Chapter 706: Piaget's Prophecy!

Chapter 706: Piaget’s Prophecy!

Hearing this, Kratos and Marina finally understood. The two of them immediately stood up and vacated their seats, while the others on both sides shifted over in sequence.

Cullen turned around, faced the rostrum, and sat down.

Once he took his seat, the group of people who had been standing also sat down in unison.

There was no slogan, no command, yet their movements were perfectly synchronized.

When paired with Joses’s previous remark—"You chose your own direct subordinates as volunteers"—the atmosphere and general feeling shifted instantly.

It was the transition from "Charge!" to "Follow me!"

This was a form of tragic heroism, and even more so, an act of sheer openness; it embodied true selflessness and fearlessness.

At this moment, every gaze in the conference hall, including those through the communication arrays, converged entirely upon this spot.

Cullen’s status was completely different from that of the four "experts." Those four were merely students representing their respective mentors, who, though prestigious in status, had essentially retired.

Cullen, however, was the current Director of the Enforcement Department of the Whip of Order in the York City Region. Within the hierarchy of the Whip of Order, the Director of the Enforcement Department was, by default, ranked first among the sequence of directors at every level.

Most importantly, Cullen was young. The feats and events tied to his past had forcibly "blemished" his youth, creating a tacit set of shackles that constrained his prospects for further advancement.

But at this very moment, those constraints were rendered entirely obsolete.

After all, youthful arrogance and youthful devotion were two utterly distinct concepts.

Political influence was an invisible, intangible thing that nonetheless truly existed. It was not to say that one could never climb upward without the backing and shelter of a faction or factional group, but if they unanimously resisted you, the probability was high that you would never rise again.

They would fight among themselves, yet they would conventionally maintain the stability of the chessboard, ensuring that no piece which disobeyed the rules could ascend.

Bern was like this, and Cullen, too, was like this.

It was only that Bern was advanced in years, and for him, rather than taking some high-ranking post in the Dingle Region, it was far better to remain as the Regional Chief, holding more practical power to get things done.

But Cullen was young.

Therefore, when his young self chose to step forward in this manner, and to stand at the very front of the line, this single act was enough to completely cancel out all past negativity.

Ideologies could differ, political stances could differ, and future plans could differ... but who could reject a person willing to sacrifice their own interests to actively contribute to the greater good?

You could argue with him until you were red in the face, or even come close to blows, but you could never truly loathe him.

Everything in the past was turned over like a blank page at this moment, and his personal image was redefined.

When he first received the list and saw "Cullen" written on the very first line, Bern himself had been shocked. He had not expected Cullen to do this, and even felt a faint tinge of regret, wondering if the flock of crows he had revealed upon opening his office door that day had given the young man too great a shock.

Yet Bern did not worry about whether Cullen would make it out alive, nor did he worry about whether Cullen, even if he did emerge, could continue to work after being contaminated.

Bern was a realist and a pragmatist; he would not spend too much time pondering meaningless matters. Instead, he immediately made up his mind to look on the bright side and first pave a new path for Cullen.

It just so happened that Joses, who sat beside him, had spent almost his entire life immersed in scientific research. When it came to scheming and manipulation, Joses truly wasn’t fit to carry Bern's shoes. Bern had casually dug a pit, and Joses had foolishly jumped right in.

Originally, Bern had arranged for a trusted bishop to deliver the "speech," but with an outsider doing the work for them, the effect was naturally much better.

Joses’s face turned red, half from anger, knowing he had been toyed with by the Chief Bishop, and half from shame. Yes, once he realized that Cullen would personally lead the team inside, the resentment caused by Cullen’s disrespect toward him the previous night vanished instantly, replaced instead by a deep self-reproach for his own behavior.

He sat back down and lowered his head, comforted by the fact that no reporters were present today.

Nonetheless, this piece of news would eventually spread. Although everyone’s loyalty to Order was equal when signing up, those at the top usually considered cost-effectiveness when choosing volunteers. Yet the York City Region had clearly not done so this time.

The meeting commenced.

First came the briefing on the situation, informing everyone of what had occurred, followed by an introduction to the solution.

In short, regarding this matter, the God of Order did indeed fulfill its promise: I am asking you to die, but I will let you die with a clear mind.

The final segment of the meeting was a tribute to the volunteer team. Lord Kumut, the head of the incident handling group, took the volunteer list from Bern and began to read it aloud, name by name.

Every volunteer whose name was called would stand up to receive applause.

The last name called was Cullen.

This was because the list Bern had handed to Lord Kumut was a second copy he had transcribed on the fly, deliberately moving Cullen from the first line to the very last.

One must not underestimate this slight change in positioning, nor think such a small trick insignificant. One had to realize how many eyes were currently fixed on this meeting through the communication arrays. Deepening the impression by a single point now would yield tenfold leniency in the future.

The stars at the Wayne Film Festival who deliberately tripped to prolong their time on the red carpet did so merely to get a few more photographs.

Before a meeting started, the seating arrangement seemed like a trivial matter, yet it always forced the organizers to be cautious to the extreme.

It could only be said that for the sake of Cullen’s future, Bern had truly put his heart and soul into it.

When Cullen stood up, the applause was at its most thunderous.

With a single glance from Bern, several senior clergymen sitting below stood up one after another. This movement prompted even more people down below to follow suit, and seeing others rise, the rest of the room stood up as well.

In a chain reaction, bishops sitting on the edges of the rostrum stood up, Bern stood up, and the others, feeling embarrassed to remain seated, rose too. The entire conference hall was standing, applauding for Cullen.

In truth, it wasn’t entirely for Cullen alone; it was a show of respect to this entire batch of volunteers. However, as the last person to stand, and being the highest-ranking and most watched figure, Cullen essentially reaped the collective dividend of the volunteer group.

Ordinary believers, clergymen, and even those high-and-mighty lords could not remember too many names. The great sacrifice of a group of people would ultimately have to be pinned onto a specific representative.

Therefore, this great act of devotion would eventually form a cognitive memory label. Whenever this matter was brought up in the future, it would be replaced by a single person's name, and that would be the young Director Cullen.

The collective glory condensed onto a single individual... the value this added to that person was immeasurable.

Cullen had not intended for things to turn out this way. He could say with a clear conscience that when he put his own name down, it was purely out of public duty.

If he had to admit to a shred of selfishness, it was probably just that he didn’t want to be outdone by the God of Order.

But he was merely the actor, whereas Bern was the director.

When the director trained the spotlight on you and deliberately gave you a close-up, you couldn’t loudly disrupt the show; you could only cooperate with the performance, while silently reminding yourself in your heart to bring as many of them back safely as possible.

The meeting concluded amidst a warm atmosphere.

Next, the volunteer team would be arranged for professional training, without a single moment of rest.

Inside a small, private deliberation hall, the twenty-four individuals sat down once more. Instructors entered in wave after wave, constantly rotating after delivering their material.

Even the mentors of the four experts themselves arrived to lecture in person.

The only minor interlude was due to Cullen’s special status, which was far higher than anyone else's. Thus, before every instructor began their lecture, after the volunteers saluted them, the instructor would exchange a separate, mutual salute with Cullen.

The training content ranged from contamination, holy artifacts, and operational planning, to special incident handling and analyses of related bizarre cases.

This class continued uninterrupted for a full thirty-six hours. Meals were eaten during the lectures, and trips to the restroom were made in a frantic rush. Time was limited, leaving room only for cramming education; everything was aimed at increasing the mission's success rate as much as possible.

Cullen himself understood formations and contamination, and what was even more amusing... he likely understood holy artifacts better than anyone else present.

Furthermore, he had even sought out an evil god beforehand to receive private tutoring.

Yet from beginning to end, Cullen was in no hurry to show off, listening to the lectures as seriously as everyone else.

However, there were also those who slacked off even at such a critical moment. Take Neo, for instance; he sat in his chair with his arms crossed, eyes closed and dozing off, occasionally nodding slightly to create the illusion that he was listening intently.

What was more, while the others were taking quick, simple meals, he would pull out red wine and drink it slowly, cup by cup.

Finally, the rapid training came to an end. Everyone was given three hours of rest, and specialized priests would arrive to provide one-on-one blessings to help them achieve the best possible rest in the shortest amount of time, which was truly quite luxurious.

Cullen declined and did not go; instead, he arrived early at the equipment distribution room to receive his gear.

Neo didn’t go either; he was well-rested, having slept more than enough.

"Oh, heavens, they really spared no expense. This divine robe must be top-tier within the Church." Neo picked up a divine robe, holding it up against himself to measure the fit. "How many points would it take to custom-order one of these?"

Truly high-end divine robes could possess specific, concrete attributes. This set inherently possessed the ability to resist contamination; its only flaw was that it was expensive.

Apart from the high-grade divine robes, each person possessed two sacred protective artifacts: one dedicated to warding off corruption, and the other designed for mental defense.

Additionally, there was a diverse assortment of scrolls and potions, all of the finest vintage—the exact sort of treasures one would merely gaze at wistfully in a voucher shop but never actually buy, enduring fixtures behind the glass of voucher counters everywhere.

"Ah, good grief... if we smuggled these onto the black market, just imagine how many vouchers we could rack up," Neo lamented once more, sighing with genuine feeling.

"These are meant to keep us alive," Karen reminded him calmly.

"You're seriously asking a gambler whether his life or his stake matters more?"

Karen offered no further rebuttal, choosing instead to quietly sort the items into more precise categories.

"Hey, if you make it out of this alive, your seniority will be absolutely unassailable. Did you and Burns work this out beforehand?"

"No."

"Then it really is a marvel. Why is he expending so much effort to elevate you like this? What is he after?"

"Perhaps it's because my cooking is quite good."

Neo rolled his eyes. "We haven't even stepped into the cavern yet, so how is it you already sound like you've been corrupted?"

Just then, Richard walked in.

"What is it?" Karen asked.

"I've rested enough. Jerry has been helping me realign my energy over the past two days," Richard answered with a smile, though he couldn't help but reach up to massage the back of his neck, where the lingering marks of his grandmother’s affection remained.

Neo looked slightly incredulous. "Your grandparents actually let you come."

Richard replied, "They probably went through quite an internal struggle, but in the end, they chose the correct way to face it."

Neo shrugged. "It's good that you can look at it that way."

Before long, the others who had gone to rest returned one after another, and the team began to familiarize themselves with the gear.

At that moment, Karen was called away alone to a conference room, where Burns, Hoses, Pilo, and a few others were seated.

Karen offered them his salute.

Burns did not beat around the bush, asking directly, "Regarding the command of the team, do you need us to step in and make adjustments on your behalf?"

Hoses spoke up, "We are in unanimous agreement that it is most appropriate for you to command this team. Whether in terms of seniority or capability, the others cannot compare to you in the slightest."

Pilo exhaled a ring of smoke, adding, "And magnanimity."

The corner of Hoses's mouth twitched as he glared at Pilo.

Pilo glared right back at him.

If the setting hadn't strictly forbidden it, these two retired elders might well have started a fistfight over a single disagreement.

Karen replied, "I can make the adjustments myself."

"Very well, then handle it as you see fit. You will depart for the cavern in three hours. Upon reaching the outer perimeter of the barrier, you will receive blessings and protection from the divine artifact. It is expected that the precise moment you officially enter the cavern to begin the mission will be six hours from now."

"Understood, I am aware."

"Good. Stay safe. I won't be there to see you off; I shall wait for your return to report on the mission's outcome."

"Understood, Lord Chief."

Karen turned and left the room.

Pilo let out a deep sigh and remarked, "A waste, truly an absolute waste. This is like using a priceless masterpiece to kindle a fire for boiling water."

Burns countered, "Thinking that way is fundamentally flawed. Under Order, all are equal."

"But the division of labor within Order is different. You simply have no idea how profound this boy Karen's attainment in the path of arrays truly is. If he could resign from his current post and dedicate himself entirely to studying under me, I can guarantee that his future achievements would far surpass my own."

Burns smiled faintly. "What a coincidence. I happen to think so too."

...

"Everyone, please take your seats."

By the time Karen returned, Alfred had already urged everyone to sit, as if a lecture were about to resume.

Karen walked up to the podium, faced the volunteers assembled below, and began, "I am terribly sorry, to the volunteers chosen by me and those chosen by their own mentors—we are about to face a mission with an exceptionally low survival rate together."

Smiles broke out across the faces of the crowd; tension was certainly present, but everyone in attendance was capable of overcoming it.

"Before the mission officially commences, I have three requirements that I must convey to all of you.

The first requirement: I am the commander of this mission, or you may call me captain. In short, I expect you to unconditionally obey every single order I issue from this moment forward."

As he spoke, Karen pointed toward the four experts sitting in the very front row: Queto, Marina, Anlans, and Nicole.

"I trust that the others will follow my command, but this applies primarily to the four of you. The task for the rest of us is to protect you as you enter the core area to retrieve the divine artifact. I do not wish for you to view the rest of us as mere cannon fodder whose lives are inferior to yours, meant to be sacrificed on your behalf."

Queto immediately responded, "How could that be? I respect Minister Karen's leadership completely."

Marina added, "As do I."

Anlans and Nicole belonged to the God of Principles Church, and the two nodded almost in unison. "We are willing to obey."

Karen swept his gaze across everyone present and said, "Remember this first rule: everyone must obey the orders I issue. Anyone who defies or disobeys, even in a place as perilous as that cavern, will find that I will dispose of you first. You will not have the chance to stand before a tribunal; I will handle it as an exceptional case and execute you directly, because this is the most fundamental respect I can show for the lives of everyone else. Is that clear!"

"Yes, understood!"

"Yes, understood!"

"The second requirement: our second-in-command is our Minister of Reconnaissance, Neo, and the third-in-command is Alfred. If I am unable to issue orders, or if some mishap befalls me, they are the ones who will take up the baton of command."

"The third requirement..."

Karen paused for a moment before continuing:

"It is true that this is an extremely hazardous mission, but it is by no means a suicide mission. Do not march into that cavern with the mindset of stepping into a grave. Heh, I am still young, and I have no desire to die just yet. I believe the same goes for all of you."

"Heh..."

"Haha..."

Everyone laughed along cooperatively.

Neo raised his hand and shouted, "Rest assured, everyone, the God of Order will surely watch over us!"

At this sudden declaration, everyone collectively slipped into a deeply ingrained conditioned reflex, just like hounds hearing a bell and knowing it was time to feed;

Save for Karen standing upon the podium, every single person crossed their arms over their chests and intoned devoutly:

"Praise the Great God of Order!"

...

"Pah, pah, pah... the climate and the sand here are a genuine torment."

Mr. Bede returned from outside, carrying a large sack of food and water in his hand.

They were currently staying in an exceptionally cheap tavern bordering the Desert of Death. The reason their accommodations were so wretched was that they had encountered sand bandits who robbed them of most of their vouchers, instantly plunging them from comfortable travelers back into a destitute state of wandering.

Even worse, Piaget had fallen ill—gravely ill, from an unknown cause—leaving him completely haggard and drained.

Mr. Bede set down the items in his hands. "Sigh, if word of this got out, people would die laughing. As followers of the God of Walls, dreaming day in and day out of painting prophetic murals of the gods, we couldn't even foresee that we ourselves would be robbed.

Hmm?

What are you painting?

"No, are you recovered from your illness?"

Mr. Bede stepped closer, finding Piaget still in an utterly dreadful state, yet his eyes shone with a brilliant intensity as his brush swept across the paper in rapid strokes.

"Ah..."

Mr. Bede immediately realized that Piaget had entered that peculiar state once more. He quickly circumvented the desk and discovered that the drawing depicted a "demon" emerging from the darkness. The demon bore a human likeness with blurred features, yet the atmosphere of the image exuded a palpable, almost physical chill of reckless malice.

Beneath the demon knelt a man, nearly a third of his body devoured, the remainder a meal the demon had not yet found the time to fully enjoy.

However, this man had his back to the viewer, rendering his appearance impossible to discern.

Mr. Bede inquired, "What does this painting mean? Consumed? No, the clothes on the demon and the man are identical. They are one and the same. Is he lost, replaced by the demonic proxy within his own heart?"

Piaget offered no answer, painting onward. From the demon's form, he drew black, rope-like strands one after another, completely binding and sealing the kneeling man to the ground.

"Oh, so he is controlled by the demon with this thing?" Mr. Bede could only speculate.

"Ahhh!"

Piaget suddenly shrieked.

"Are you alright? If you can't manage it, stop drawing. Your current state is truly terrifying."

As if completely deaf to Mr. Bede's voice, Piaget stubbornly continued to draw the black ropes without pause, one after another, as though determined to envelop the kneeling man entirely.

At that moment, the brush ran dry. Piaget reached into the palette to dip it, only to find the black paint was completely exhausted.

"Damn it, damn it, it's not finished, damn it!"

Piaget opened his mouth and bit down toward his own finger.

"Hey, hey, hey!"

Mr. Bede immediately reached out to halt this act of self-harm, whereupon Piaget grabbed his hand and bit down into his palm instead.

Mr. Bede was left speechless.

Once blood was drawn, Piaget dipped his finger into the "paint" of Mr. Bede's palm and sketched another chain.

Unlike the other black ropes, this single strand was red, strikingly out of place.

And perhaps owing to the use of another person's fresh