Great One!

"Good evening, dear listeners. Welcome to Rojia Story Hour..."

In truth,

Kallen had never entered this house, but Jeff, who had lain cold and lifeless before him, had long since "told" him of its dangers and mysteries.

There were many things Kallen could not conveniently ask about, but that did not stop him from pondering, reasoning, and filling in the blanks himself.

Out of consideration for his first love, Uncle Mason had helped deal with Jeff's body.

That afternoon, Grandpa had come home, seen Jeff's body, and immediately ordered Aunt Mary to call Uncle Mason back.

Then Grandpa had gone out.

Later, on their way back from taking Mr. Hoffen to the hospital, Kallen had personally tended to Grandpa's wounds.

Clearly, Grandpa had gone out to fight;

a safer way to put it was that Grandpa had gone to deal with something, and that something had very likely been connected to Jeff's death-in other words, to this house. Uncle Mason, who had been unable to get out of bed that day after a "fall," was the strongest evidence.

Later still, when passing the house, Kallen had seen that leg in the second-floor window, with a red high heel dangling from its toes.

Grandpa had gone to deal with the matter,

but those legs and those red high heels were still there,

which meant only one thing: this was a difficult problem, one even Grandpa had failed to resolve completely.

Moreover, they were on the same street, only five or six hundred meters apart. The fact that both sides could continue to coexist at such close quarters was enough to show just how troublesome this house was.

Besides, when facing Jeff, Kallen had been dragged into a terrifying dream. In that dream, apart from the woman, he had also heard several rather distinctive sounds.

Static, a rich timbre, a low pitch-the sounds had come from a radio.

Of course, all of this had originally been nothing more than Kallen's speculation and imagination. But when he entered the master bedroom and saw that the bed had been stripped down to its wooden frame, even its mattress removed, while the radio still sat on the cabinet by the door...

he understood.

That thing

was the real switch.

Getting Mrs. Hughes to turn on the radio in the "name of art" was Kallen's last attempt to save himself.

He was not actually very worried that Mrs. Hughes would refuse the suggestion,

because

she really was stupid.

Even though the murderer was pointing a gun at him and was about to chop him to pieces with a knife,

Kallen still stubbornly believed

that the murderer

was stupid!

Now,

the radio was on.

Kallen let out a long sigh of relief inwardly. That sense of "burden" fell away all at once.

When the worst possible outcome was being chopped into mincemeat, taking the other person down with you seemed especially wonderful.

However,

what Kallen did not know

was that the radio was not a "switch."

Whether you pressed its power button, whether it had batteries or was plugged in, or even whether it was nothing but an empty shell, none of that prevented it from making a sound whenever it wanted to "broadcast."

[Ten minutes earlier.]

When Kallen drove Mrs. Hughes's red Caiman up to the entrance of No. 128 on Mink Street,

on the second floor of the house,

there was already a reaction.

A pair of beautiful legs in high heels stood behind the curtains, the heels tapping lightly against the floor.

"What is it?"

Alfred's voice came from the radio.

"He's here?"

"Who's here?"

"Who is he?"

"What? It's him!!!"

Unmistakable terror trembled in Alfred's voice.

Some things were frightening at first, but with time, the fear gradually faded and they became ordinary. It was like a nightmare: no matter how real it felt, once you woke up, most of the fear vanished instantly, leaving only a little lingering unease. After another half day or a day, it no longer seemed like much of anything, and you could even tell it as a joke.

But

other things were like wine, growing richer with age, their flavor lingering as their impression was continually traced, painted, and deepened in the mind.

For Alfred, it was the latter.

His connection with Miss Molly was a bridge between their minds. That terrifying being had descended directly between them, a display of power more than sufficient to leave him trembling with fear;

but what had truly inflicted lasting damage on him, with effects that only grew more pronounced and far-reaching, was the mysterious "hymn" that being had sung.

That hymn had easily broken through Miss Molly's barrier, while leaving an extraordinarily deep psychological scar on Alfred, who had been "watching" from the side.

Afterward, he had frantically searched all manner of records and ancient texts, yet found not the slightest trace of that "hymn."

It seemed to have appeared out of thin air, never having surfaced anywhere in the long river of history.

That should have been virtually impossible!

For a religion to form, there had to be a "god." Whether it was one god or many, there needed to be a divine figure above the heads of the faithful;

once there was a god, doctrines would arise to explain that god's thoughts, while also helping believers understand and follow them;

once both god and doctrine existed, the next step was the most important, one that repeated endlessly in a self-sustaining cycle: spreading the faith.

More and more believers would use their thoughts and wisdom to revise and enrich the doctrines, bringing the god's image into sharper focus while closing the distance between god and mortal. This, in turn, made it easier to attract new believers, like a snowball gathering size.

This was the objective pattern of development for any religion;

yet could anyone believe that such a terrifying, fully developed "hymn" had appeared, while the religion behind it had left no trace whatsoever?

It was like bending down to pick up a fresh sea fish from the ground, only to look around and find nothing but desert for a thousand miles.

What terrified Alfred even more

was that the language of the "hymn" had no identifiable origin either.

He had found many linguistic systems, even tracing letter combinations back to ancient languages from the earliest civilizations, yet none matched the language of the hymn.

But when the "hymn" was sung, he could clearly sense that it was a fluent, rhythmic, and thoroughly developed language!

Its charm surpassed even most of the languages currently in use that Alfred knew.

He somewhat regretted his ability to remember everything he heard. Over these past few days, the hymn's melody would occasionally ring in his ears, making his heart shudder every time.

It was as though, within that song, his body, his soul, and everything he relied upon would be trampled underfoot and then smashed to pieces!

A religion that left no trace,

a language with no known origin-

all of this forced Alfred to believe one thing:

he

was witnessing the birth... of an entirely new religion!

There were many churches in this world whose traditions stretched back a thousand years or more. Some could even be traced to the previous era. Among their founders, some were outright incarnations of their religions' gods, while others called themselves servants of their gods;

but without exception, every founder was a terrifying being known as... a Divine Envoy.

They had forcibly torn open a gap in the world, carving out room for their religions to endure and grow.

So,

this was a great being,

a being worthy of reverence.

Perhaps a hundred, five hundred, or a thousand years from now,

the stories he told would become myths, and his own story would become legend.

Whenever Alfred thought of how such a terrifying being had once descended onto his mental bridge, he felt a profound, lingering dread.

He had appeared.

He had appeared in Ruilan,

in Rojia,

on Mink Street.

So,

had he chosen this place to sow his first seed?

And beneath that boundless terror,

within Alfred's heart,

another emotion rose, one called "hope."

While it was still a seed,

could he draw close to it?

Along the path of a god and his religion's growth,

even a stray dog that happened to enter the picture would be remembered and celebrated by future generations!

But Alfred only dared entertain this thought with the utmost caution. For in the stories of gods, there were not only tales of stroking and teaching stray dogs encountered by the roadside; far more often, there were tales of slaying demons.

Yet,

tonight,

he had come to their door.

"He's getting out of the car. He's brought a woman? Is she his divine consort, or an attendant?"

"Hmm? She looks like his mother?"

"Then... could he be a god descended into the world, and that woman the mother who bore him?"

The gods of some religions entered the world through the wombs of human women;

and in religious legends, the mothers who gave birth to gods also received exalted status, worshipped and revered by believers for generations to come.

"They've come inside?"

"They're already coming up the stairs?"

"They're heading straight for the bedroom?"

"Miss Molly, please hide yourself properly. He might have regarded your first offense as a bit of amusement and thought nothing of it, but an ant that dares provoke him a second time will surely suffer divine punishment!"

The red high heels bent down and slipped beneath the bed.

For anyone else, the space beneath the bed would have been cramped. For her, it was just right.

"That woman is holding a gun? Hehehe, what a foolish woman, trying to threaten a Divine Envoy walking among mortals with a gun."

"Miss Molly, look. Whatever the woman tells him to do, the Divine Envoy does, because in his eyes, everything is merely a joke, his amusement for the evening."

"Just as you were last time-one of his amusements."

"The Order God Church? Ankara? The Light of Order?"

"This woman truly is too foolish. Does she think the Divine Envoy is actually teaching her? No, he is passing judgment upon her."

"Miss Molly, please don't move. This is the playground the Divine Envoy himself has chosen, one of his amusements tonight. All we need to do is watch quietly, without disturbing him, unless the Divine Envoy calls upon us.

"Perhaps tonight we are merely the 'audience' he has chosen. We must fulfill our duty as an audience: remain quiet during the performance and applaud vigorously when required."

"Hmm? This woman is possessed. She must have come into contact with a tainted demonic artifact, and her soul has been defiled."

"Oh, what a pitiful woman. She has no idea what she is facing, and neither does the Otherworldly Demon that has defiled her and is controlling her."

"There are always insignificant little people eager to get themselves killed, because their limited vision cannot see the truth or the gulf between them."

"Miss Molly, you say you want to act to atone for your sins?"

"Don't worry. The Divine Envoy won't concern himself with your sins. A god's eyes won't even spare you a second glance."

"Please don't act rashly, Miss Molly."

"Hmm? You say you want to beg this Divine Envoy to help restore your body?

"No, no, no. Don't you know what that means? Reconstructing an Otherworldly Demon's body to give them a humanlike appearance is a grave taboo among the divine churches, foremost among them the Order God Church!"

"Miss Molly, I know how deep your obsession runs, but please control yourself. Your rashness could very well drag me into an unfathomable vortex as well."

"All right, my physical body has reached Mink Street. I'll be there soon."

"I'm already on the street outside the entrance, but... I don't dare come in."

"Heavens, knowing he is inside, even as I stand out here, I've unconsciously slowed my breathing, as though breathing the slightest bit harder might disturb this mighty being."

"He must have noticed me already. Even though I've done everything I can to conceal myself by sealing off my aura, everything around him must lie exposed beneath his wise gaze, with nowhere to hide."

"Ah, the Divine Envoy has told this Otherworldly Demon possessing a human to turn on the radio."

"Miss Molly, look. What did I just say? He really did discover me long ago. The concealment ability I take such pride in is nothing but a joke before him."

"I am merely a lowly ant."

"This ant answers your summons!"

At the courtyard entrance of No. 128 on Mink Street.

A man wearing the Red Suit silently raised the brim of his hat, revealing eyes like blood moons.

At the same time,

his lips began to move,

but his voice

came from the radio in the second-floor master bedroom:

"Good evening, dear listeners. Welcome to Rojia Story Hour. I am your host, the humble Alfred."

After he said that,

the man in the red suit outside stopped moving his lips, and the voice from the radio stopped with him.

But to Kallen, that voice sounded like music from heaven.

Yes, he had heard that voice in his nightmare. That very voice.

Earlier, Kallen had worried about what he would do if the "ghosts" in this house had moved away with its former owners.

Now, he no longer needed to worry. The living had moved out, but they were still here.

Kallen did not know exactly what to call the "unclean things" in this house. Were they ghosts, or... Otherworldly Demons?

But they were beings that even Dis could not immediately destroy, beings that could live as his neighbors right under his nose!

Clearly,

Mrs. Hughes knew nothing of these complications.

She merely frowned,

and said with some regret,

"I don't want stories. I want music. But if there's no music, I can only consider that an imperfection. Still, imperfection is itself a kind of artistic beauty.

"I can't wait any longer, my dear Kallen."

Mrs. Hughes held a gun in her left hand,

and raised a knife in her right.

"Kallen, so handsome that you make me-no, both of us-drool. Would you rather be shot first or stabbed first?

"I suggest the knife. Once the gun goes off, I'll have to chop you up quickly and leave in a hurry. I might leave quite a lot of you behind.

"If you choose to let me quietly hack you to death, I'll chop you up nice and fine. I won't waste even a scrap of meat.

"Hmm?

"Why haven't you chosen yet?

"What are you waiting for?"

Mrs. Hughes approached Kallen, her expression hideous.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Kallen kept glancing at the radio.

What the hell?

Didn't you already respond? Why did you go silent after just one line?

Fuck.

Don't tell me Otherworldly Demons won't fight each other?

But...

Am I not an Otherworldly Demon too? Why does Mrs. Hughes want to kill me?

Outside the courtyard gate,

the cuffs of the red suit fluttered gently in the evening breeze.

Set in Alfred's handsome, solemn face were a pair of calm, blood-red eyes.

He dared not say another word, lest he disturb the Divine Envoy's enjoyment.

He dared not act on his own, lest he disrupt the Divine Envoy's plans.

He exercised the utmost caution.

At the same time,

he ignored Miss Molly's repeated requests.

Mrs. Hughes had reached Kallen.

She tilted her head,

her smile blossomed,

and she asked softly,

"What are you still... waiting for?"

As she spoke,

she faced Kallen,

and raised her butcher's knife!

Spurred by the sight,

Kallen shouted,

"What are you still waiting for!"

Outside the courtyard gate,

the wind stirred.

Alfred's red figure vanished from the street.

The next instant,

the floor-to-ceiling window shattered silently. The glass did not scatter in all directions, but drifted gently to the ground like cotton candy blown apart.

It all

happened far too quickly.

Mrs. Hughes was just about to bring her knife down on Kallen when, to her astonishment, she discovered a figure between them.

He knelt there on one knee.

"Alfred answers your summons."

"What are you!" Mrs. Hughes let out an almost frenzied shriek. At the same time, her blade continued downward, now aimed at the man in the red suit.

Alfred turned to look at Mrs. Hughes behind him.

At that instant,

an uncanny light shone from his red eyes.

In a flash,

Mrs. Hughes's body froze, locked in the act of swinging her knife, unable to move at all.

Alfred turned back,

remaining on one knee.

He did not even dare meet the eyes of the "great" being sitting on the edge of the bed before him.

He placed his right hand over his chest,

and spoke with utmost humility.

"Please forgive my presumptuous question. Shall we follow your great will and punish the defiler before us in the manner of the light of order?"

I...

Kallen's eyes widened.

He had imagined many possibilities. The first, which had already been ruled out, was that the house's "ghosts" were not home and he would be chopped to pieces.

Then there was the possibility of the ghosts fighting each other, like dogs tearing into one another.

In the end, the winner would probably kill him.

But for all the scenarios he had imagined, he had never expected this!

Who is he?

Why is he kneeling in front of me?

Who am I?

Where am I?

What am I doing?

Still,

although his mind was blank, completely frozen, that did not stop Kallen from following the other man's lead and uttering a single syllable.

"Mm..."

Fortunately, it was only one syllable. Otherwise, he could not have hidden the sound of his chattering teeth. Kallen was certain that he could not get through a complete sentence fluently right now.

"Alfred obeys your will."

With that,

Alfred, still kneeling on one knee with his head bowed in humility, called out,

"Miss Molly."

"Eee... yaaa!!!!!"

A piercing shriek came from beneath the bed, startling Kallen so badly that he nearly jumped up.

Fortunately,

his knees had long since gone weak with fear. Though his feet were still planted on the floor, he could not get up, and remained sitting on the edge of the bed.

A pair of legs, a face.

Once again, Kallen saw the terrifying woman from his dream. Only this time, it was real.

He watched the woman open her mouth.

What had been an ordinary mouth kept expanding, growing to an impossible size, until it was as large as a grown man was tall.

"Imprisoned" as she was, Mrs. Hughes could only show terror in her eyes as her body was steadily dragged into that enormous mouth.

He could tell

that she was struggling,

that she was terrified,

but her struggles were futile.

Kallen had experienced Miss Molly's horror in his dream-her chewing, her swallowing. He knew just how terrifying this was.

Mrs. Hughes's struggling body began to split apart.

Lines of blood appeared on her hands, her feet, her neck, and every part of her body. At the same time, it continued to divide into ever finer pieces.

She began to crumble.

It was like taking a slice of bread and rubbing it between one's hands, reducing the intact slice to handfuls of crumbs.

A mass of black light broke free of her body. It seemed to want to escape, but the next instant, Miss Molly swallowed it straight into her enormous mouth.

After the black light disappeared,

the dark patches on Mrs. Hughes's face vanished as well.

An expression of release appeared on her face.

Her gaze settled gently on Kallen, sitting on the edge of the bed, and the corners of her lips curved ever so slightly.

Kallen believed that, at this moment, Mrs. Hughes-the real Mrs. Hughes-had returned.

His heart trembled. Instinctively, he raised a hand, wanting to shout for them to stop.

If Mrs. Hughes had killed because a "ghost" possessed her, then Mrs. Hughes herself should have been innocent, especially now that the "ghost" had been destroyed.

But before Kallen could utter a sound,

Mrs. Hughes's body shattered completely, turning into a cloud of bloody mist that was sucked into Miss Molly's mouth.

Where she had stood,

only a pile of her clothes remained. Mrs. Hughes herself was gone.

Miss Molly, who consisted of nothing but a pair of legs and a face, knelt on one knee before Kallen after swallowing Mrs. Hughes.

And Kallen,

looking at Mrs. Hughes's dress, her underwear, and the black lace on the floor,

fell silent.

A faint sadness rippled through his heart.

The God of Order had established the laws of order, and the first to violate them had been his daughter. In the end, the God of Order had chosen to cast his daughter Ankara into the jaws of a vicious beast to uphold the dignity of order.

This was

the light of order.