnel here perfectly reflected the relationship dynamics between the Church of Order and the Principle Church: the Principle Church was responsible for the technical side, while the Church of Order was responsible for the military side.

On a projecting platform above the cavern stood two elderly priests, one in Order robes and the other in Principle robes.

They were the executors of this final experiment, effectively the commander and deputy commander-in-chief.

"Is everything ready?"

"Everything is ready."

"What are we waiting for?"

"We are waiting for Mr. Luther to die a natural death."

"We cannot intervene?"

"The probability of success was already quite low to begin with, and if we add a direct intervention, the success rate would truly border on zero. Rest assured, the finest circle of diviners within our church has collectively performed a divination; it will happen within a day or two, he will die of a sudden accident."

"I don't believe in divination."

"The divination of our Principle Church is not the same thing as the prophecies of the Wall Church. Mr. Luther intends to instigate collective marches and demonstrations across all major cities in Wien, which is not something the Wien imperial government can tolerate.

Even if the civilian racists do not take action, the government will arrange for 'racists' to assassinate him. In short, we cannot actively step forward to kill him ourselves."

"The experiment is at its final stage, and so many resources have already been poured into it. I want a truthful answer from your mouth: what percentage is the success rate?"

"This denominator isn't quite appropriate."

...

"I originally thought you would refuse this suggestion of mine," Neo said, rubbing his "new face." "But you actually agreed without hesitation, wasting all the persuasive arguments I had prepared in my head."

"Why should I refuse?" Karen was also looking at his new reflection in the mirror, which appeared more mature than his original self, resembling a city white-collar worker.

"A higher-level independent department is conducting a secret experiment. By rights, we shouldn't meddle. I only said I wanted to find an opportunity for a close encounter with Mr. Luther to satisfy my curiosity and add a little sense of immersion to the upcoming assassination."

"I know."

"It's truly rare for you to be willing to fool around with me like this."

"Fooling around?" Karen shook his head. "For actions suspected of violating the "Regulations of Order," the Whip of Order inherently possesses the authority to investigate. And do not forget, the positioning of the Whip of Order is to wipe away the dust upon Order; it was meant for internal oversight from the very beginning."

"Your understanding and application of the "Regulations of Order" are becoming increasingly flexible; it seems no matter what you do, you can always use it as a foundation."

"Yes, this is what Lord Thyssen taught me."

"It seems I must learn from you. In the future, whenever I come across something interesting or my hands get itchy, I'll flip through the "Regulations of Order." If I can't find it in the "Regulations of Order," I'll look through the "Age of Light." If it's still not there, I'll leaf through the "Ancestor's Notes." There's bound to be one clause that suits me."

"Let's go."

Donning masks to disguise themselves with new identities, Karen and Neo walked straight toward the hotel where Mr. Luther was staying. Outside the hotel doors and within the lobby, quite a few of his supporters were still gathered, waiting for the tour starting tomorrow.

However, right at the hotel entrance, both Karen and Neo noticed a man who looked somewhat flustered, holding a cigarette in his mouth and taking deep drags from it.

He was an ordinary man, lean, with a vacant gaze, and his hair was not purple.

Although non-purple-haired individuals made up a significant portion of Mr. Luther's supporters, it was obvious from his demeanor and aura that he was not one of them.

Furthermore, behind him, two plainclothes priests were following.

The man threw down his cigarette butt and turned to leave; the plainclothes priests stopped their surveillance after following him to the end of the street.

"Is it him?"

"Just an ordinary racist. He won't kill anyone. No need to follow further."

Lately, they had been searching for the assassin who would launch the attack in order to deploy controls in advance—not to prevent the assassination from happening, but to precisely grasp the exact timing of it.

"I'll go keep an eye on that guy," Neo said, suddenly stopping his pace.

"You're not going to see Mr. Luther anymore?"

"Not going. I have no interest in his propositions anyway, but I can bet you that the fellow just now is very likely the real assassin. Those priests are priests after all; they have been detached from ordinary human society for too long to taste the true flavor of things."

"As you wish."

"Heh, then we'll act separately."

Neo left, while Karen continued walking inside, soon stopped by Mr. Luther's supporters in the lobby.

Karen pulled out a "press card" and said, "Hello, I am Jens, a reporter for the "Daily Freedom." I am here to interview Mr. Luther."

The press credentials had been procured by Neo through a remarkably simple method: he had merely found a couple of fellows who bore the semblance of journalists, knocked them senseless, and then forged the photographs upon the documents. He had not even required specialized instruments, effecting the alterations by the sheer utility of his own fingernails.

"Mr. Journalist, pray wait a moment."

After a brief delay, a purple-haired individual attired in a formal suit descended: "Mr. Jaynes, if you would be so kind as to follow me."

Encountering no further impediments, Karen succeeded effortlessly in meeting Mr. Luther within the guest quarters.

Mr. Luther motioned for the others to withdraw outside, choosing to grant Karen his interview in solitude.

The substance of the interview was by no means intricate, bordering indeed upon the cliché; after all, Karen perused the newspapers with frequency, and was thus capable of posing queries that Mr. Luther found eminently manageable to answer.

The encounter felt less like a journalistic inquiry and more akin to a rote recitation.

Nevertheless, Karen remained acutely sensible of the ferocious vitality radiating from the civil rights advocate before him.

Judging by the lines etched about the corners of his eyes, the man had likely enjoyed scant repose of late, yet within his gaze there burned an unceasing spiritual vigor. He was a man who seemed eternally capable of instilling martial spirit and hope into those around him.

He was a fighter.

The routine interview having reached its conclusion, Karen closed his notebook. It should have been time to conclude the session with a few casual inquiries, but for reasons unknown, it was Mr. Luther who spoke first.

He walked over to the casement, threw it open to admit the buffeting of the cold wind from without, and inquired:

"Mr. Jaynes, do you believe our movement can succeed?"

"Do you wish to hear the comforting lie, or the truth?"

"The truth, naturally."

Karen offered a nod and replied, "I do not believe you will succeed."

"Oh? And why is that? From our brief acquaintance, I am certain you are no racist, Mr. Jaynes."

"I am not a racist, but those in power are. Were your adversary myself, the matter would instead be quite easily resolved."

"Mm?"

"You hope, through the amendment of laws and the passage of legislation, to forge the legitimate rights of the purple-haired race within Wien. Yet this is Wien after all; it is an empire, a nation established by the Maclai people, gestated and developed from an island culture."

"True, I am well aware of the sheer magnitude of the practical hardships we must confront to realize this ambition. But we shall not recoil because it is difficult."

"Forgive me, but that with which I disagree is not the difficulty, but rather the path you have chosen to overcome it."

"The path?"

Mr. Luther sat down with an expression of profound gravity, for a disagreement regarding his path was something he found impossible to brook.

"Yes, Mr. Luther. To my eyes, you are attempting to use the methods of a civilized gentleman to negotiate with a band of brigands who are thieves to their very marrow and who adhere to a culture of plunder.

Such negotiations are destined never to yield the outcome you desire. Indeed, it may well be that the more strenuously you exert yourself, the further you drift from your goal."

"Heh, yet as things stand, our activities have already extracted concessions from them."

"That is because brigands excel above all else at dressing themselves as civilized men. They adorn themselves with plundered wealth, and then play cards with you at a 'civilized' table of their own design. The moment you choose to play by these rules, you are doomed to fall into their rhythm."

"I cannot agree with your perspective, Mr. Jaynes. In your view, must we resort solely to violent means to secure our legitimate and equal status? You must realize how many lives would be forfeit as a consequence of such actions!"

Karen shook his head and answered, "I merely disagree with your path; I possess no capacity to offer you a new one. Perhaps what you are doing now is, relatively speaking, the optimal choice."

"Ah..." Luther had not anticipated Karen capitulating so readily, and he immediately realized the other man was engaging in a sincere dialogue, recognizing that he himself had grown overly passionate. "My apologies, Mr. Jaynes, I lost composure just now."

"I understand you perfectly; the burden you bear is indeed immense."

"Mr. Jaynes, do you know? I have a dream..."

Mr. Luther proceeded to depict for Karen the blueprint of his dreamt-of future, wherein the purple-haired people might possess equal rights and live with dignity in this land, where the children of the Maclai and the children of the purple-haired might frolic together, unsevered by the color of their hair.

Having concluded his narration, Mr. Luther smiled and said, "I hope to see this dream descend into reality within my lifetime. What say you?"

"Prejudice within statutory regulations is easily amended, but prejudice within the human heart is fiercely difficult to alter. Perhaps in the future a purple-haired individual may become a celebrity, a parliamentarian, or even the Prime Minister of Wien... yet the fundamental living condition of the populace will, in truth, have altered but little."

"Your outlook is far too pessimistic, Mr. Jaynes. I believe you ought to let a little more sunshine into your disposition."

"I accept your counsel, and I wish you good health."

"Thank you, and the same to you, Mr. Journalist. Conversing with you has afforded me great pleasure. Most particularly, these final words you shared make me feel you are distinct from other reporters; you are a man of thought. Perhaps I might invite you to become my assistant. What do you think?"

"Regrettably, I have no personal inclination to truly involve myself."

"Ah, that is a pity indeed. Yet I trust I shall see you again in the future, shall I not, Mr. Jaynes?"

"I, too, hope we may meet again."

...

Neo sat perched upon the back of the sofa, a glass of beer freshly retrieved from the icebox held in his hand, sipping it mouthful by mouthful. At the round table in the parlor, three individuals sat gathered, entirely oblivious to the presence of so brazen an eavesdropper.

The man who had previously followed them here was now seated upon a chair, facing a document.

The two men beside him were engaged in persuasion.

"Once the deed is done, you will immediately be placed under arrest by our operatives. At that juncture, our people will escort you into the detention house. Pray believe us, you will receive the most flawless protection there. We shall fulfill every condition we promised you. After the furor subsides, we will arrange your fictitious death within the prison and actually settle you abroad to live out your days. You can purchase a grand manor in the imperial colonies, take seven or eight concubines, and spend an affluent life. Ah, even I cannot help but envy you."

Neo thought: Then why don't you go commit the assassination yourself?

"Yes, all that is required of you is to follow the protocol we have laid out for you, and face the judge and the journalists to deliver your exposition once the deed is accomplished. Your mother was a supporter of Mr. Luther; she not only contributed her family estate to his cause, but even became his mistress, ultimately choosing suicide after being abandoned by him."

Hearing this, Neo cast a glance at the photograph hanging upon the parlor wall, depicting a mother with a head full of white hair and a face lined with wrinkles... a mistress?

Alas, Mr. Luther truly had it not easy in his campaign for the equal rights of the purple-haired people.

The man took up the pen, appended his signature, and then inquired, "Where is my firearm? You cannot expect me to execute an assassination with a blade; he is protected by so many supporters surrounding him."

"We have brought your weapon of assassination."

A leather bag was unfastened, revealing a shotgun resting within.

The man expressed his astonishment: "You expect me to use this?"

"Indeed. You once served in the Imperial Army; is it not entirely natural for you to have fashioned a double-barreled shotgun using black powder as propellant by your own hand?"