Chapter 62: The Forbidden Land of Gods

Chapter 62: The Forbidden Domain of God

Mink Street, the church.

Diss was packing his things, his work for the day brought to a close.

In truth, managing a church—no matter how small—was a complex affair, entangled in myriad complications that extended far beyond mere professional competence.

After all, it was not as though a single church held sole dominion over a mountain; one stood on this street, and another might well stand on the next, making the faithful a coveted clientele and subjecting the churches to fierce competitive pressures.

Yet Diss cared little for such matters; he attended only to his own share of the duties, and once finished, he would return home, never engaging in extraneous activities for the sake of the church's expansion.

It was much like his attitude toward the family business, from whose practical operations he had long since withdrawn.

Clad in black, Simon stepped through the doorway and placed a receipt report before Diss.

Diss opened it in his presence; inside was the reply from the Rylance Regional Management Office of the Church of Order, addressing his recent handling of that faction involved in the mayoral election.

The reply began by fully affirming Diss’s keen perception and early insight into the matter, praising his devotion to duty and attentiveness to his office.

It then defined the nature of the event, certifying it as an "invasion" by an external aberrant demonic force targeting Lorgar City—a malicious attempt to use the city as a foothold to subvert the entire framework of the Church of Order in Rylance.

Finally, it expressed commendation for Diss’s thunderous neutralization of the peril, extending yet another invitation for him to ascend into the Rylance Regional Management Office.

Diss was evidently unsurprised by the response; having read it, he set it aside.

"When I came in just now," Simon remarked, "I saw Deacon Kande sitting alone, nursing his grievances."

"Oh."

Diss gave a curt acknowledgment.

Deacon Kande was the director of this church’s office, having just succeeded his father the previous year; he wished to expand the church’s influence, but every proposal he drafted toward that end was rejected the moment it reached Diss.

For Diss had no time to spare for public events, and held a negative stance toward initiating extra religious ceremonies.

"Deacon Kande is quite depressed," Simon said.

"He will grow accustomed to it," Diss said, picking up his fountain pen and signing the acknowledgement slip, "just as his father, Old Kande, did in his time."

Simon drew out another sheet, a routine report covering the past fortnight: "This requires your signature as well."

Diss signed it.

"I have read your dossier within the Holy Church," Simon noted with a touch of curiosity. "You seem to have never possessed any interest in promotion."

Several of the current powerful figures in the Rylance Regional Management Office were actually of the same generation as Diss's son; the dossier of one regional Guardian even clearly recorded his past experience as an intern servant under Diss’s judgment in Lorgar City.

With such connections, Diss could easily have secured a far better position within the Rylance hierarchy; many of the older generation in the Church of Order relied precisely on this method of cultivating disciples and successors to elevate their status and remuneration.

"What is the purpose of promotion?" Diss inquired.

"To better contribute to the development of the Church of Order," Simon offered the standard response.

"Yet before my promotion, was that seat left vacant?" Diss countered.

"You ought to believe your own abilities superior, such that if you occupied that seat, you could achieve greater efficacy."

"That would imply the original occupant was not competent enough, failing to produce sufficient results. That is a matter for the Whiplash of Order to handle—to drag those who neglect their duties, slack in their work, and lose their faith down from positions their virtues do not match."

"Your words carry great weight, yet they still fail to convince me."

"Then why must I convince a regional courier?"

"Naturally, there is no such necessity for you," Simon said, bowing slightly.

"Or perhaps, is a member of the Whiplash of Order standing before me now, demanding my statement on this matter in accordance with the Internal Law of the Holy Church?"

"No, of course not, you misunderstand."

"Have you seen Rasma?"

"I..." A bitter smile played on Simon's face, but in the end, he nodded. "Yes, Lord Rasma is already in Lorgar City."

"Mm." Diss continued packing the items on his desk. "He does not dare to come see me."

Simon licked his lips; to a certain extent, he felt this local Inquisitor was correct.

Indeed, during his interactions with Lord Rasma, he had sensed the High Priest’s... apprehension toward the man before him.

Most importantly, the High Priest had not even hidden this emotion, as though he felt fearing this man was entirely a matter of course.

"Is there any word you require me to convey to the High Priest on your behalf?"

"There is."

Simon immediately straightened his back, signaling his utmost attention.

From a book before him, Diss drew a name card and handed it to Simon. Simon accepted it; upon it was written:

"Angers, Vice President of the Lorgar Pastry Association."

"This is one of my faithful, who comes to the church every week for prayer. A few days ago, I purposefully requested his card; please deliver it to Rasma. He will find it useful."

Simon blinked,

asking in bewilderment:

"Lord Rasma is fond of pastries?"

"He does not care to eat them, but he likes to smell their scent; he believes it brings tranquility to his mind."

"So it is, the same principle as some who favor incense," Simon murmured reflectively.

"Yes."

Diss took up his things and stepped past Simon, preparing to depart.

Securing the card, Simon hurried to keep pace, asking, "There is one more matter I wish to ask, in hopes of receiving your guidance."

"Speak."

"I initially believed Lord Rasma came to the Rylance region for that extraordinary divine descent ritual in Belwin City, but now I feel as though that is not the case."

"It is not."

"Then do you know the true purpose of Lord Rasma’s journey?"

"Me."

"You?"

"Yes."

A tremor shook Simon's heart; he had truly not expected the elder to deliver so direct an answer.

"Yet this very morning, you were still occupied with leading the faithful in prayer."

"Simon."

"I am listening."

"If someone were to tell you that tomorrow the Great God of Order would descend anew upon the mortal realm, then what should you do today?"

"I... I do not know. Merely entertaining the hypothesis leaves my mind in disarray. What do you believe I should do?"

Diss smiled, and replied:

"Before today reaches its end, return the documents I signed to the Rylance Regional Management Office for filing and record."

"Since tomorrow has not yet arrived, as for the today version of you, you should still earnestly attend to today's matters."

"I understand, thank you for your guidance, grandmaster." Simon halted his steps, crossing his hands over his chest toward Dis's retreating figure as he walked out of the cathedral doors, "Praise Order, and likewise, praise your generosity."

"He doesn't need your praise," Rasmus's voice materialized from behind Simon.

"My Lord," Simon bowed.

Rasmus ignored his greeting, turning to reach out and take that postcard.

"Do you know what makes me feel most helpless about Dis?"

"I think..."

"I was merely initiating a monologue, not genuinely looking for your answer."

"My apologies."

"It is that he can casually toss out and give away the very things you deem incredibly precious. He doesn't need your gratitude, because he genuinely doesn't care—just like that guidance he gave you just now. You have been stuck at the Inquisitor level for quite some time; that touch just now must have shaken you deeply, hasn't it?"

"Yes, just now..."

"I can see the power of faith within your body clashing violently, proving that his earlier words have brought you a certain stimulus and enlightenment. You should find a quiet place right now, properly sublimate your faith, and then stabilize it."

"No, I believe what I ought to do right now is deliver these invoices back; this is my duty," Simon said.

Rasmus observed that as Simon spoke these words, the vortex of the power of faith within his body grew even more ferocious.

"You are a very talented little fellow," Rasmus remarked.

"Thank you for your praise, My Lord."

Rasmus suddenly stood frozen there, his expression turning somewhat... complicated.

"What is the matter, My Lord?" Simon inquired.

"I suddenly recalled something. Many years ago, when I was still very young and Dis was very young as well, we were selected by the Church to form a team and enter a desolate ruin for a trial. The elder leading the group at the time appointed Dis as our team captain. After the trial succeeded, Dis once said a phrase to me."

"'You are a very talented little fellow.'"

Simon was stunned: "This..."

Rasmus pointed at himself, then pointed at Simon.

He chuckled:

"So the gap between him and me back then was already identical to the gap between you and me now? Yet back then, I stubbornly responded to him with a cold face: 'I hope you are in a rival's team next time, for I shall certainly make you pay the price for your previous words.' Therefore, the older I get, the less I like to reminisce. Especially when reminiscing about matters related to Dis; every single recollection deepens my awareness of just how foolish I was back then."

Simon did not dare to pick up this thread.

"You asked Dis just now, what was my purpose in coming here?"

"Yes, I did ask."

"His answer was not wrong. My purpose in coming here is entirely for him. In perhaps ten days at most, our Temple of the Church of Order shall add another Temple Elder to its ranks."

"My Lord, are you speaking of Inquisitor Dis?"

"Is there anyone else?" Rasmus asked in return.

"So, you represent the Church to prepare a grand welcoming ritual for Lord Dis?"

Rasmus shook his head: "No."

"No?"

"I am here to clean up the mess—specifically, the mess of his refusal to enter the Temple."

"Refusal to... enter the Temple?"

Shock washed over Simon's face; this was, after all, the ultimate lifelong dream of every believer in the Church of Order.

"Do not be so shocked. Didn't I say it before? The things you consider invaluable are, more often than not, nothing at all in his eyes. After the Temple sensed that a new existence capable of comprehending the profound mysteries of Order was about to be born within the Church, a divination and calculation were immediately conducted. The resulting conclusion was that there is less than a ten percent probability that the counterparty will choose to enter the Temple to serve the God of Order."

"Less than ten percent?"

Rasmus's next words caused Simon to drop straight down onto his knees on the ground.

"There is an eighty percent probability that he will summon the Sword of Order and point it directly at our supreme... Temple of Order."

...

Dis walked on his way back home, occasionally greeted by neighbors he knew, all of whom he responded to with a smile.

As he neared the entrance of his home, a figure clad in an old leather jacket appeared by the roadside.

Dis halted his steps, looked at him, and said:

"I thought you would continue to hide from me."

"I truly wanted to keep hiding forever," Rasmus spoke the honest truth, "but I don't have any more time, because you don't have much time left."

"Yes," Dis admitted.

"All these years, I have never believed you were genuinely despondent. Because on certain tracks, even if some people just lie down and turn over, they still achieve a higher rank than others who run with all their might."

"Thank you."

"But I did not anticipate that when we met again, the man I once deemed my lifelong rival would already possess the qualification to enter the Temple, becoming one of those sublime existences whom I would need to kneel down and worship upon sight."

"You know, Rasmus..."

"Yes, I know, you harbor no interest in my worship," Rasmus took a breath, "but I believe we can have a talk."

"Yes," Dis said, "I wish to hold a negotiation with the Church."

"You know, Dis, in this world, even those orthodox grand churches do not possess the confidence to say such words to our Church of Order. Furthermore, you are still a part of our Order."

"I believe the Temple performed some divinations," Dis remarked very calmly, "and I can roughly guess the results of those divinations. After all, what was divined was my own thoughts, was it not?"

"You are insane."

"I am merely weary of it all. It is just like a child playing a game of building blocks; he originally sets out with high spirits, cautiously building it up block by block, and with great effort constructs it very, very high. Yet all of a sudden, he loses interest in the game before him, or rather, he has played to his heart's content. Therefore, at this moment, he will often choose to personally push down this tall structure of blocks. And upon seeing the fragments of blocks scattered all over the ground, far from feeling regret or heartache, he will not even realize that all the hard work and thought he just invested have vanished into thin air; on the very contrary, he will clap his hands and laugh with great delight."

"You compare yourself to a child?"

"Because you are all terrified of this child."

Rasmus placed his hands before his chest:

"In the name of the High Priest of the Church of Order, I come to conduct this negotiation with you."

Dis shook his head and said, "Not today. Seven days from now, at the cemetery."

"Why?"

"Because right now I must rush home to taste the lunch my grandson cooked with his own hands. In the afternoon, I plan to have tea and chat with him. He has become much more cheerful lately and often willing to talk to me.

I believe you would like him very much—a handsome and eloquent young man. Chatting with him is truly a pleasure.

My daughter knitted a sweater for me and intends to give it to me tomorrow. I need to try it on so she can tailor and alter it. In her past pursuit of happiness, she once spoke some harsh words to me. Although she has returned to live at home now, I know she has always wanted to find an opportunity to apologize to me. I prepare to comfort her and tell her that she will always be my most beloved daughter.

The day after tomorrow is my second daughter-in-law's birthday. She followed my unreliable son and bore him a son and a daughter; it hasn't been easy for her, so I want to help celebrate her birthday grandly.

In this family, things have always been hard on her. She not only has to busy herself with the family's birthdays but also needs to take care of everyone's daily lives. The Immels family owes her far too much.

On the fourth day, it is the day of my grandsons' and granddaughters' final exams at school. I will pray for them in the morning before they go to take their exams just as I usually do, so they won't feel anxious or nervous.

Mina is doing well; she has always been very steady. Lent and Chris, however, are more easily affected by their emotions; they need care and encouragement.

On the fifth day, it is the anniversary of the deaths of my eldest son and eldest daughter-in-law. They were killed by my own hands. Every year when this day arrives, I silently mourn for them.

On the sixth day, it is the funeral day of my friend, Old Hoffen. The Rulan people attach great importance to the exact date after a deceased person passes away. He was the friend I associated with most frequently in the latter half of my life; this is something I ought to do for him.

On the seventh day, it is the birthday of my grandson's fiancée. Coincidentally, it is also the birthday of my family's pet cat.

You see,

For the next seven days, I am very busy and have things to do.

Therefore, I have decided to schedule the date of the negotiation for seven days from now—at this exact time seven days later. After I finish leading the believers in worship at the church, I won't be in a hurry to go home. I will wait for you... all in the church."

"Your reasons are truly thorough," Lasma said. "Apologies, I really can't help but retort: you are actually delaying and setting the date for negotiations with the temple just for these trivial family matters?

Dis,

Do you know,

Not only have I come,

But arriving along with me are also the divine senses of three temple elders.

I am easy to talk to, but do you think those three temple elders will be as easy to talk to as I am?"

"Then you will need to go and tell them," Dis responded. "The date I fixed is seven days later. Seven days later, there is still a certain probability the temple can make me render my final choice through negotiations.

Of course,

You can choose five days, three days, one day, or even right now.

But I think you ought to know what kind of choice I would make."

"Dis, this is a profanation of the God of Order."

A sliver of a smile appeared at the corner of Dis's mouth:

He said:

"The matters of mortals have not even been handled properly; where would one find the leisure of mind to attend to a god."

"I will convey your words to the three temple elders."

"Very well, sorry to trouble you, Lasma."

Dis extended his finger and pointed ahead:

"That place right there is my home, as you should know;

Number 13, Mink Street.

Would you like to come to my house and sit for a while?"

"No," Lasma refused directly, and then said, "Perhaps in the future, I will have an opportunity to go inside and take a look."

The moment he finished saying this sentence, Lasma regretted it, and immediately corrected himself: "I was only joking, I didn't mean to threaten you."

Dis nodded his head.

Lasma breathed a sigh of relief in his heart and said, "If there is no reply, then it is a tacit agreement to your demand for negotiations in seven days. I shall leave first. Oh, right, thank you for the bakery business card."

The words had barely fallen,

When Lasma's figure turned into a patch of black mist and dissipated on the spot, leaving in a great hurry, not daring to linger for even a fraction of a second.

Dis, meanwhile, continued to walk forward. Walking to the entrance of his home, he turned around and stood before the courtyard gate.

Dis recalled that day, the conversation he and Karen had while standing right here:

"Karen, here—where is this place?"

"Home!"

...

He remembered at that time, Karen fell to the ground after finishing his answer, and it was fortunate that the golden retriever was cushioning him underneath, otherwise he really might have scraped his skin.

He knew Karen was very afraid at that moment, because a murderous intent had indeed emanated from his own body, but Karen had mistakenly believed that the one he wanted to kill was him.

Dis, standing at the entrance of his home,

Slowly turned his body around,

With his back to the courtyard gate,

His gaze swept across the surroundings, and finally, moved toward the sky again.

"From now on,

The Immels family

Shall become a forbidden land to the church and even to the gods."

——————

Arrived in Hainan to participate in the Qidian event. Last night after finishing the update, I set off for the airport. The journey was exhausting and I barely closed my eyes all night, forcing myself past the drowsiness to write this chapter.

Only one chapter today.

Good night, everyone, holding you all close!