When Ferdinand heard the death sentence, he wasn't surprised at all. The royal family of Spanka had given up on negotiations, leaving the Viskomo government to believe he was a worthless person, ripe for disposal.
Looking at the wooden carving in his hand, Ferdinand sneered and continued carving. Over the first year in prison, he had eliminated all those who had been eager to assassinate him. During the next year, he began learning to carve, worried that with time, he might forget Arabella's face. He feared that with time, he might forget Arabella's face, for there was no way to hold onto it—her features were so ordinary, that without effort, one might fail to recall her appearance entirely.
Ferdinand gazed at the wooden carving in his hands. After a year of practice, his skill was still limited. Fortunately, Arabella's face wasn't particularly beautiful to begin with—so long as he could carve out her eyes, nose, and mouth, it would do. He glanced at the row of Arabella's carvings on the bedside and smiled faintly. For someone like him, who lived on the edge of a knife, death was just another ordinary word. Good people often say that evil can't defeat righteousness, and in this case, they were right. For someone as vile as him, when he committed evil, he was always prepared for the worst—he could die in the streets or be executed. His life was bound to consist of only two things—killing or being killed. But without going through this chaos, how could he have the chance to amass great wealth or meet Arabella?
Wealth had never been something he cared about. What truly satisfied him was the fact that in this life, he had the chance to meet Arabella. When they first met, their relationship was merely one of mutual use and cooperation, but he had gradually fallen deeper, unable to extricate himself from his emotions, willing to risk his life for her. With his extensive arms trade spanning the globe, how could he fear the prison at Viskomo? He was not like Arabella. She was the most prominent figure, the one most feared by nations. Not only could she command armies, but she also had the skill to navigate and control various channels, uniting the black-market forces of many countries. In these chaotic times, when borders were half-locked and each nation had its own hidden agenda, Arabella moved freely, establishing deep roots and expanding her influence—a source of constant anxiety for all the nations. If she were left unchecked, allowing her power to grow would only bring endless trouble. Yet he, by contrast, found himself in a different position. In this world, fractured and in turmoil, an arms dealer like him could supply rebels with enough weaponry to wage war, and there were countless factions eager to save his life. For him, escaping was a mere matter of will.
But he didn't want to leave; he was determined to wait. Over two years ago, when he withdrew from the siege for Arabella, he had already handed his life into her hands. If Arabella came to save him, he would live; if she didn't, he would die. He gave her three years to regroup, and when he heard the news, he was overjoyed. This woman had intervened in the Doma coup and successfully destroyed the century-old family business of the Cardew family. When he heard the news, he was thrilled. Arabella was quick and ruthless in her actions, always sharp with her mind, and he had no doubt that she would never fall into decline.
Having just finished carving another wooden sculpture, Ferdinand casually threw it on the bed. He stretched his limbs to relax his muscles. He needed to prepare as well. After three years apart, he couldn't let Arabella see him and ruin his handsome image.
Meanwhile, as Ferdinand was preparing, in a hospital room, Diamond sighed as he looked around at the room filled with graffiti. His gaze fell on Merrick, trembling and curled up by the bed. He softened his tone and gently said, "Merrick, I've come to see you. Do you remember me?" In the corner, Merrick, still scribbling on the walls, suddenly turned his head, nearly frantic, and cried out, "My name is Cyrus! Why doesn't anyone believe me? Who are you? You're a bad person—the bad people want to tear me apart from Arabella!" Merrick grew more agitated as he spoke, waving his crayon like a weapon, pointing it at Diamond as he continued to rant, "You're all bad people! You want to kill Arabella, you want to kill Arabella!"
Diamond never expected that simply addressing Merrick would drive him mad. He quickly extended his hands in a calming gesture, speaking gently to him, "No, absolutely not. You are Cyrus, Cyrus and Arabella will always be together, no one will separate you. Cyrus, please calm down, alright? If you're this upset, Arabella won't like it."
Perhaps those words about Arabella not liking it struck a chord with Merrick's confused thoughts. His hand, trembling slightly as it gripped the crayon, gradually relaxed, and his expression softened. Turning his gaze toward the wall, now covered in vibrant strokes, he murmured softly to himself, "Yes, Arabella likes me when I smile at her. If I'm this fierce, she won't like it."
Seeing Merrick put down his crayon and relax his guard, Diamond slowly sat down beside him and asked gently, "Cyrus, how have you been feeling recently? What were you drawing just now?" When asked about something that interested him, Merrick's eyes lit up, as though he immediately forgot about the earlier confrontation. He grabbed Diamond's hand affectionately and motioned for him to come closer to the wall. Then, using his finger, he traced on the wall and said, "Look how wide this square is, I'm playing at that flagpole. This little figure is Arabella, look how much she loves me, she's always by my side, watching me play."
The room of Merrick was covered in graffiti on all four walls, and this was the twelfth time the hospital had repainted the walls. The problem was that once the walls were filled, and there was no space to draw, Merrick's condition worsened, causing him to go into a frenzy through the night. Only drawing could calm him down. After all, he had made great contributions in the past, so the hospital staff would clear out rooms for him to stay in. Once the walls were covered, they would move him to another room. Despite his frantic episodes, this state was still manageable.
Diamond leaned in closer to examine the spot on Merrick's finger. He had studied those doodles before, most of them chaotic and aimless, nothing more than haphazard scribbles. Over time, he had grown indifferent, too weary to examine the work of a madman in any detail. But today, as he casually glanced over, his back broke into a cold sweat. The graffiti Merrick had pointed to depicted a square, with empty space surrounding it and no obvious buildings, but in the center stood a flagpole. Hanging from the flagpole was a figure with its tongue sticking out and eyes bulging as if it had been strangled. Clearly, it was a depiction of someone who had been hanged. Below the flagpole was a small figure clapping excitedly, which Merrick claimed was Arabella. The figure's body was tiny, but its head was disproportionately large, and it had no facial features at all. The entire scene was eerily unsettling.
When Diamond had once infiltrated Arabella's ranks under the alias Edmund, he had heard rumors. After the joint military-police assault on Arabella's main base, he finally understood the dark past of Arabella, as well as the complicated enmity between her and the Ackerley family. No wonder so many people were fixated on Cyrus, even after he had been dead for so long. Perhaps in this world, the only man capable of breaking through Arabella's ruthless psychological defenses is the one she herself had hanged.
Once again, Diamond looked at the face of Merrick, which was identical to Cyrus's. He sighed inwardly, wondering if this face had brought him luck or misfortune. It had been nearly three years. Back then, in such a perilous moment, Arabella had never laid a hand on the maddened Merrick, even though she knew he was an imposter. She had shown no intent to kill, which spoke volumes about the influence this face held over her. Originally, the entire hospital was on high alert to prevent Arabella from sending someone to secretly kidnap Merrick. But over the past three years, she had fled to another country, seemingly forgetting that Merrick even existed. As time passed, the vigilance here gradually weakened, and Merrick, this madman, had become a discarded pawn.
Shaking his head, Diamond saw that visiting hours were approaching. He had no choice but to stand up and softly bid farewell to Merrick, "Cyrus, you stay here and draw well. It's best if you draw flowers, grass, and little animals. Arabella likes these. Don't draw anything that looks too bare, alright?" Merrick lifted his head in confusion, his eyes clear and innocent, with a bewildered and helpless expression as he softly asked, "Really? Arabella likes flowers, grass, and little animals? Well, okay, okay, I'll draw."
Diamond left the room to talk to the attending doctor, leaving Merrick alone in the room. He continued to wave his brush, and on the blank wall, grotesque outlines of little animals began to appear—rabbits with severed necks, dogs torn open to reveal their insides, birds with their wings sliced off. The entire wall was filled with bloody and horrifying images. Merrick grew more and more excited, laughing eerily as he said, "I know, Arabella likes it. Arabella loves these kinds of little animals the most."
Not to mention the situation in Viskomo, in Jingle, Arabella had brought the young Norris back to her residence. As Bramwell strode out of the room and took the bag from Arabella, he excitedly shouted, "Master Unknown!"
Arabella smiled and stretched out her hand, lightly patting his head, "Why shout so loudly? Have you missed me so much that you think I've gone deaf from not seeing you for a while?"
Bramwell followed her with a playful grin, "Of course, I missed you, Master Unknown. By the way, do you want some durian from Island?"
When Arabella heard about the delicious durian, her hand, which had been patting his head, shifted to gently pinch his neck, as if holding a kitten. She softly said, "You're the only one who's good to me, kid."
When Bramwell heard Arabella praise him, his heart seemed to bloom with flowers, swelling with joy. He was different from those who had a tragic background and blood on their hands. He had spent his first twenty years walking in the sunlight, understanding love and human emotions. That's why, when he fell in love, he was always full of hope and joy, willing to sacrifice everything. But when he turned around, he saw someone following Arabella, a young man with a scruffy look. Although his appearance was handsome, he was clearly very young—about fifteen or sixteen. Bramwell couldn't figure out who he was. He seemed too young to be Arabella's lover, and he didn't seem to be someone important either. Moreover, from his behavior and movements, it was obvious that the boy was weak and defenseless.
Seeing that Bramwell's gaze had shifted to the person behind her, Arabella casually introduced, "This is Norris, his nickname is 'Naby.' You can call him by his nickname too."
"No!"
The man and the boy both rejected it at the same time. They exchanged a look of mutual disdain. Norris spoke first, "Arabella, I'm your partner. How could I let your subordinates call me by my nickname?"
When Bramwell heard this, his eyes shot a cold glare at Norris. He had no idea who this reckless person was.
Arabella seemed unaware of the tense standoff between the two, her gaze instead drifting toward Raven, who stood at attention near the open door of the living room. With a smile, she walked toward him. Raven stood straight, his heart a storm of emotion, yet his face betrayed none of it. He had been by Arabella's side for so long that he had long seen through the venomous cruelty hidden beneath her charming smile. But seeing through her was one thing, deceiving himself another. As Arabella approached and gently squeezed his arm, inquiring about his journey, even the coldest of airs seemed to melt into the tender affection he secretly longed for in his fantasies.
