Ferdinand shrugged off his outer shirt, leaving only a tank top. He still sported the buzz cut he adopted in prison. That time behind bars had transformed him completely—the pale, spoiled playboy he once was had vanished. The youthful softness was gone, sharpening his features and giving him a strikingly defined look. His eyes, clear and piercing, now carried a raw intensity. As he exerted his strength, his muscles tensed and bulged, revealing flawless contours that spoke of power and discipline.
"Kid, your dimensions are off. If I modify it like this, it's likely to misfire," Ferdinand waved the blueprint in his hand, lifting a modified lightweight rocket launcher with both arms. His face was filled with dissatisfaction as he complained to Norris.
Norris, crouched over a pile of components while taking measurements, looked up at the sound of Ferdinand's voice. His pale face was smudged with grease, and his entire body was covered in grime. He spat a few times in frustration and grumbled, "You mess up and blame me? And why is it that AE and the others get to show off in front of Arabella, while we're stuck here in the rear?"
Ferdinand chuckled. "Do you think I'm like them? Arabella doesn't even want AE around—it's their own pathetic choice to stick to her. As for me, it's because Arabella can't bear to see me get hurt. She's protecting me."
Norris was momentarily speechless at Ferdinand's shamelessness before stammering, "Didn't you say you were mature now?"
Ferdinand glanced at him and snorted. "That maturity is for everyone else, not for Arabella."
Norris grew curious. "Then what approach do you use with Arabella?"
Ferdinand clammed up, unwilling to share. His persistence in pestering Arabella was a tactic he had perfected over the years of following her. "You're kidding me," Ferdinand scoffed. "As they say, women can't resist persistence. And me? I'm young, handsome, and rich. I'm not afraid of sticking to Arabella for a lifetime."
As for another reason—Ferdinand looked at the seemingly harmless Norris and leaned in to whisper, "Kid, don't think playing innocent will work. You're too green. Arabella won't be interested in you. Besides, she's already surrounded by wolves. There's no place for you anymore." As he spoke, he patted Norris's shoulder, then hoisted the rocket launcher and walked off to continue his work.
Norris stood there for a moment before letting out a quiet laugh, watching Ferdinand's retreating back with a peculiar expression. "So what if she's surrounded by wolves now? Wolves grow old, but I'm just getting started."
At the hospital, Taras glanced at the Faceless Ghost, who was engrossed in a handheld game, and rolled his eyes. "Don't you have anything better to do?"
Faceless Ghost, in the middle of an intense part of his game, replied without looking up, "The Tumor Project is done. I'm on vacation."
Taras wanted nothing more than to kick this eyesore out of his sight, but since they were technically on the same side, he had no choice but to hold his temper and offer a bit of advice. "I'll take the night watch for the next two days. You should get some rest. When it's your turn, don't mess it up."
The Faceless Ghost paused his actions, lifting his gaze to glance at Arabella lying quietly in the distance. A glint of cold light flickered in his eyes. Recently, his new appearance had taken on sharper, cooler lines—delicate yet striking. His slender, beautiful eyes carried an alluring curve, but the icy clarity in their depths was impossible to overlook. After shedding the face he had used to impersonate Merrick for years, the Faceless Ghost frequently changed his appearance, as if trying to erase every trace of his former identity as Merrick.
He silently turned the screen toward Taras. The previously lively game screen now displayed just a phrase: "Something's wrong!" Before he could react, Taras moved like lightning, snatching the device from his hands and shutting it off. With a scolding tone, Taras said, "I told you to stop playing. Go get some rest already."
Faceless Ghost glanced at Taras without any visible reaction, nodded after a brief silence, and said, "Alright, I won't keep you company here any longer." He stood up and stretched lazily just as the door to the hospital room opened. The doctor entered with a medical team. As military doctors accustomed to confidential work, they merely nodded briefly at Taras and Faceless Ghost before focusing entirely on Arabella, who lay on the hospital bed.
"Begin today's cardiopulmonary function tests."
As the medical team busied themselves, Faceless Ghost slipped out of the room silently.
He waited in the safe house until midnight when Taras finally arrived.
"You came here? Who's watching Arabella?"
"I left Bramwell to keep watch, so I need to make this quick. But you, knowing there were issues in the hospital room, still dared to act rashly?"
"That's different. I know the people on the Intelligence List too well. You can't catch fish without bait."
"I have a strong feeling Caracal is hiding in the hospital. Can you identify him?"
Faceless Ghost shook his head with a tinge of regret. "The List isn't really ranked by skill. I'm ranked second above him because I'm better in combat. That doesn't mean I'm better at disguise than he is."
Taras asked, puzzled, "So, are the other three under Nicholas?"
Faceless Ghost shook his head again. "Not sure. After all, there's someone ranked above me whose details are entirely unknown. If they were Nicholas's people, with his flamboyant personality, he'd have left some record. At least your and my information is all laid out, isn't it?"
"It seems Caracal has caught wind of Arabella's capture and infiltrated the hospital. He's a master of disguise; anyone in the hospital could be him. We have to stay extra vigilant."
"You're better than me in combat. Is there anything off about the Arabella on that bed?"
Taras replied with absolute certainty, "The Arabella on the bed is definitely gravely injured. She's not Caracal in disguise. I've been watching closely for the past two days; there's no mistake."
"I'll handle Caracal in the hospital. You focus on keeping Arabella pinned down. Now that we've got her, we can't let her pull any more tricks."
Marcellus rubbed his temples, a hint of fatigue showing on his face. His workload was heavy, and after spending one night watching over Arabella, the task of guarding her at the hospital had fallen to Taras and the others in the days that followed. The hospital confirmed that Arabella was showing signs of cardiopulmonary failure. Her chest injury, with significant blood loss, had exacerbated her condition, leaving her on the brink of death.
That same day, after leaving the hospital, AE delivered a calculated provocation using Ivy as leverage. What audacity AE had. Across the sea and mountains, did they really think Scalien couldn't strike Pujivang? To have such a manipulative man as a governor—was it the nation's misfortune, or its people's?
After receiving the news at the hospital, Marcellus made a trip back to his family's old estate. The house was empty, but the rooms remained impeccably clean. Before her death last year, Marcellus's mother had spoken of her son Cyrus. Ever since Marcellus and his father had hunted Arabella overnight, his mother had never looked at him the same way. He knew his mother resented him—hated how he and his father had driven someone to the brink all those years ago. She hated even more that her son had given his life for such a cold and heartless woman.
His father, ever shrewd and ruthless, had never regretted his past decisions, even in his old age. In his youth, he had been close friends with Vincent. Together, they were a formidable duo—one civil, the other martial. But their paths diverged over time, for reasons far more complex than mere power struggles. Before his last battle, Vincent had visited his father. While the exact details remained unclear, he knew that Vincent had entrusted his father with the task of killing Arabella. To Vincent, Arabella was not only his daughter but also an undeniable monster. It was precisely because she was his daughter that he couldn't bring himself to do it, leaving him no choice but to rely on someone else to end her life.
Sometimes, Marcellus looked back on those years and couldn't help but ask himself: Was this tragedy the result of his father's unchecked power corrupting his nature? Or was it born of his own jealousy and resentment, betraying Cyrus for daring to take Arabella away? Or perhaps Vincent himself was the original sin behind it all?
The desk remained immaculate, with the lone photo frame still sitting there in isolation. Marcellus opened a drawer and retrieved a small ring box from a hidden compartment. Inside was a gleaming ring, modest in design with tiny diamonds, hardly worth much. However, that was something Cyrus had purchased back then with the money he earned through part-time jobs, without using a single penny from the Ackerley family. This ring had been found on Cyrus's body that fateful night. He had likely intended to use it to propose to Arabella after they escaped together. Sadly, it would never fulfill its purpose.
Cyrus knew Arabella despised the Ackerley family and would never accept anything from them. Thus, as the family's son, he resolved to abandon his identity and start a new life with her. Although Arabella was a master schemer—cunning and calculating, always acting with a purpose—she truly sought nothing from Marcellus. If one had to scrutinize her motives regarding Cyrus, it was nothing more than a yearning for a ray of light, a touch of warmth. Living under the sun, people are instinctively drawn to brightness; it's simply human nature, beyond reproach.
Marcellus held the ring tightly in his hand, fully aware of the truth. In his youth, Cyrus had poured his fiery and sincere heart into melting Arabella's cold exterior, engraving his name deep into her very being, etched into her bones and coursing through her blood.
Cyrus's arrival had brought light into Arabella's world, but on that fateful night, the moonlight was tainted with a crimson hue. Driven by dark intentions, Marcellus couldn't bear to see Arabella embrace that light and retreat into obscurity with Cyrus, hiding away on this wretched land. Even if she was a demon, he preferred to let her roam free and wreak havoc—at least then, they would share the same darkness.
If Cyrus and Arabella had successfully escaped back then, would the Arabella who now instills fear in both the underworld and the authorities even exist? Marcellus didn't know, nor did he dare to speculate. Just as now, he had used Taras and the others to capture Arabella, but had no intention of giving her a fair trial. Nicholas truly had a sharp eye, instantly seeing through to the malice buried deep in his bones. This concealed venom was no better than Arabella's blatant acts of wickedness—perhaps even more insidious.
He felt powerless to save Ivy, but what weighed even more heavily on his mind was AE's so-called "gift." Knowing AE's vicious nature, this was no mere provocation against Scalien. Recently, Marcellus had stationed military units in several cities—an extraordinary measure to maintain order and safety during these precarious times.
