Chapter 744: Closing the Net!

Chapter 744: Closing the Net!

"But I do not feel I have any great need for you right now. What use could you possibly provide that would outweigh the pleasure of claiming your head?"

Rango suited Karen's "promise" to the Hunger perfectly—he was a sufficiently powerful soul-feast.

Though feeding the Hunger carried a suspicion of aiding the enemy, Karen deemed it a worthy trade if it bought temporary docility; the primary contradiction had to be addressed first.

"Minister Karen, your questions are terribly direct. I know not what arrangement you struck with Daliwenro, but whatever he does for you, I can do as well. Play our cards right, and I could even help you wipe out nearly this entire observation group of elite youths from the various churches!

From the past reports about you, I can tell you crave this. Your hunger to advance within the Order of Order is immense.

You wish to climb by any means necessary, eager for quick success, utterly disregarding the consequences.

Fortunately, you risked your life in that subterranean cavern, which managed to wash away your past stains. Now, you desperately need these glittering exploits to serve as capital for your continued ascent.

Take the present, for instance. As the world's foremost faith, the Order of Order has always fiercely guarded its majesty. This time, the investigative team fell in Machina, which amounts to the desert rebels treading the Order's pride into the dirt.

If at this juncture, you, my dear Minister Karen—a member of that very team—could achieve the grand feat of turning the tables while being hunted, it would not only erase the slight blemish of your solitary escape, but it would be heralded far and wide as a soul-stirring triumph for the Order.

After all, people care little for cold casualty numbers; they adore blood-pumping tales of individual heroism.

Minister Karen,

Is that not precisely what you intend to do? To forge this crisis into the most brilliant rainbow upon your record? I can help you, and make the colors of that rainbow far richer."

"Then you could simply offer me your head directly."

"Oh, where is the fun in that? Daliwenro, myself, you, Minister Karen, and those who must have escaped with you—with two turncoats like Daliwenro and me, even if they realize the danger and begin to cluster, retract, and defend, we can strike straight at their camp, collapsing them from within and without."

Karen looked at Rango and asked, "What gain do you seek?"

"Gain? I have not thought of it yet. Pray do not find it absurd, for I truly cannot think of any terms at this moment. Yet I doubt I shall lose out, whether from my personal perspective or that of the Samsara Religion.

Two wars have already severely drained Samsara's vitality. Thus, though we participate in name, we have no real intention of taking action.

Let us put it this way, Minister Karen: you merely need to promise me a favor. Would that suffice?"

"A favor? Rango, are you not afraid I might renege on the debt?"

"In this regard, I trust your character. A man who dared descend into the abyss alone to resolve the corruption, a man who dared pit himself against an archbishop's family for the sake of a mere inquisitor.

I know there must be an element of performance in those acts, yet I have no doubt regarding the character Minister Karen presents to the world.

You see, I do not wish to engage in a clean, transactional trade of goods for gold with you. I wish to elevate our relationship into a bond of mutual obligations."

The essence of a favor is an exchange of interests rooted in stable, mutual trust.

"Mmh..." Karen nodded. "Very well, I agree."

"My thanks." Rango sheathed his twin scimitars. "Then I shall see to my tasks. Should I find any suitable stragglers, I shall slay them myself and take their heads. If the opportunity is poor or they begin to rally together, I will make arrangements and contact you beforehand."

"Good."

"Until we meet again, then."

Rango's form dissolved into nothingness, leaving Karen standing where he was.

In truth, Karen harbored no great expectations for this transaction, but the vision Rango painted was one he could not refuse.

The investigative team was meant for gilding reputations. If he could return dragging a string of heads, not only would his position as regional director be entirely secure, but it would pave the way for his future ascent.

Though thinking this felt somewhat unfair to those trapped in Machina, the deed was done. He was seizing merit and seniority for himself, but at the same time, was he not also avenging them?

Karen gave his head a gentle shake. He knew that when confronted with events and choices, he easily fell into a tangle between self-interest and self-morality, habitually seeking justification for his actions.

Yet Lord Techisen had already given him the answer on the Island of Fire, the simplest and most unassailable answer of all.

"Your actions have violated the Regulations of Order, and you shall be punished."

...

Night fell.

The desert night was bitterly cold, yet one particular spot was now, in the most literal sense, burning hot.

Columns of fire surged upward, and serpents of flame snapped through the air, seeking prey, casting a glow that painted the place as though blanketed by a second sunset.

Below, a young man clad in divine robes bordered with fiery clouds shouted wildly, his hair disheveled:

"Come out! Where are you? Where on earth are you?!"

No one answered him, yet he was certain an assassin lurked in the nearby darkness, waiting for the perfect moment to deliver a fatal strike.

Earlier, had it not been for the precious ancestral warding artifact of his family, he might already be a cooling corpse upon the ground.

He could only employ these wide-area magical attacks in an attempt to blanket the assassin's hiding place, but it was clear he had not succeeded.

Unease and anxiety stacked relentlessly within his heart, fraying his nerves to the breaking point.

His name was Hosed Wade, a believer of the Spiritual Fire Religion. His family held an exalted status within the faith. Though the Spiritual Fire Religion was a large-scale church in name, it possessed power far exceeding that classification.

Given another thousand years of development, it might well ascend to the status of an Orthodox Church.

In the previous era, the Fire Worship Religion had been an Orthodox Church, and the God of Fire was a true Master God. But during the War of the Gods, the Fire God fell, and the Fire Worship Religion, much like the later Sea God Religion, began to fracture.

Yet, more fortunate than the Sea God Religion, the Spiritual Fire Religion, as a branch of the Fire God Religion, inherited the vast majority of its legacy and rose again in this era. In contrast, the churches that splintered from the Sea God Religion had barely managed to show their heads again.

Latter-day divine historians often compared and analyzed these two faiths. After all, both possessed Master Gods, and both had once wielded immense power. Why, then, after fracturing, did one manage to rebuild while the other remained incapable of forming a coherent force?

The historians summarized many reasons, each orderly and thoroughly argued.

In reality, however, the true reason for the developmental chasm between the Fire God Religion and the Sea God Religion lay with a single dog.

That dog possessed a deeply vengeful nature. Not only had it orchestrated the slaying and suppression of the Sea God, but it had personally intervened to shatter the opposing faith's lineage, leaving it a scattered mess even after an entire era had passed.

Hosed began to steady his breathing and smooth his turbulent emotions, but at that exact moment, a figure materialized out of thin air.

Hosed instantly aimed his palm at her, and a fiery dragon soared forth, completely consuming the figure. Yet no joy touched his face, for the feedback of the spell told him the silhouette was an illusion.

Immediately after, a second figure appeared. Hosed continued to unleash his magic, incinerating it, but it too was false.

A third, a fourth, a fifth...

Figures appeared without pause, each manifesting close enough to strike. Hosed dared not gamble; he could only incinerate them as they came.

As the count grew, exhaustion crept over him, and cold sweat drenched his face.

Yet the more desperate the moment, the less he dared let his guard down, for he knew his opponent was also in the final, agonizing stalemate. She was exhausted too, meaning the next strike might very well be real.

What should have been a swift assassination had devolved into a war of attrition, like an arm-wrestling match.

The spiritual power within Hosed began to run dry, yet the anticipated true assault had still not come.

Driven by necessity, Hosed lowered the intensity of his magic during his next strike against a manifesting figure.

"Hum!"

Yet it was this very first instance of slacking that invited the enemy's true attack.

Blade in hand, the silhouette clove through the intercepting serpent of fire and closed the distance to Hosed. Her blade plunged into his chest, but a mass of molten rock manifested at his wound, binding the edge and preventing it from piercing deeper.

His previously frantic, panicked demeanor vanished as he exhaled a long sigh of relief, his eyes gleaming with the satisfaction of a trap well-sprung.

A bright light flashed behind Philomena, and a girl clad in an earthy-yellow divine robe appeared, swinging an axe downward toward Philomena's back.

Yet Philomena chose not to retreat or defend. Ignoring the assault from behind, she channeled every ounce of her strength into the Blade of the Nightmare.

"Bang!"

The lava shattered and the constraints vanished. Under Hosed's astonished gaze, the blade was driven completely into his body.

"Clang!"

The axe of the girl in the earthy-yellow divine robe, however, was intercepted by a greatsword just as it was about to touch Philomena's body. Cullen's silhouette appeared between the two, having blocked the blow on her behalf.

Immediately following this, Cullen swept the greatsword upward with the momentum, and a dense fire of Order erupted like a volcano, sweeping toward the girl. She chose to retreat, pulling back to distance herself before landing.

Cullen pursued her closely, extending his palm downward in mid-air:

"Order—Thunderous Destruction!"

A streak of black lightning coalesced from Cullen's palm, then blasted toward the girl below in an instantaneous release.

The girl slapped the sandy surface with one hand, and in an instant, an earthen wall rose, solidifying into a barrier.

"Boom!"

The lightning struck the barrier, causing the earthen wall to slough off in large patches, yet the girl inside remained completely unharmed, instead looking up at Cullen above with a slight, relaxed smile.

But her smile quickly froze, because she saw another streak of black lightning coalesce in Cullen's palm, falling instantaneously once more.

She could only repair the defensive earthen wall again, taking the second lightning strike.

Yet this was merely the beginning, not the end.

For next came the third, the fourth, the fifth...

The lightning shattered her earthen wall time and time again, forcing her to repair it over and over. The overflowing power of the lightning formed a sea of Order's fire in the surroundings, and she stood right at its very center.

While Cullen continued to release lightning to suppress her, he simultaneously began to weave the formation below.

If she had not chosen to retreat directly during her first close-quarters encounter with Cullen, if she had not purely chosen defense when facing Cullen's spell attacks after retreating, and if, after defending so many times, she had not failed to extricate herself in time to account for the changes in her surroundings for the sake of caution, she would likely not have fallen into such an absolute disadvantage from which she could not break free.

Cullen finished setting up the formation and activated it.

The surrounding fire of Order began to siege her earthen wall, cooperating with the lightning that continuously bombarded from above. Finally, as she repaired the earthen wall once more, flames of Order surged across her body.

She began to scream, and she began to wail; faintly, her pleas for mercy could even be heard.

But all of this was completely ignored by Cullen above.

Perhaps when the rebels rushed into the teleportation formation hall of the Macina Sacred Ground, those Clerics of Order had been in a similar situation.

This was war; before one achieved total victory, one had no right to squander mercy and sympathy.

In this round, because of the opponent's stupidity and lack of experience, Cullen won quite easily, as the counterpart was passively beaten the entire time, having absolutely no opportunity to launch any offensive against him.

On the other side, Philomena, having been rescued by Cullen, took advantage of the momentum to launch an even more ferocious assault on Hosed. Hosed's lips moved rapidly, sparks ignited within his eyes, and a terrifying power of incineration was about to shoot from his gaze.

Philomena said softly, "Enter the Dream."

In an instant, Hosed's eyelids grew heavy, and he actually closed his eyes. Not only was his offensive interrupted, but his body also began to spontaneously combust—this was the backlash brought about by the interrupted spell.

"Buzz!"

Philomena drew the Nightmare Blade, considerately severing Hosed's head a step ahead before his body could be completely consumed by the flames.

Then, with a kick, she sent the burning torso down, a ball of fire crashing to the ground and splashing a shower of sparks in all directions.

Immediately after, Philomena did not delay. Twisting her form, she plunged directly within the earthen wall below. Facing the screaming girl, she likewise delivered a single stroke, severing her head.

Cullen clenched both hands into fists; the lightning was recalled, and the formation deactivated.

By the time Cullen's figure descended from the air, Philomena had already dug out another head from the sand not far away, along with a bundle wrapped in clothes. This was her first prey, which she had buried beforehand for fear of it being damaged during her second hunt.

Philomena stood before Cullen, holding the three heads.

Cullen raised his greatsword, and Philomena's waist instinctively twisted slightly to the side.

Cullen lowered the greatsword and raised his hand, and Philomena instinctively turned her face to the side again.

This scene made Cullen laugh.

She knew he was angry, she knew he wanted to strike her, and she had even prepared herself to cooperate in advance—such as being swatted away by his greatsword, or taking a slap from him.

Most importantly, she actually dared to show her perfunctory cooperation so overtly!

Cullen sighed and said, "You knew there was a second person waiting nearby to ambush you, you knew it was a trap."

Philomena nodded: "But I felt that while I could kill him, I wouldn't be killed by her. At most, I would be heavily injured. However, even if I were heavily injured, I could still escape."

"Did you forget we are currently being pursued?"

"I didn't forget."

"Under these circumstances, the drag a heavily injured companion brings to the whole team is worse than if she just died directly."

"But you said I am not allowed to die."

"I said you are not allowed to die, so heavy injury is fine?"

"For the heads," Philomena explained very stubbornly. "I would set up the coordinates for the heads. After being heavily injured, I wouldn't go looking for you and Richard either; I would help you lead the people away."

"I am deeply moved."

Hearing these words, Philomena felt somewhat at a loss; she was not suited for this kind of warm atmosphere.

Fortunately, the subsequent development made her much more adapted and comfortable.

Because Cullen grabbed her chin with one hand, forcing her to lift her head and face him directly.

"Listen, our situation isn't great, but it's not that critical either. Why did you take it upon yourself to put yourself in such a dangerous position? Or do you think my spirit is so empty that I need you to warm and move me with this kind of sacrifice?"

Philomena shook her head: "No."

"Next time, do exactly what I tell you to do. Don't add extra drama for yourself, understood?"

"Understood."

Cullen released his hand. He now somewhat understood why, back at the Allen Manor, Grandmother would directly deliver a slap whenever she saw Philomena do something incorrectly.

In the past, Philomena had always stayed by his side, following his instructions to do simple things. The moment she was let loose on her own this time, she immediately began to go to extremes.

Previously, if he hadn't arrived in time, her best outcome would have been hiding in some place to draw her final breaths after being heavily injured, even though she could have obtained two heads because of it.

It was no wonder Alfred had arranged independent, prominent work for everyone else—even Richard had become an office director—yet Philomena's workload to this day was still just acting as his bodyguard.

"By the way, when Madam Tangli used to beat you before, did you do this too?"

"What?"

"Making the movements of being beaten in advance."

"Because that can reduce the

"I can still keep collecting heads."

"Yes, but take these heads and the spoils now. Go find Richard and tell him that the next task is still to circle this area, drawing them out as much as possible."

"I think I can still continue..."

"Be good."

"Understood."

"Remember, once you meet up with Richard, follow his orders."

"All right."

Agreeing so readily?

This caught Karen somewhat by surprise, though he said nothing more.

Once Philomena had departed with the heads and the spoils, Karen saw a wandering spirit crawl out from the sand before him. The spirit held a letter, which it handed to Karen.

Karen opened it and scanned it briefly. It was a message from Lango, indicating that his side was ready and they could now cast the great net, complete with his operational plan attached.

Upon reading the letter, Karen felt no joy; instead, he rested his chin in his hand, sinking into amused contemplation:

"Lango, do you truly value personal relationships that much?"

...

Daliwenro squatted on the ground, a pile of heads already stacked before him.

He could not help but stroke his bald head with a touch of helplessness: "Why is it that every single one of you not only refused to help, but even sought to murder me for my wealth?"

His identity made him one of their own, allowing him to approach his targets with ease. He had not even changed the script; each time, he appeared mortally wounded while clutching that sapling.

The results were uniform. Not a single "companion" was actually willing to save him; every last one chose to kill him to seize the sapling.

Then, Daliwenro took advantage of the moment to ambush and counter-kill them.

Because they had a motive to kill Daliwenro—blaming his death on Karen while he was heavily injured and pocketing the precious sapling—whereas Daliwenro had no motive to strike them. Who would ever suspect that their nominal companion would suddenly play at bait-fishing at a time like this?

However, the wonderful harvest time for heads was about to end, for Daliwenro had received two messages. One was from Lango, who, in his capacity as temporary organizer, demanded that the members of the observation group outside quickly gather into a group, explicitly marking the meeting location.

The second message came from Karen, delivered by a black crow.

"Sigh, the communication tokens of the Order Cult are truly ugly."

Complaining all the while, he tore it open. The words upon it were simple:

"Beware of Lango."

...

At a fissure in the desert floor, Lango stood at the upper entrance, offering brief greetings to every youth who arrived in response to the summons to form a group.

Over the past two days, the number of members who had lost contact was too vast, nearly half of them, which inevitably caused the remaining youths to panic. No matter how slow they were to react, they realized events had outgrown their expectations—no, they had been altered beyond recognition.

The proud young lone wolves were forced to bow their heads and choose to pack together, though previously it had been in twos and threes; now, they were being organized collectively.

They would wait here for a rebel army from the closest distance to meet them, which would take roughly a day.

Lango twisted his neck slightly. Within the fissure, he had already arranged a very high-level Samsara array in advance. Once activated, with these people entirely off their guard, it could instantly shackle all their souls.

Daliwenro's figure appeared, taking Lango somewhat by surprise.

Once Daliwenro drew near, he intentionally leaned in close and asked Lango, "Hey, why aren't you running away this time?"

Lango merely smiled and said, "Please come in, everyone is waiting for you."

"You fellow who grows more cowardly the older he gets."

"I am able to grow old because I am cowardly. Those who are bold often never get the chance to grow old."

"Heh." Daliwenro walked into the fissure.

Lango turned his head to look at the bald youth, thinking to himself: In just a little while longer, I will be able to learn from your soul exactly what deal you and Karen reached.

Daliwenro walked inward, patting his bald head all the while,

thinking to himself:

Heh, unexpected, isn't it? This daddy has no soul right now.