Chapter 46: The Unmasking

“I…” Crete shook his head wildly, tears welling in his eyes as he desperately explained.

“I truly don’t know him. Someone at a group meeting told us that the Teutonics were saying in the tavern that ‘a child named Fran had been captured.’ But Fran isn’t part of our organization, so initially, we didn’t want to rescue him.”

“Fran isn’t part of your organization?” Quidar suddenly crouched down, his fingers closing around Crete’s neck. He glared, his voice laced with fury. “Are you certain Fran isn’t one of yours? Then why would you risk your lives to rescue him? Are you insane?”

“No… absolutely not. We’re just a small group, not many of us, and we all know each other inside and out. Fran truly isn’t one of us.” Crete was practically sobbing, struggling relentlessly as he tried to explain.

“Yes, there was… there was one person who told us they knew Fran, saying he was a good kid, and that we couldn’t abandon a good anti-Teutonic child. We were swayed by that person, and that’s why… that’s why we came… Please, I beg you, let me go. I swear to heaven, I really don’t know anyone named Fran.”

Quidar released his grip, taking a moment to calm himself. Then, he fixed Crete with an intense stare.

“Where is the person who convinced you to come here?”

A Teutonic soldier nearby stepped forward, standing at attention. “Report, sir. That person was also apprehended. They were mixed in with this rescue party but have refused to confess anything.”

“Take me to that person.”

Quidar rose to his feet, glancing at the dying Crete on the ground. A sliver of doubt had begun to creep into his earlier suspicions.

Fran wasn’t part of their organization?

Could it be… this rescue operation truly was just a fishing expedition? Was this small rescue squad merely an unexpected catch in his overall plan?

Then…

Quidar cast another look at Crete, observing his half-dead state. The self-doubt gnawing at him intensified.

This mentally broken man’s testimony seemed credible. He genuinely didn’t know Fran. Yet, whether Fran was truly a member of their organization couldn’t be determined solely from his words, as espionage operations typically maintained a high level of secrecy. This man might simply not be privy to such high-level information.

However…

According to his account, could such a small organization possess such a complex structure? Not to mention deploying a spy like Fran for a deep-cover mission. They shouldn’t… they shouldn’t have that kind of operational capability.

If this rescue team simply acted out of a sudden surge of goodwill to save Fran, then it wouldn’t prove whether Fran was a spy.

The sole key to breaking this deadlock, it seemed, was the person who had persuaded this small group to rescue Fran. That individual was most likely aware of Fran’s true identity and, therefore, most likely Fran’s handler.

The leading guard escorted Quidar and the others to the interrogation room where the key figure was being held. Along the way, Yuli stole a glance at Fran’s expression.

Hmm.

The blond youth calmly watched the path ahead, his expression betraying no sign of panic. It seemed… her little one had simply been too nervous just now.

Of course, the so-called rescue team proved nothing. Those people were merely a group of Francian anti-imperial dissidents. Their act of kindness, wanting to save a child rumored to be captured, had nothing to do with her Fran.

They wanted to save an abstract image, not her Fran.

That Quidar, he made it sound as if Fran was some kind of schemer orchestrating everything from behind the scenes. She truly wondered what he was thinking. Her Fran looked like an innocent, harmless ‘girl,’ so how could he be associated with such notions?

However…

In reality, Fran was merely feigning composure.

If one were to observe his footsteps closely, they would notice how uncoordinated they were, as if each step required an immense expenditure of effort.

He walked with difficulty, barely managing to keep up at the very back. Yuli, holding his hand, deliberately slowed her pace.

Suddenly, the silver-haired girl reached out, drew the pistol tucked into Fran’s waistband, winked at him, and then slipped it into her own pocket.

Uh…

Fran didn’t understand her meaning, his heart giving a sudden lurch. But Yuli merely smiled sweetly at him, then leaned in close to his ear, whispering playfully.

“Little Fran, don’t just wave your gun around. You suddenly rushing into the room with them, both holding guns, scared me senseless. It’s very dangerous. What if someone inside had a gun pointed at you? I’d be so frightened. I’ll hold onto this gun for you for now, okay?”

What would ordinarily be an intimate whisper between close individuals, at this moment, carried an unusual undertone of conspiracy when it reached Fran’s ears.

He felt sweat constantly trickling down his back, the icy droplets tracing his spine, subjecting his senses to an indescribable torment.

This fear stemmed from the sheer uncertainty of the unknown.

He didn’t know who the person Quidar was about to interrogate was—who had so strongly insisted on rescuing him? That person also claimed to know him, saying he was a good kid?

Could it be Teacher? Alina… was it her who wanted to save him?

Fran wasn’t sure, but he couldn’t think of anyone else. If Teacher were captured, then…

Everything would be over. Teacher wouldn’t escape the Teutonic clutches, and he wouldn’t want to live either.

So, throughout the journey, Fran walked as if he were heading to the execution grounds.

Quidar, walking ahead, still harbored some doubts. He turned to the guiding soldier and asked,

“Have you questioned everyone else who confessed? Was it the same story from all of them? Is there really no one who knows Fran?”

The soldier shook his head, explaining to Quidar, “Only the person we’re going to see now knows Fran, that seems to be the case. Everyone else said the same.”

“Hmm…” Quidar nodded, calming himself slightly.

He wasn’t in a hurry. He had placed another bet in his mind; he felt… this person they were about to interrogate was definitely Fran’s handler.

As they entered the interrogation room, everyone held their breath.

Perhaps this interrogation was not just a matter between Teutonics and Francians, but also a silent battle of wits.

Quidar took two steps forward. The soldier switched on the light, and everyone’s attention fell upon the figure sitting on the ground, leaning against the wall.

The person wore a hood over their head, obscuring their face. Their body was curled into a ball, making it impossible for Fran to recognize them.

“Go on!”

Quidar sneered from the side, pointing at the figure. He chuckled, “Since you know each other, perhaps Mr. Fran should remove the hood for his old friend?”

Fran clenched his teeth, looking at Quidar with a hint of disdain as he retorted,

“I’m very displeased with your current attitude, Captain Quidar. What questions have you been asking since we started? Are you so desperate to confirm that I’m a spy? Is that why you orchestrated this plan? If I don’t know this person at all, or barely know them, you’d better apologize to me!”

He forced a surge of courage, shook off Yuli’s hand beside him, and painstakingly took one step after another toward the figure.

He reached the person’s side, his hands grasping the hood, gently pulling it upwards.

‘It won’t be Teacher, it won’t be Teacher…’

He chanted inwardly, not even daring to blink, until the hood was removed. A familiar face appeared before his eyes, and at that moment, his wrist suddenly trembled.

It was—

Old Man Raif?