13 Mink Street

Karon took a drag from the Morf Gold cigarette, and then held the burning tip above Mr. Morf’s face, giving it a slight shake.

Ash drifted down, falling onto the man’s face.

Renee knelt on the floor. The wound from her severed arm had already been cauterized by the intense heat, so it was not bleeding. Still, her eyes were filled with shock and confusion. Someone of her standing, if in the church, would only barely rank above those priests who indulged themselves in women’s voices. Strictly speaking, she was not even considered to be a formal part of the ecclesiastical hierarchy.

This was her first true encounter with the terror of the Church of Order.

No, terror was not the right word, this was brute force. It was a kind of brute force that left her unable to utter even a single word.

Mr. Morf lay on the floor, not daring to blow the ash off of his face. He could only look up at Karon with pleading eyes.

“I’m not used to this,” Karon stated. He crouched beside Mr. Morf. Pu’er silently padded over, stopping when she was in front of him. Karon reached over with his free hand and gently stroked the cat’s head. “I believe you’re not used to it, either. Even now, you’re still doing your best to maintain your dignity.”

“I’m not...” Mr. Morf denied weakly.

“You are. Just like how I don’t actually know how I plan to deal with you next, you think that this is things end, don’t you?”

“I’m just an ordinary person...”

Meow...

“I can hardly imagine myself doing anything cruel. I think life is best when staying far away from bloody things. Well, except when killing fish.”

Meow...

“You’re the same. You still don’t believe that we’ll actually do anything to you. Otherwise, why would it be that your mistress has already lost an arm, while you were merely thrown to the floor?

“Mr. Morf, you are rich. Extremely rich. In Roja City, there are likely few, if any, families that are wealthier than yours. You own countless industries, and many people follow your orders. You can even influence how this city functions. That is because of your wealth and status. Whether standing at the top or looking up from down below, everyone tacitly accepts this order of things, including me.

“You could lift a finger and, for your own benefit, destroy an entire family. A family that lived in poverty, yet still tried to survive with optimism. To you, they were nothing.”

“I... I apologize. I’ll repent. I—”

“There’s no need to apologize to me. I wasn’t close to that family. The first time I saw them, they were already cold corpses. I’m close to their neighbors, who are really good people. Their pickled cucumbers suit my tastes perfectly. You know, with meat or noodles, they’re wonderful.”

“I...” Mr. Morf realized that he could no longer follow this young man’s train of thought.

“You should be grateful,” Karon continued, taking another drag and then blowing the smoke at Mr. Morf. “Grateful that when you chose a sacrifice, you didn’t choose that other family. If you had, I would be of a mind tonight to hold a funeral for your entire family, just like we did for the Sisso family. You made them neat and complete, so I would have done the same for your family.

“Pray.

“It was just that small distance that prevented my anger from reaching its true peak. Although saying this feels unfair to the Sisso family, I believe that Sisso, being an optimistic man, would understand.”

“Yes, yes! He would! He definitely would...” Mr. Morf echoed desperately.

Hearing his agreement, Karon smiled. “Of course... Because I never intended to let you go.”

“I-I-” Mr. Morf stammered.

Karon stood and looked over at a glass cabinet that ran along one wall of the study. Inside of it were countless packs of cigarettes and boxes of cigars, all of the Morf brand. “I know it’s hard for you to imagine that killing a poor family as casually as flicking your finger should really cost you your life, as I used to think the same. You’re so rich, so influential.

“At first, I thought humiliating you would be enough, that making you furious would count as decent revenge. Isn’t that how this society works? You make the rules. When facing accusations, even the lives of four people would only cost you a glass of brandy.”

At this point, Karon looked at Tiz and smiled. “Thank the heavens that this world has gods. Do you know how much I used to despise gods? But now I’m glad. Truly glad. This world actually has them.”

He laughed, but then, Karon’s expression hardened. “Praise Order.”

Karon turned to Alfred. “Alfred.”

“Young Master?”

“Tell me. How many cigarettes and cigars can a person swallow?”

“Forgive me, Young Master. I... don’t know.” After a pause, Alfred added, “But we can find out.”

Having understood the will of the Great One, Alfred stepped in front of Mr. Morf, and his eyes once again filled with crimson light. “It is your honor to test the truths of this world for the Great Young Master.”

Mr. Morf’s eyes also turned red. He rose unsteadily and staggered over to the glass cabinet. He tore open pack after pack, stuffing the cigarettes and cigars into his mouth like a man starving. He chewed wildly, swallowed frantically. Soon, the study was thick with the smell of tobacco.

Karon stood there, watching Mr. Morf eat cigarettes. Pu’er returned to Karon’s shoulder, her gaze shifting between Mr. Morf and the side of Karon’s face.

Alfred leaned closer, his eyes still faintly glowing as he whispered, “Young Master, next time, let me do this sort of thing. Your body is precious.”

He was referring to Karon’s earlier stunt.

Karon shook his head. “Unfortunately, you’re not human.”

Alfred fell silent. Yes, you are human.

Eventually, Mr. Morf collapsed to his knees. His hands still clutched cigarettes and cigars. His mouth was crammed full. His stomach bulged grotesquely.

He tried to scream, but no sound came out.

Finally, he convulsed once, and then his body went still. He had stuffed himself to death with tobacco.

Karon looked over at Renee, who still sat on the floor, dazed. “Grandpa, does she need to be silenced?”

Instantly, Renee returned to her senses and prostrated before Tiz. The old man turned and walked out, calmly asking, “Where next?”

So, no silencing her.

After witnessing the terrifying dominance of the Church of Order, Renee, a follower of the Mios faith, would never dare speak of the matter again.

As for revenge, hah! Would a fringe sect that wasn’t even part of the orthodox churches dare challenge the great Church of Order over a lost arm? It was unnecessary to uproot absolutely everything.

Karon sighed. It appeared that he had spoken out of turn again. The fact that Tiz had left without a word indicated that Karon was still thinking too small.

“Can you clean this place?” Karon asked Renee.

“Yes. I’ll clean everything, including Mr. Morf’s body. I absolutely won’t—”

“The body isn’t your job.” Karon looked at Alfred. “Have Mr. Morf’s son come in and carry his father’s remains out.”

They left the same way they had arrived.

After placing Mr. Morf’s bloated corpse into the hearse, Alfred drove to their next target. After turning a corner, the crimson completely faded from his eyes.

Back where they had gotten out of the car, Mr. Morf’s son still sat behind the wheel of his own car. He suddenly looked out the window in confusion.

He slapped the steering wheel. “Did I fall asleep? Damn, that stuff was strong today!”

He sighed. “It’s so late. When I get back, the old man’s going to cuss me out again. Why doesn’t he just die already so I can get my share of the inheritance?”

***

“Alright, tomorrow’s layout is done. Use the photos I chose. Make sure the angles are clear. Highlight public outrage. I want everyone reading the paper tomorrow morning to feel so furious they won’t even be able to eat breakfast.

“Also, add another piece to the open letter to the citizens from Mayor Sigran. Use last year’s photo of him welcoming foreign investors; the hotel one. That one where he’s got the brightest smile while shaking hands.

“I know it’s from last year, but last year’s news is still news.

“Just do as I say and don’t worry about it; Hardly anyone will notice. They’ll be overwhelmed with anger.

“There are always more fools in this world.

“Alright, hanging up.” The editor-in-chief slammed the phone down and took a sip of tea.

Forde had promised that, once mayor, he would appoint Humir as head of the municipal propaganda department. A small paper like Roja Daily was too limited. Politics was where such a man truly belonged.

The thought made him twist his arms in excitement.

“Hm? Why isn’t Michelle here yet?” Three years before, the editor-in-chief had separated from his legal wife. They had not gotten divorced, but their marriage had long since become a hollow shell. He now lived alone in a luxury apartment on Orchid Street.

Michelle was a female reporter the paper had hired just last month. After he had threatened to send her to fieldwork in the East District, she had ultimately chosen to submit. Thinking of her fiery figure caused a burning heat to rise in his throat.

What irritated him was that there was no response at all from below.

He let out a sigh, and reached up to touch his thinning scalp. He pulled out a pillbox from a drawer and removed two red capsules. It was a men’s drug produced by Morf Pharmaceuticals. Effective, but exhausting afterward. Still, the present was what mattered more.

After taking the pills, he turned the radio on. It was time for the financial news.

Sigh. Black Friday a few years before had nearly wiped him out. Fortunately, god had given him another chance. The recent “writing fees” he had received from Orkan and Morf were enough to rekindle hope.

“Welcome to today’s financial news—”

“Perfect timing,” the editor said happily.

“I am your host, Alfred.”

“Huh? Did they change hosts?”

“The pen is one of humanity’s greatest inventions. It records knowledge, conveys information, and carries the light of legacy. It can express love and longing, but when it falls into dirty hands, it can also be used to kill.”

“What the hell is this program? Where’s my financial news?”

“Especially when a journalist’s pen becomes unjust...”

Click. The editor turned off the radio.

At the same time, he heard a door outside opening. A black-robed old man stood before him.

“You have been accused of violating Order by directing demonkin. According to the Church of Order’s statutes, you are to be questioned.”

“You are... How did you even get in? What is this nonsense? Get out, or I’m calling the police!” The editor grabbed the phone.

Tiz stood where he was, not moving.

Alfred raised his hand up next to his face, mimicking using a phone.

The call connected. “Hello, police? This is Humir, editor-in-chief of Roja Daily. I live in Orchid Garden Apartments, third floor. Intruders have entered my home. My life is in danger! Send help immediately, or I’ll expose your negligence in the paper!”

Alfred calmly replied, “Understood, sir. Please remain calm. Our hearse has already arrived.”

“Hearse?” The editor froze.

The voice from the phone was a match for Alfred’s. It was identical to the radio host.

“Who... who are you people...” Humir panicked.

Alfred sighed. “Young Master, it seems this editor truly knows nothing about church affairs.”

“You’re right,” Karon nodded.

“And there can’t possibly be any demonkin in his home,” Alfred said.”

“Right again.”

Karon wanted to make an accusation, but there was nothing to pin anything to.

Still, that wasn’t a problem.

Karon reached up and patted the black cat resting on his shoulder. “Go.”

Pu’er leapt down from his shoulder and landed on the editor’s desk. The man flinched.

The cat then turned around and sprang into the air, her claws reaching Karon’s face. A few strands of his hair were cut off.

Upon landing, Pu’er continued to bare her teeth, letting out vicious hisses.

Tiz spoke calmly, “Driving a demonkin to harm a civilian violates Article Three, Section One of the Code of Order.”

“...” The editor said nothing.

Internally, Alfred was screaming. He had been beaten to the punch by a cat! A genuinely powerful demonkin like himself had just been outdone by this disgrace to demonkind.

And yet, he really had lost...

Karon stepped forward. “That’s your cat! It attacked us to protect you!”

“No! You’re framing me!”

Karon laughed. “I learned this from you, Editor. I study your work every morning at breakfast. You really are an expert at framing and distortion, aren’t you?”

“Get out!” The editor hurled his pen holder.

Karon closed his eyes.

Tiz raised his hand. The pens froze, and then flew back, impaling the editor. A black pen pierced his forehead.

“I...” He collapsed, dead by his own pen.

Karon licked his lips, admiring the scene.

Nearby, Tiz looked at Pu’er. “Demonkin harming a civilian. Article Three, Section Seven. Punishment: confinement. Do you accept?”

Pu’er crouched and placed her paws together. Meow...

The phone rang. Alfred answered, “Hello? This is Humir.”

The voice was perfect.

Orkan’s voice was heard from the radio, “Is everything ready for tomorrow?”

“Of course.”

“I just heard that Sigran can’t take the pressure. He’s submitting his resignation tomorrow afternoon. Forde and Harget are here with me, and our environmental goddess Delyss is playing piano to celebrate.

“So, Editor, care to come drink with us?”

“Where’s Morf?”

“He goes to bed early; takes care of his health.”

“That won’t do. I’ll call him.”

“Haha! Hurry, or else the wine will be gone.”

Alfred’s lips curved faintly. “Don’t worry. I’ll arrive shortly... With Mr. Morf.”