Chapter 47: A Bitter Reunion

“The old man?”

Fran gasped, his eyes widening as he scrutinized the figure before him.

Despite the bloodstains covering his entire body and multiple bullet wounds, Fran could still discern the man’s identity from his grizzled temples and the unyielding strength etched into his features.

This was none other than Colonel Raif, the old man he had once cared for.

He was still alive?

Fran’s gaze wavered, disbelief washing over him. Yet, upon reflection, it didn’t seem entirely impossible.

He had collapsed that day, and Fran had rushed him to the hospital, covering many of his medical expenses. The old man’s condition had been dire, and the doctor had told Fran that he likely wouldn’t make it.

Afterward, Fran hadn’t dared to ask about his fate. He feared hearing news of the old man’s failed resuscitation, especially since he himself had committed a crime. He was certain he would never see the old man again.

But now, here he was.

Alive, standing before him.

Though barely clinging to life.

Fran couldn’t articulate the feeling. Why did their paths have to cross again, in this place?

In any other setting, he would surely be weeping with joy right now.

But why here?

“Fra… Fran?”

Colonel Raif slowly opened his eyes, the blood blurring his vision. He blinked repeatedly, and gradually, the scene before him sharpened.

Finally, he saw a familiar silhouette—a figure clad in a Teutonic military uniform, standing there, staring blankly at him. For a moment, the old man couldn’t quite believe it.

He shook his head in disbelief, but the person before him slowly merged with the image of the young man who once wore a maid’s outfit. Confused, he called out to Fran:

“Fran? Is that you? My good boy…”

Fran felt tears welling in his eyes, but he couldn’t afford to show emotion. Quidar was still glaring at him from nearby, and he couldn’t appear too distressed.

He could only suppress his tears, forcing a cold expression as he nodded at the old man.

Quidar’s patience had worn thin. He stepped forward, pushing Fran aside, then grabbed the old man by his collar and demanded, his eyes wide with fury:

“Alright, that’s enough talk! Let me ask. Tell me, what’s your relationship with Fran, and why did you organize people to rescue him?”

“Pah!”

Suddenly, the old man lunged forward, spitting a mouthful of bloody phlegm onto Quidar’s face. Startled, Quidar scrambled backward, dodging clumsily, all his arrogance vanishing.

However, the phlegm landed squarely in Quidar’s eye. He cried out, covering his face, and angrily drew his pistol, aiming it at the old man.

Though gritting his teeth in humiliation and rage, Quidar eventually calmed himself. He took a tissue from a nearby attendant, wiped his face, and then disgustedly tossed the crumpled paper to the ground.

The old man sneered, craning his neck and shouting at Quidar:

“When I watched Teutonic officers paraded through Purburg by His Majesty the Emperor, you bastard weren’t even born yet! You think you’re fit to question me?!”

“Heh—hahaha—”

Quidar clutched his face, laughing out of sheer exasperation. He nodded, gave the old man a thumbs-up, and sneered, “Alright, you’ve got guts, old man!”

He turned to the Teutonic soldiers nearby and barked, “Have you searched this old man’s house? Found anything suspicious?”

“Yes, sir!” a Teutonic soldier replied truthfully. “We found many letters in his home. It seems their organization, the ‘Patriot Alliance,’ communicates through unencrypted letters. We’ve gained a lot of information!”

“Good…” Quidar nodded triumphantly at the old man, then continued, “Are there any letters related to… Secretary Fran?”

“Uh… not that we found, sir,” the soldier said, glancing at Fran before shaking his head.

“None?” Quidar frowned. “Are you sure you’ve searched everywhere? No omissions?”

“We even tore up the floorboards and ceiling. We searched everywhere. Nothing.”

Listening to the soldier’s words, Fran felt a pang of heartache.

Yuli, standing beside him, tugged at his sleeve with a hint of awkwardness. Fran turned to see a complex expression on her face, tinged with a subtle resentment. Frowning, she asked Fran:

“Who is that man?”

Fran sighed, quietly explaining to Yuli, “Do you remember I used to be a caretaker at that Councillor’s home? That old man is the Councillor’s father. I looked after him for a while.”

“You… you weren’t one of his recruits, were you?”

Yuli looked at Fran anxiously. Fran shook his head. “No, I only looked after him for a few days.”

‘He wasn’t exactly lying.’

The conversation between them was hushed, but Quidar still overheard it. He glanced at the two, a sinister glint in his eyes.

Turning back to the old man, he sneered, then clapped his hands. “Old man, I don’t think you’ve quite grasped the full story, have you? Perhaps I should enlighten you. The ‘good boy’ you speak of, Mr. Fran, is now working at the Teutonic Army Intelligence Purburg Station! He’s even the secretary to this General Yuli!”

“Wh-what?”

Colonel Raif’s eyes widened, staring at Fran in utter disbelief.

Meeting the old man’s gaze, which was filled with both disbelief and a desperate plea for confirmation, Fran clutched the hem of his uniform, his lips trembling slightly. He longed to rush forward and tell him that he was a spy on a covert mission, but…

He couldn’t. He had already foreseen the old man’s fate. Falling into Teutonic hands, he would either confess under Quidar’s brutal torture and become a traitor, or… he would endure endless torment in the Teutonic-made hell where death was denied.

‘How had he endured until now?’

Fran closed his eyes in anguish. Quidar, seeing the old man’s intense reaction, grew suspicious himself. It was too genuine a reaction; he couldn’t find any flaw to suggest it was an act. He pressed on:

“We set a trap. We used Secretary Fran’s past work at that tavern to trick you into believing he was an anti-imperialist, luring you to rescue him. Then, we set an ambush and captured all of you! Secretary Fran provided his full support for this plan, didn’t you, Secretary Fran?”

He turned, sneering at Fran, then stepped back two paces, clearing a path. He gestured to Fran. “Come on, Secretary Fran. Have a good reunion with this old man. It seems Secretary Fran’s caretaking skills are quite impressive, to have the old man so satisfied that he’d risk his life to organize a rescue for you. What do you say?”

“Quidar, that’s enough!”

Yuli, standing behind him, complained to Quidar, who merely waved her off, feigning an air of being utterly “understanding.”

But what truly turned Fran’s heart to ashes was the look of pure hatred in the old man’s eyes as he stared at him.