When Priscilla found Arabella, she was perched on a large tree branch within the mansion. Arabella's physique was well-proportioned, and the branch was thick and sturdy enough to bear her weight. She sat there, gazing into the distance with her feet dangling, one of her shoes barely hanging onto her big toe, almost falling off. The image of Arabella at this moment, a figure feared internationally, would likely leave any onlookers stunned. She swayed her head, and in the distant center of her view, there was a bright spot—that was the palace. Where she sat was a vast expanse of darkness, with light and darkness forming a single line, a line leading straight to hell.
"Master Unknown! What are you looking at?" Priscilla asked curiously as she climbed down from the tree to meet Arabella.
Arabella smiled as she took the tissue from Priscilla and wiped her hands, her gaze lowered as she responded, "I'm enjoying the view from up here."
After spending some time with her, Priscilla found Arabella to be a strange person, breaking all conventional expectations. No matter how she looked at it, Arabella didn't resemble the ruthless and bloodthirsty terrorist the world had heard about. Her gaze shifted to Arabella's fingers—pale and slender, and she couldn't imagine that these hands were used for killing.
"Master Unknown, the plan is set. You'll have to stay in the mansion for now. Once you receive my page, just follow my trusted associates here in the mansion to the palace and cooperate with our actions. My mansion is only one street away from the side entrance of the palace, so it won't take long to get there. Everything has been arranged." Priscilla spoke, then, afraid of upsetting Arabella by not clarifying the time and place, she added, "It's not that I don't trust you, Master Unknown. But the plan involves too many people, so I must be cautious. Also, if my brother refuses to hand over the military power, I will need your help."
Arabella's eyelashes cast a shadow over her eyes, her gaze narrowed as the cold light flickered through, leaving only a smile on her face. "Do you need me to send someone to assist you?"
Priscilla shook her head, her tone filled with determination. "This is a private matter between my brother and me. It's best to resolve it with the least cost possible. We shouldn't let the situation escalate. Besides, George controls a powerful military force. We must act quickly, and our goal is simple—catch the king before we catch the thief."
Arabella appeared amiable and unperturbed, not the slightest hint of anger stirred by Priscilla's concealment. In fact, she even engaged in light-hearted conversation with Priscilla, speaking of her beloved, a match of both talent and beauty—truly a tale to be admired.
When Priscilla saw her beloved, Robert, her smile remained as bright as ever.
"She agreed to help without knowing the plan?"
"Of course. I believe the world misunderstands her far too much. A woman like her must have endured great sorrow, which is why she closes herself off so. As women, we resonate with one another, and I sense a very tender heart within her."
Robert furrowed his brow. Men and women think differently, and he could never fully trust Arabella in this matter. If she were truly soft-hearted, the world wouldn't have made her the number one fugitive. In times of peace, there is virtue and benevolence; in times of turmoil, there is no room for sentiment. Though the conditions Priscilla offered to Arabella were undeniably tempting, the swiftness with which Arabella agreed could not help but raise suspicions.
He had his trusted subordinates assign a capable observer, as rumors had it that Arabella was very powerful. It would be impossible to keep a close watch on her, so they would have to observe her from a distance. If she followed the plan, everything would be fine, but if she made any moves, the observer would be able to notify them in time.
The plan that Priscilla mentioned would take place in four days. George was to attend a royal private banquet, with the king, queen, and other royal nobles present. Due to the high status of the royals, George was not allowed to bring many guards into the banquet, and the other soldiers had to wait outside the palace. This would be the time when George had the fewest personal bodyguards. Meanwhile, Priscilla had secretly made arrangements with the royal family and planned to seize this opportunity to take down George. As the saying goes, "Cut off the head of the snake," once George was under control, it would be equivalent to controlling the command of the army. For Priscilla, as long as George was willing to surrender, she would prefer not to resort to a bloody massacre. However, if he insisted on stubbornly resisting, she would have no choice but to ask Arabella to eliminate him.
On the other side, the observers secretly sent by Robert must have been keeping a close watch on Arabella. The observer had been perched in a tall tree, seemingly with no intention of coming down. He had not received any other tasks, only to keep a tight surveillance on Arabella and immediately report if there was any movement in the deployment of troops.
What could it mean for someone to stay hidden up in a tree?
Meanwhile, at the palace, George attended in a formal evening suit, his arm linked with his companion, Priscilla. She wore a stunning, elegant gown that highlighted her graceful figure, radiant and dazzling. After the banquet began, the atmosphere was pleasant. Though the king no longer holds power, he remains the symbol of the nation's spirit. In this moment, he converses lightheartedly with George, discussing the state of international affairs.
The queen, however, looked somewhat tense. Though she was holding Priscilla's hand and talking about jewelry and accessories, her gaze kept drifting around the room.
"Your Majesty, please don't let your nervousness show," Priscilla said softly, gently holding the queen's hand.
The queen took a deep breath and nodded, forcing herself to calm down. She came from a noble background, a delicate flower raised in a sheltered environment, and had never encountered something as monumental as a coup. She could not fathom it. The Cardews, in its prime, held such power that even the royal family was but a shadow in their eyes. How could Priscilla possibly make such a self-destructive move? Commanding the military was no trivial matter. Without George, how could Priscilla act on her own? This, perhaps, was the very reason her husband was willing to ally with Priscilla. What an opportunity it was—sibling rivalry, a perfect chance for the royal family to reclaim its former glory.
Both sides harbored their own hidden motives, waiting for the right moment. It seemed that only George remained oblivious. He was in a good mood, having recently commanded troops to quell rebels on the border. With continuous victories, he displayed a rare patience even in the presence of the royal family. Yet, ever behind his mask, his expression remained unreadable, leaving one to assume that he was, no doubt, basking in the full bloom of success.
After three rounds of drinks, George seemed to have had a bit too much, resting his head on his hand, quietly sitting on a soft couch. Priscilla approached him, softly calling, "George—"
George lifted his head slightly at the sound of her voice, appearing truly drunk. He grabbed Priscilla's hand with a firm hold and softly said, "You know we are not siblings."
Priscilla instinctively clenched her fist, lowering her voice to speak in George's ear, "Since you began pretending to be my brother, you have been George. George, I will ask you again, do you approve of my marriage to Robert?"
George halted all movement, his gaze piercing through the mask, locking firmly onto Priscilla. Unwavering, she met his stare head-on, not flinching in the slightest.
After a moment, George spoke, "Unless I die, I will never allow you to marry anyone else."
That was the end of the discussion. Priscilla took a deep breath, steeled herself, and turned her gaze to the distance, signaling the attack.
George seemed to be heavily intoxicated, half of his body leaning against Priscilla. His body temperature was high, burning with heat. Even through the mask, Priscilla could feel his warm breath. In that moment, all his emotions poured out, "Priscilla, you have no heart. I sacrificed my appearance, my name, everything to protect our family for you, becoming George and saving it from ruin. Now that peace has returned, and life is better, you don't need me anymore, and you want to be with another man. Priscilla, do you still want to kill me?"
Each question from George made Priscilla's heart tremble, for she too harbored gratitude for his sacrifices. Yet, gratitude and love were two entirely different matters. What she sought was to strip him of his military power, but she would still ensure his safety and a life of wealth and honor.
As Robert led a large group of palace guards into the banquet hall, the guards around George sensed that something was wrong and began to quietly brace themselves.
Only George kept his eyes fixed on Priscilla, who had already ducked behind the guards. He whispered, "My dear sister, do you really want me dead?"
Priscilla froze for a moment, realizing that George had sensed something amiss. But so what? It was too late. She had carefully orchestrated this plan, waiting for such a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. And now, by chance, she had gained Arabella as an unexpected ally. If George truly resisted to the bitter end, she would have no choice but to eliminate him completely.
"George, as long as you don't resist, I promise you will be safe."
George chuckled lightly and retorted, "What if I don't want to? Don't forget, if a gunfight breaks out, my soldiers guarding outside the palace will rush in. The longer this drags on, who knows who will win?"
Robert walked up to Priscilla and pulled her close, interrupting, "Stop talking. If you surrender now, you'll have a chance to survive."
George scanned the room. The royal family members had long since shrunk back, protected by the palace guards as they watched from afar, waiting for the once-glorious general to become a prisoner.
With a cold laugh, George suddenly tore off the mask he had been wearing for years. He originally had his own face, but several years ago, when George died of an unexpected illness, Priscilla found him, claiming that his body, voice, and appearance were very similar to her brother's. She begged for his help. He had almost fallen in love with Priscilla at first sight. He loved her and wanted to dedicate himself to her.
He had transformed into George's likeness, but every midnight, as he lay awake, he hated the face that now belonged to him. He didn't want to be Priscilla's brother; he just loved her.
He slammed the mask down with force, and the sound of it hitting the floor was sharp and resounding. The next moment, a gunshot rang out—just one shot, clean and swift. A few seconds later, a shrill scream erupted from the royal members who had hastily retreated, with the Queen's cry rising above the rest. Yet, just as the scream peaked, another gunshot rang out, and the Queen's voice was abruptly silenced.
Priscilla froze for a moment, but before she could react, Robert had pressed her to the ground to protect her. Gunshots rang out, and the chaos began. George had only four guards around him, while the palace guards numbered around seventy or eighty, not counting the sentries at the gates. Although George had many soldiers stationed outside the palace, the palace gates were far from the main hall, and it would take a considerable amount of time to break in. Therefore, they had to take him down quickly.
It was unclear where the shots were coming from, but Robert breathed out and said, "If we don't take George down in ten minutes, we'll have to send Arabella in to take him out."
"Try to capture him alive. If he's still around, it'll be easier to command the troops."
Robert nodded and drew his handgun, guarding Priscilla closely. But soon, he realized something was wrong. Among the chaotic gunfire, the shots weren't close-range—they were from a sniper rifle. There was a sniper! He cautiously peeked out from his hiding spot, and what he saw left him utterly stunned.
The royal family members scattered like headless flies, fleeing in all directions. But no matter where they ran or who was sacrificing themselves to protect them, the sniper's bullets seemed to be guided, bypassing all obstacles and directly targeting their heads, almost like a one-sided massacre.
"Find the sniper, quick!"
The royal guards were certainly aware that they needed to locate the sniper, yet no matter how they scanned the area, the sniper's position remained elusive. It was as if the shots came from nowhere, taking down the royal family members one after another, as though in a distant, silent hunt.
Something was wrong!
It wasn't strange for there to be a sniper among the military, but how many snipers would be reckless enough to fire without fear of exposing their position? Besides, this was the royal palace, with vast grounds and flat terrain, and no tall buildings allowed. Where could the sniper have gotten such a vantage point?
Robert withdrew to cover, pulled out his pager, and began calling the observer he had secretly dispatched, but there was no response.
"Damn it! Arabella isn't helping us at all. She's already in cahoots with George."
Priscilla was stunned and quickly shook her head in protest, "That's impossible. She's helping us."
"Try calling her."
Priscilla dialed the number, and Arabella picked up the phone, speaking with a smile, "Miss Cardew, what's the matter?"
"Master Unknown, hurry! I need your help."
On the other end, Arabella chuckled lightly, saying, "Don't worry, I'll be right there." Just as her words finished, a faint gunshot sounded from the pager, and then the ten-year-old second prince's head was pierced by a bullet. Beneath the wound, a splash of pale brain matter erupted, and the small body crumpled to the ground, lifeless—its existence snuffed out in an instant.
Robert cursed under his breath, grabbed his submachine gun, and began shooting outwards while shouting, "Aim for the high ground of East. The sniper should be there. Send someone to check it out."
According to their original plan, after receiving the page, Arabella would remain at Priscilla's estate, and her trusted allies would lead her through the side door into the palace. The only slightly elevated point in the palace that could provide a sniper's vantage was the highest point of the east castle. Normally, snipers would be limited by the flat terrain, but with Arabella's reputation, her skills must be formidable, and taking down George shouldn't be a problem.
Robert suspected that Arabella had already coerced her trusted allies to bring her into the palace and occupy the only sniping position there.
But soon, the palace guards who ran over reported that there was no one there.
How could this be? There was no other place in the entire palace suitable for sniping. The surroundings were filled with gardens and pavilions, with nowhere to hide.
The brutal sniper assault raged on. The Princess cried out in silent agony, clutching her three-year-old son tightly in her arms. This time, the bullet tore through her body, piercing the child's skull in one fatal shot, ending the lives of mother and son in an instant.
Robert no longer cared about saving the royal family members. He roared, "Quick! Kill George!"
George was indeed in a tense situation. Though the royal family was caught off guard and lost the initiative, the palace guards greatly outnumbered George's forces. After such intense gunfire, only two of George's men remained by his side.
But the situation changed in an instant. The difficult-to-enter palace hall was quickly forced open, and the people inside didn't even have time to see who it was before the leader, armed with a submachine gun, began firing wildly. The sound of George's elite soldiers launching their attack soon followed.
How did they arrive so quickly? Robert couldn't believe it as he was forced back into cover under a hail of bullets. Breathing heavily, his face ashen, he knew without a doubt that their fate was sealed.
In just three to four minutes, all seventeen members of the royal family, old and young, were shot dead, and the sharp sound of the sniper's gunfire finally ceased.
Then came the bloody massacre. It was unclear where the ruthless killers had come from, but they fired without hesitation. Sixty-one captured palace guards were all gunned down, turned into blood-soaked corpses. Meanwhile, George's personal soldiers simply formed a perimeter, watching as the slaughter continued. In the end, amidst the smoke of battle, only Priscilla and Robert, the two pitiful lovers, were trapped in the middle, their situation helpless and disgraceful.
George stepped through the blood-soaked floor, approaching Priscilla. His arm bore a slight scrape from the recent gunfight, a faint trace of blood seeping through. Some bloodstains marred his face, lending an unsettling chill to his once-handsome features.
"Don't be afraid, my little Priscilla. I will protect you."
Priscilla trembled uncontrollably, but she forced her head up and slapped George's hand away, hissing, "Bah, you're not my brother. You are not worthy of calling me so intimately."
George let out a strange laugh, bending forward and backward as if he had heard something incredibly amusing. After a prolonged laugh, George raised his gun, aiming it at Robert's head. But before he could fire, Priscilla, ever vigilant, leapt forward to block the shot.
"What do you think you're doing? I'll tell you—either we live together, or we die together."
A soft clap echoed through the air, startling everyone. No one had noticed anyone approach, yet there stood Arabella, smiling faintly, as if she had been there all along.
"Master Unknown," Raven called out respectfully, his seven or eight subordinates following suit. After the events at the training camp, just hearing Arabella's name made people shudder, as if they were facing a nightmare.
"Arabella! I trusted you so much, told you everything, gave you so many advantages, why are you doing this? We're both women—" Priscilla lost control, desperately protecting Robert with one arm while tearfully questioning Arabella. Her once-beautiful gown was now torn, leaving her looking utterly disheveled.
Arabella looked at her in confusion and, somewhat intrigued, asked, "What does being women have to do with it?" Then, smiling at Priscilla with her eyes slightly narrowed, she continued with a playful tone, "You gave me quite a few advantages. Maybe your brother did too. But whoever gives me more, that's who I'll help. Is there something wrong with that?"
Priscilla was left speechless, incredulously asking, "But if you weren't satisfied, why didn't you bring it up? We could have negotiated!"
After sizing Priscilla up, Arabella smiled with an almost benevolent look, "But you couldn't meet my requirements. George has the ability, so naturally, I choose him."
It was only at this moment that Priscilla saw Arabella's true face. She was a creature of pure evil, her veins flowing with cruelty and indifference. During their time together, Priscilla had believed there was still a trace of humanity left in her, but it had all been a lie—like the cold light of midnight, which was nothing more than the reflection of the sun's warmth, deceptive and hollow.
Beneath her warm, gentle appearance hid such a venomous face. What was this woman made of? Like a knife forged from steel, its blade sharpened to a deadly edge, cold and chilling in its menace.
Arabella had lost interest in Priscilla and turned to look at George, smiling as she asked, "How should we deal with this?"
George glanced at Priscilla, gritted his teeth, and asked for the final time, "If I kill him, will you follow me from now on? Is that good?"
Priscilla's eyes were filled with tears, her face pale as a sheet, yet her tone was more resolute than ever, "A piece of scum like you, I don't even want to look at you."
George withdrew his gaze, emotionless, and waved his hand dismissively, giving the order, "Drag them out and bury them alive."
"No! George, spare her, don't you love her? I can die, just let me die alone!" At this point, Robert could no longer hold back, his voice hoarse and panicked. In the face of love and life, he would rather protect the life of his beloved, for living was always the only correct choice.
"Without you, I would rather die."
This ill-fated couple clung to each other, entwined between life and death, reluctant to part, their love deep and tender.
George turned and walked away, his heart and face as cold as stone. He would never force a woman who did not love him. If their love was so deep and impossible to sever, then let them go to hell and speak their vows there—no longer to live among the living, where they would only be an eyesore to him.
The soldiers received their orders and immediately hauled the two bodies off the ground, dragging them outside to find a secluded spot to dig a grave and bury them alive.
But then two gunshots rang out in quick succession. George turned sharply, only to see that the two who had been on the brink of death were now firmly sprawled on the cold marble floor, two bullet holes in their foreheads oozing blood that flowed together. The two remained locked in each other's embrace, their faces mere inches apart. In silent stillness, they imprinted their most cherished moments in each other's eyes, leaving behind an unearthly, restless gaze that would never close.
George turned to Arabella, his face expressionless, his eyes devoid of tears. He simply asked, "Why did you shoot?"
"It was annoying to hear them cry. Burying them alive would take too much time. This way, it's more convenient."
