Chapter 17: Game Over

The room was dark and silent.

The only source of light was the candle held by Rosie.

Her face was taut, and she could almost hear the beating of her own heart in her ears.

The enemy was in the dark, she was in the light.

The slightest misstep would lead to utter damnation.

Rosie didn’t rush to raise her gun.

Instead, she took advantage of the puffy upper part of her leg-of-mutton sleeves, straightening the long sleeve to hide the revolver in the shadows.

This would undoubtedly slow down her draw speed, but it could create an information gap.

After an enemy rashly approached and was forced to pull back, it would be her turn.

The layout of this room was much more cramped than the dining room.

It was lined with numerous bookshelves and several high stools placed randomly about.

Thump—, thump—.

A sound came from her right front.

Rosie didn’t immediately turn and draw her gun, worried it was a bait.

She only glanced towards the source of the sound out of the corner of her eye.

The candlelight’s reach wasn’t wide.

By the warm, orange light, she could only vaguely make out the general outline of an object.

It was her three-branched candelabrum.

Could it be that Donahue had already been killed?

At that moment, Rosie’s thoughts were inevitably affected.

At the same time, with a loud crash, the bookshelf right next to her body toppled over without warning.

The young lady’s pupils contracted.

Forgetting all noble etiquette, the long legs beneath her dress swiftly moved back in retreat.

Bang!

The bookshelf smashed onto the ground, kicking up dust.

The candle flame flickered unsteadily from the blast of air, its light dancing and illuminating a man’s face in the depths of the darkness.

He was around thirty years old, with deep-set features, bloodshot dark-blue eyes, and a small mustache.

Who else could it be but Donahue Bobby?!

‘Is he the murderer? Or has he lost his mind like Jesse Holmes!’

A thousand thoughts raced through her mind, but reality wouldn’t pause for them.

The candelabrum was to attract attention, the bookshelf was a feint.

When the first strike missed, Donahue immediately grabbed a nearby high stool and mercilessly smashed it towards the young lady who was rapidly retreating.

It was already too late to dodge.

In her desperation, Rosie could only throw the candle in her hand at him while using her arm to shield her head.

A dull ache from being struck by a heavy object spread from her arm.

Rosie let out a muffled grunt.

Before she could cry out in pain, her misty-blue eyes, through the orange meteor streaking across the air, caught sight of Donahue picking up another splintered wooden plank.

His eyes were bloodshot, and he charged towards her, panting heavily.

“Demon, I’ll kill you!”

‘What demon? Is he hallucinating?’

Regardless, the naked killing intent from him was no fake.

With her life on the line, Rosie raised the revolver hidden in her right hand, gripped it with both hands, and pulled the trigger.

Bang!

The sound of the hammer striking the primer mixed with the smell of gunpowder.

The muzzle flash devoured the darkness, tore through the air, and illuminated the young lady’s clear and beautiful face.

A huge recoil shot up from the web of her hand; Rosie almost lost her grip on the gun.

Bang, bang!

The light flashed again as two more shots were fired, accompanied by the man’s heart-wrenching scream of pain.

“Aaargh!!!”

The bullet’s trajectory was an upward-curving parabola; it didn’t just go wherever you pointed.

The fact that Rosie managed to hit one of three shots was because Donahue was relatively close, with a bit of luck mixed in.

That shot hit Donahue’s left thigh.

Blood was now gushing out.

The candle fell at his feet, its light flickering on his face, which was as pale as paper.

Only his bloodshot eyes still burned with a roiling killing intent.

“De…mon.”

“I’ll kill you!”

Disregarding the injury to his left leg, he suddenly erupted, dragging his leg as he charged recklessly towards Rosie.

Bang, bang!

The last shred of illusion in her heart was shattered.

The bullets fired mercilessly, leaving a hole in Donahue’s forehead.

Thud.

The man’s body collapsed to the ground with a dull thud.

Less than two meters away from him, the young lady’s legs also gave way, and she slumped to the floor.

Tension, excitement, fear, confusion—all sorts of chaotic thoughts flooded Rosie’s mind.

The smell of rust filled her nostrils.

Belatedly, she looked straight ahead, her unfocused gaze gradually returning.

She had killed someone.

The moment she realized this reality, Rosie’s entire body began to tremble uncontrollably.

‘I killed someone. I killed someone. I killed Donahue Bobby!’

Immediately after, an indescribable wave of nausea welled up in her heart.

She couldn’t hold it back any longer and supported herself with one hand on the ground as she began to dry-heave.

Snot and tears streamed out uncontrollably—a physiological reaction born from the extreme psychological rejection of her own actions.

‘This… this couldn’t be helped.’

‘Donahue… he went mad.’

‘He wanted to kill me, I, I…’

‘No, wait.’

‘Why did Donahue suddenly go mad?’

‘Is there something wrong with this room?’

Rosie gripped the pistol tightly.

Before she could get up from the ground, she felt the touch of a hard object against the back of her head.

Even the coldest firearm couldn’t be colder than the words of the man behind her.

“Game over, Miss Moulton.”

…

Amidst the toppled bookshelf, the ruined chair, and next to the still-warm corpse, the candle thrown on the floor had ignited some debris, unhurriedly radiating light and heat.

A young lady sat slumped on the floor, a man pressing a gun to the back of her head.

Hermann Rhys?

Why was he here?

In an instant, Rosie thought of many things.

She even suspected that he was in league with Donahue, that they had lured her into this room to make it easier to destroy her body and erase all traces.

But this thought was dismissed as soon as it appeared.

From Donahue’s behavior, his desire to kill her even surpassed his desire for self-preservation.

If the two of them were in cahoots, their goal would surely be the same.

Unless Hermann had a screw loose, he wouldn’t be talking to her here instead of just shooting her.

‘Communication means I have value.’

‘What does he want?’

Rosie pursed her lips, not rushing to negotiate, deciding to explain first.

“Mr. Rhys, Donahue Bobby went mad.”

“He attacked me recklessly, and I had to… do this out of self-defense.”

“Self-defense?”

“Heh, so you’re saying Miss Moulton is the victim here?”

Hermann let out a light chuckle, replying nonchalantly.

Rosie frowned slightly and pursed her lips, “In a sense, yes.”

“Hahahaha, haha.”

Hermann started laughing like a neurotic.

As he laughed, he suddenly pressed the muzzle of the gun harder against her head and said coldly, “Miss Moulton, don’t play any little tricks.”

“Throw the gun away.”

“Or else, I will kill you immediately.”

There was not a hint of falsehood in his tone.

Rosie gritted her teeth and tossed the gun far away.

“Donahue Bobby went mad? No, I don’t think so.”

“He simply caught the murderer.”

“Miss Moulton, look up.”

Following Hermann’s words, Rosie raised her head, her gaze falling upon the room’s environment, which she hadn’t had a chance to observe carefully due to the skirmish.

In the very center of the room, a portrait of a woman hung on the wall.

Soft, pale-golden hair cascaded over the woman’s shoulders.

She had eyes as clear as rubies, skin as fair as moonlight, and beneath a high-bridged nose were lips of a paler shade of red, slightly pursed, appearing aloof yet sexy.

Rosie’s entire body started to tremble uncontrollably.

This person, this woman was the one who had killed her in the classroom!

Just then, Hermann’s voice crossed space and traveled through time, coming from behind her.

“Isn’t the person in this painting you?”

“Rosie Moulton.”