The scorching sun blazed overhead, and Marcellus stood at the center of the square like a shadow, his presence barely touching the light, surrounded by well-equipped soldiers. Since Arabella left, this place had become a forbidden zone, with troops stationed nearby on 24-hour guard. He knew that Arabella could come alone, but once she arrived, there would be no sneaking in and taking Cyrus away.
The afternoon heat was intense, but as Marcellus scanned the flagpole not far off, he felt a chill through his body, not a single drop of sweat on him. After the incident years ago, he was still young and often had nightmares, dreaming that his older brother, Cyrus, would return as a vengeful ghost to seek him out, demanding to know why he betrayed him and Arabella, why he tipped them off, his face covered in blood and tears, with a corpse drifting in the wind by the flagpole. Yet it never happened nowadays. Cyrus never visited his dreams even once in recent years. Over the years, if not for that one solitary photo, he might have almost forgotten the blazing innocence in Cyrus's eyes from their youth. After all, such clear, summer-like gaze was something he would never find again, not even within his own eyes.
Arabella had sent people to warn him. In his heart, he knew it wasn't an empty threat. She had been plotting and moving step by step to one day reclaim Cyrus. Compared to the nation's ten years of hardship, Cyrus was nothing more than a dead body—what harm would it be to give him up? But if he gave Cyrus to Arabella, she would never step foot in Scalien again. From that moment on, she would vanish into the sea of people, and no one would ever find her again, and that person would never be seen again in this lifetime.
Marcellus closed his eyes, recalling that night in Kewa. During the heavy rain, he had been resting in the car, eyes shut, but for some inexplicable reason, he glanced out the window. A loud crash echoed in his mind, and anger and longing surged within him, turning into boiling blood that filled his body. He had deliberately shut himself off from any news of her, purposely erasing the traces that Arabella had left on his life. Yet, with just a single glance, all his defenses crumbled, falling apart in an instant.
He spoke the harshest words, but his eyes greedily drank in every inch of her being. Perhaps it was because of the rain, but Arabella, drenched to the bone, had a mist in her eyes, as though a pool of water had stirred within him. Arabella, truly etched into his heart like burnt ashes, he could no longer avoid himself. The love he had as a boy, so surging and uncontrollable, left him both jealous and timid, only daring to secretly watch his brother and the girl interact so naturally, so harmoniously. The girl lacked humanity, without a sense of right or wrong, a hopeless monster by nature. But as long as she was by the boy's side, she would clumsily try to imitate ordinary people.
He had once mocked the girl as both laughable and pitiable, but now, looking at himself standing in this desolate square, he felt even more pathetic and hateful. With a self-deprecating sigh, Marcellus walked toward the nearby guard camp, where Cyrus's body was kept. He intended to place the body under everyone's noses. Arabella could forget about sneaking it away quietly. She had to see him, it was inevitable—once she saw him, she would stay. If she could make him stay, all the better; if not, then she would leave her life behind.
Cyrus's body had already begun to decompose. During the heavy wind and rain that day, Arabella had hung him in the chaos and dashed out of the encirclement, disappearing without a trace. Everyone was hunting for her. It wasn't until the next day that Cyrus's body was sent to the morgue. After staying there for a few days, it was supposed to be cremated. However, it was his idea to use the body to bait Arabella into showing herself, which is why his father had not cremated it. Using the body to lure Arabella, yet she never appeared. Instead, news spread that she had brought a group of her father's former subordinates and entered the Manos Swamp, never to return.
He only wanted that woman to die and never show up again. Yet, deep in his heart, he irrationally hoped for one last meeting. He left Cyrus's body, preserved with anti-decay measures, in a special large ice coffin to be kept permanently.
"General!" The soldier guarding the door of the ice coffin room saluted him. Marcellus nodded and turned to enter the adjacent control room, where there were staff members on duty 24/7. Seeing him enter, the staff began to rise, but Marcellus waved his hand. "Nothing unusual, right?"
"Report, General, everything has been normal."
Marcellus nodded, glanced at the ice coffin on the surveillance screen, then turned and left. He couldn't bear to face his brother. His brother hadn't turned into a vengeful spirit to find him, and now Marcellus was even more afraid. The boy remained forever in Arabella's memories, growing more beautiful with each passing thought. His smile, forever innocent and pure, shone with a brilliance so blinding it took away all remnants of humanity within her. This was far more terrifying than turning into a vengeful ghost.
At the same time, hidden out of Marcellus's detection range, Caracal watched as his thermal sensor finally locked onto the target. As Master Unknown had predicted, after his words, Marcellus indeed took action. The earlier disruptions and message deliveries had all been part of Master Unknown's plan, designed to provoke Marcellus into action. With the mission completed, Caracal swiftly packed away the equipment and disappeared into the shadows.
Arabella galloped on horseback, the wind rushing into her collar as she arced forward. Norris rode half a step behind her, chasing her closely, shouting with a raised voice, "Arabella—how does it feel to ride?"
Arabella didn't reply. In truth, riding a horse was just as thrilling as racing cars, but thrill was an act of losing control. She enjoyed it, but couldn't let herself fall into it. Instead, she just galloped toward the sunrise, relishing the moment of having no end ahead of her.
When they dismounted, Norris took Arabella's hand, meeting her gaze as he pressed his lips to the back of her hand in a brief kiss. As Arabella stood beside him, he calmly met her eyes, smiling brightly.
Arabella glanced at Norris, her voice soft as she asked, "What's wrong, baby?"
Norris grinned as he admired Arabella's hands, first pursing his lips, then seemingly liking them more the longer he looked. Unable to resist, he broke into a wide smile, laughing with delight, "I never imagined that such hands could bring my designed weapons to their peak performance." He smiled, and Arabella smiled too. His lashes were long, casting shadows over his eyes, concealing every emotion. The setting sun dyed the sky with its glow, and from any angle, it looked like a pair of ordinary lovers whispering sweet nothings.
Listening carefully, it was entirely different. The fragmented voices were carried by the wind, but in this desolate wilderness, with no one around, the horrifying words could be heard.
"Biological weapons are banned worldwide. Not only is it difficult to acquire the chemical raw materials, but developing the biological agents is even harder. I only have the skill to design weapons that carry biological agents, but I have no ability to produce the agents themselves."
"No need for large-scale production, and no need for highly lethal agents, as long as the toxin spreads quickly and causes widespread contamination."
Now Norris understood. Arabella was trying to create panic. While a less lethal agent could indeed be developed, he didn't have the capability to mass-produce the weapons.
It seemed as if Arabella had read his thoughts, and she continued, "You just need to design the weapon. It should be small and portable, capable of being thrown and releasing the agent. As for producing the biological agent and mass-producing the weapons, I will find someone to handle that."
Norris immediately knew who she was talking about and asked with interest, "Is it the small arms tycoon, Ferdinand? But isn't he locked up? I heard that recently, the royal family of Spanka personally negotiated with the Viskomo government, saying that Ferdinand was their princess's future husband and requested his extradition. But Ferdinand denied it on the spot, even saying that he'd rather be shot than become the princess's consort. The royal family got so mad, they just stopped caring about him. Now Ferdinand's situation isn't looking good. According to reports, he has the skills to escape, so it doesn't make sense that he was sentenced to death."
Arabella walked along, listening with interest until Norris mentioned the last part. She stopped, shaking her head and chuckling softly, "That guy is really something."
Norris didn't quite understand, and asked, "Huh? What do you mean?"
Arabella lifted her leg and continued walking forward, her gaze fixed on the distant sunset. It reminded her of the words her father had spoken before his death—People, when they become cruel, can be boundless in their malice. The only thing that can restrain them from sinking lower is emotion. Arabella didn't understand emotions, but because of how Ferdinand had driven a tank to break through the enemy encirclement for her; because despite having a chance to escape prison, he stubbornly stayed, risking his life to wait for her to rescue him; because of how much she needed him, unable to do without his ability to make weapons.
Ferdinand, this person, Arabella was certain she would save him.
