Arabella was critically wounded, the situation dire. Marcellus promptly commanded a helicopter to carry her to the military hospital for urgent rescue.
The military hospital's emergency room was brightly lit as Marcellus called in top orthopedic and cardiopulmonary specialists from other military districts to join the rescue efforts overnight.
Arabella's heart stopped briefly during the procedure, leaving the men waiting outside visibly anxious.
"Was it your punch that hit her heart?" By now, the Faceless Ghost had shed Cyrus's face. With the mission accomplished, there was no need for him to keep wearing a dead corpse face. He had changed his appearance, even altering his hairstyle. His features were sharp and well-defined, with sword-like brows and bright, starry eyes. A faint scar graced his brow bone, and when he smiled, it carried a hint of unruliness. Altogether, he was the picture of a dashing, spirited young man in his prime.
Taras glanced at him, pausing for a moment before replying, "I aimed for her chest. What about you?"
The Faceless Ghost thought for a moment before hesitating. "Hard to say. My target was her chest too, but in the chaos, my skills aren't as sharp as yours. If she landed a punch on you first and bent forward slightly, there's a good chance my strike will hit her in the chest."
Bramwell interjected irritably, "Does it matter who hit her? If Arabella dies, that's the real problem."
Taras nodded in agreement. Capturing Arabella was merely the beginning; the true focus lay in her public trial. If she were to die just like that, it would only bring more trouble. A ruthless criminal must be apprehended, confess her crimes, and expose her network of accomplices. Only after a proper trial and justice being served would the world witness the triumph of righteousness over evil. It was this process that would inspire trust in the government, reinforce confidence in the fight against terrorism and crime, and unite people in the pursuit of eradicating wrongdoing.
The Faceless Ghost spread his hands nonchalantly and said, "That's your problem. I'm just here to make the capture."
Bramwell was surprised and turned to ask him, "Aren't you with the police? Why are you acting so indifferent?"
The Faceless Ghost had no intention of explaining. His identity was never officially listed in police records. Ever since he joined his master and learned the art of disguise, he had abandoned his real face—he couldn't even remember what he originally looked like, let alone be considered a proper police officer.
Instead of answering, it was Taras who spoke to Bramwell. "His identity is inconvenient. When the trial comes, we might need you as a witness."
Bramwell nodded, then voiced his concern. "I still don't know who the corrupt cop on my end is. Given that my identity is classified, this might involve higher-ups."
Taras thought for a moment before replying, "I'll have Marcellus seal off any information for now. We'll address your situation after Arabella's trial."
Hearing about Arabella's trial, Bramwell looked troubled. "With her current state, do you think we can get anything out of her?"
"The public trial must proceed. Over the years, we've gathered enough evidence against her. Even if she doesn't speak, we can still convict her."
"Capture her and let the rest go. Was Marcellus really here to catch them all? Looks to me like he only cared about catching Arabella," The Faceless Ghost let out a cold snort, clearly displeased. He harbored deep resentment over Marcellus's decision to let Raven go earlier. It was worth noting that this time, Arabella came alone—almost none of her accomplices were captured, and Raven was even allowed to escape.
His gaze turned icy as he suddenly asked urgently, "Have either of you seen Caracal since?"
The mention of Caracal made Taras's expression shift instantly. At the time, he had been so focused on the rare opportunity to capture Arabella that he had completely overlooked the possibility of others being involved. Indeed, it had been quite some time since he had last seen Caracal.
"The last time I saw Caracal, Arabella had assigned him to escort Norris. Norris has the ability to develop biochemical weapons, and Arabella would certainly value him highly," Bramwell replied.
Hearing Bramwell's explanation, both Taras and the Faceless Ghost felt slightly relieved. Norris's expertise in bio-weapons was undeniable, and Arabella assigning Caracal to protect him made sense. Neither of them spoke further.
Arabella's surgery lasted over ten hours before the doctors finally managed to pull her back from the brink of death. The men let out a long sigh of relief and immediately pressed for news about Arabella's condition.
"The patient's condition is very unusual. There are clear signs of severe trauma to the chest cavity, and significant bleeding around the ribs, but these weren't the primary threats to her life. It was the repeated cardiac arrest that made the situation so critical."
Marcellus nodded in agreement. Arabella's severe injuries clearly made her incapable of any immediate retaliation. After her surgery, it would take some time for the anesthesia to wear off and for her to regain consciousness. The men discussed the situation and decided to take turns guarding her hospital room.
It wasn't a matter of doubting the loyalty or ability of the soldiers on watch, but this was Arabella they were dealing with. The disparity in strength was too great. Even in her current state, no one dared to take risks. After all, this was the same Arabella who once survived being flung by a tiger, clinging to life through sheer grit. They couldn't afford to be careless.
"Among us, I'm the weakest in combat skills. It'd be best to assign extra personnel during my shift. At the very least, if Arabella makes a move, sheer numbers might hold her off temporarily," Bramwell suggested. After some consideration, Marcellus agreed to the arrangement.
"Do you think Bramwell can be trusted? He stayed out of touch with the police for over three years, and now he suddenly shows up to join the capture," the Faceless Ghost remarked. He leaned against the riverbank beside Taras, passing him a lighter as he spoke.
Taras lit a cigarette, took a deep drag, and exhaled a ring of smoke. "I don't want there to be any issues with him. As cops, we rely on that taut string in our hearts to guide our work. For undercover officers, it's even more critical." "We've witnessed the most brutal criminals and the darkest depravity. How many can still hold on to the light in their hearts? For an undercover cop, the line between justice and evil is so hard to define. Even after completing their mission, can they truly return to the light? I don't want to easily doubt one of our own."
Faceless Ghost instinctively touched his own face. The way everyone scrutinized themselves for guilt reminded him of his mask—so intricately made it was hard to tell it from reality. He no longer knew who he was, just as people often struggled to distinguish between man and monster.
He stretched his limbs and shot Taras a playful wink. "I'm done dealing with these trivial matters. Once Arabella's condition stabilizes and she's transferred to prison, I'm out of here. Damn it, after years of pretending to be a lunatic, I think I've started to lose my mind for real."
Some things didn't need to be said aloud. Merrick's uncanny resemblance to Cyrus seemed almost like a cruel twist of fate. Ever since he'd taken Merrick's place, acting mad and impersonating Cyrus, the prolonged charade had begun to blur the lines of his own identity. It was best to withdraw from this case sooner rather than later.
At the mention of the madman, Taras frowned and asked, "What about Merrick? Back then, I couldn't afford to split my focus on him to prevent leaks. It's a good thing Reginald played along in Viskomo, or Arabella wouldn't have fallen into the trap so easily."
"He died over three years ago. Arabella didn't go heavy on the drugs, but Nicholas's methods were far crueler. Not only did he hypnotize him into madness, but he also used drugs to destroy his central nervous system. By the time he was sent to Viskomo, he was already on his last legs." "And all these years, to set Arabella up, Merrick's body hasn't even been buried. His ashes are still unmarked."
Hearing this, Taras threw his cigarette butt to the ground and crushed it underfoot, his tone resolute. "This time, we must make Arabella pay for her past crimes and use this opportunity to annihilate her terrorist network once and for all."
Heroes shouldn't die in vain, and Arabella's hands were stained with the blood of countless innocents.
When Arabella regained consciousness, she immediately noticed her wrists and ankles were tightly shackled. Without changing her expression, she shifted her gaze to the sofa nearby, where Marcellus sat.
The anesthetic hadn't fully worn off, but Arabella's body had always been overly sensitive to drugs. She was already sharply alert. The moment she stirred, Marcellus's eyes lit up before his expression turned disdainful. "Arabella, it's been years, and even your survival skills have declined? Just these minor injuries, and you're half-dead already?"
Arabella paid no attention to Marcellus. Now that she was back in Scalien, she could finally shed her disguise. The real Arabella was taciturn and brooding, shaped by a lifetime of disdain and hardship. Completely devoid of humanity, she seemed as though she was born to be an executioner.
Marcellus felt a deep, bitter sting in his heart. After years, he finally had Arabella firmly in his grasp again, as if the love and hatred he had harbored all this time had been wrung out, bleeding him dry.
His mind buzzed endlessly. Of course, he knew that Arabella harbored a deep, almost venomous hatred for the Ackerley family. But what could he possibly do about it? Arabella had no heart—he didn't even know where to strike if he wanted to. At this moment, as her cold, composed gaze locked onto him, the icy calm in her eyes, Marcellus felt the last taut string in his mind snap.
He lashed out, striking Arabella across the face with a resounding slap. One wasn't enough—he landed several more in quick succession before grabbing her roughly and lifting her nearly off the ground. Gritting his teeth, he snarled, "Arabella, you thought you could escape and wreak havoc? But now you're right back here. The Ackerley family raised you like a dog before, and I still can."
Her cheek reddened from the blows, and a cut opened at the corner of her mouth, but her expression remained indifferent. There wasn't even a trace of Marcellus in her eyes.
