The central square was vast and empty, the breeze sweeping through, captivating the eyes. Yellow leaves fell to the ground, crunching underfoot, adding an extra layer of desolate melancholy to the scene.
Marcellus focused his gaze on the flagpole, now rusted and worn from years of neglect, already damaged.
Since that incident, this place had been abandoned, becoming a military forbidden zone.
The joyful old dreams had been revisited.
Shared a drink, exchanged heartfelt camaraderie.
Who would still come here to glance now? Those enchanting times had long since vanished, buried along with Cyrus's severed head, all turning to bone and entombed together.
He stood by the flagpole, slowly raising his bottle and pouring it into the earth around it.
The scent of the wine was intoxicating.
Years ago, Cyrus always said the wine was intoxicating, and insisted his parents prepare it for him. The limited wine from Scalien was unique, extremely precious, and hard to find on the market.
But what truly captivated him wasn't the wine, but the cup-loving girl. She often sat leaning against the flagpole, teasing the wine Cyrus had brought, showing a smile rarely seen.
Where the autumn wind rises, carrying with it soft laughter.
He felt a sense of daze, as if he could hear the girl's laughter from behind him.
"Marcellus, you're really something. You stole all this wine for me."
The only time in his life.
She smiled at him, and then burned to ash, forever gone.
*
Raven couldn't find Arabella anywhere.
Every year, on this day, Arabella would disappear.
She was exceptionally skilled, and if she wanted to hide, no one could track her.
Someone like him was numb to the passage of time.
Living another day was just living, and when death came, it was nothing but a patch of earth.
But only this day, the first day of autumn, did he remember clearly.
The first time he couldn't find Arabella, he and Albatross were both particularly anxious.
They were being led by Arabella, hiding in the marshlands, where dense jungles spread everywhere, filled with venomous insects and wild beasts. As night fell, the two young children shivered, huddling together in fear, thinking that Arabella had abandoned them.
But the rest of the group wasn't fazed. The elder leader, who fought alongside Arabella, patted his shoulder and comforted him, "Don't be afraid, boys. The boss hasn't gone missing, she just disappears for a day."
No one knew what Arabella did during her day of disappearance.
From then on, on the day Arabella disappeared, Raven and Albatross would wait at the same spot, waiting a full day and night. By the time the morning light broke, Arabella would reappear, seemingly out of nowhere, carrying meat and wine, as if returning from a hunt, teasing them with a smile, "You two must be hungry. I've brought back some good food."
At this moment, Raven stood waiting at the door, while Albatross and the others sat quietly inside the room.
As they grew older, the gap between them widened, and they would never again offer each other the trust they once did, waiting together for that unknown woman.
As the sun set, Arabella had already been gone for most of the day. Another night passed, and only then would his anxious heart settle when he could see her again.
Arabella's secret, no one knew how it connected to Merrick.
He had sent people to keep watch over Merrick to prevent him from meeting Arabella, but no one could possess her on this day.
*
Cyrus's memorial day, every year.
Arabella didn't drown her sorrows in alcohol, nor did she wallow in melancholy.
Vincent Montfort had been a towering hero in his time, defending his homeland. His two sons were also valiant generals who had gloriously died in battle.
Only his third daughter was born with evil in her blood.
Vincent had tried countless times to correct her, even breaking his own family rules to teach her, but nothing could make her change her ways.
What did loyalty and filial piety matter when, at the end of the day, there was no one to bury them?
With just a figure like Cyrus, it was even more impossible to transform her.
Arabella sat high upon the thick branches of a towering tree, its leaves dense and lush. In this place, the southern heat made the plants grow rapidly, and towering forests spread in every direction. With the wind rising and birds calling, being up high allowed one to cast off the noise below, and through the layers of green leaves, it felt as if she were hidden in a secret, otherworldly space.
In truth, she had never thought of avenging her father and two older brothers.
Everyone had their own aspirations. They chose loyalty and righteousness, a path fraught with obstacles, but it was the path they had chosen, and no matter how they died, it was their fate.
Just like she had chosen evil, and evil would beget evil—she knew that well.
But so what?
Those who chose righteousness died before her, more miserably than she, and every day she lived was one more day gained.
She was almost fearless—unafraid of life and death, hardship, or good and evil.
If it weren't for her heinous crimes, the Montfort line would have been eradicated by the Ackerley long ago.
Arabella sat quietly, cross-legged on the treetop, her figure swaying with the wind. Around her, the green leaves rustled, rising and falling in a gentle rhythm.
She remembered when she climbed to the top of the tree as a child, becoming the king of the hill. Beneath the tree stood young Cyrus, nervously and fearfully, arms wide open, eyes fixed on her, terrified she might fall.
Arabella lowered her head. Those same beautiful eyes, now even more dazzling, gazed at him. The grown-up Cyrus stood there, arms open, speaking softly, "Miss, be careful—"
*
Merrick sharply sensed that something was off today.
An eerie, deathly silence.
Quiet and still, everyone seemed to silently eat, sleep, and drift through the day in a daze.
Merrick didn't understand why, but he assumed it was just indulgence before taking action.
However, what pleased him was that the people who usually tailed him were nowhere to be seen.
Today felt like a forgotten moment in time.
After Merrick went out on the streets, he deliberately strolled through several intersections, and there was no one following him.
Today, in Arabella place, he felt unusually free.
Although he felt a sense of joy, he remained very cautious and contacted his superior to arrange the meeting as previously agreed.
The outskirts of here were a mass grave, a place where the dead lay like extinguished lamps, forgotten in the chaos of war, and their bodies discarded as nothing more than fleeting clouds.
The meeting with his superior was set in this place, where dense jungles sprawled, and aside from the remains, no living soul should remain.
After reporting his situation to his superior, the superior clearly informed him that the operation's target was another four countries across the ocean.
The police in those four countries were closely monitoring Arabella, and Merrick was tasked with recording as much of her drug routes as possible.
This was all preparation for a future, sweeping strike.
After the meeting, the superior left first.
When Merrick found a rare moment of respite, he sought solace for his soul in this quiet place, a brief breath of peace.
Dealing with dangerous villains, he was half-man, half-devil, unsure of when he would ever stand openly in the sunlight with honor.
He had asked his superiors to investigate Arabella.
As expected, there were no specific images of her appearance.
Though this woman was infamous in both the underworld and the law, she was like a ghost, preferring to kill from a distance.
It was said that her sniping skills were unparalleled, though no one knew the extent of her abilities or skill level.
As Merrick walked, lost in thought, he occasionally came across scattered bones along the path. Without hesitation, he removed his coat, wrapped them up, and buried them in the nearby earth where many were laid to rest.
A sense of unease gnawed at him, wondering if one day his undercover identity would be exposed, leading to the same fate: a corpse with no one to claim it.
His gaze was suddenly drawn to a strange color in the distance, a patch of black amidst the layers of green.
Merrick was greatly surprised. He quietly approached and soon realized that the dark figure was actually a young woman sitting on the tree branch.
Instinctively, he stretched out his arms in tension, looking up, meeting the gaze of the young woman who had lowered her head at the sound.
He spoke, "Miss, be careful—"
