Chapter 48: The Traitor’s Test

“Fran!”

Colonel Raif stared intently at him, on the verge of speaking, when a sudden cough brought forth a mouthful of blood. He collapsed to the ground, blood gushing from his lips, yet his eyes remained fixed on Fran.

His gaze was filled with a torrent of inexplicable emotions—doubt, fury, disappointment, or perhaps even… utter revulsion?

Fran did not know. As he watched Colonel Raif collapse, he felt as though countless knives were piercing his heart.

But…

Under the watchful eyes of numerous Teutonic agents, soldiers, and Quidar, Fran could only maintain a grim expression as he looked at Colonel Raif, then… he shook his head slightly.

“You… you truly betrayed us?”

Colonel Raif still clung to a sliver of hope for Fran, his gaze pleading. No… it couldn’t be. Fran was supposed to be a good child.

He remembered Fran’s diligent care, and how the boy had listened with such adoration as he recounted tales of campaigning with His Majesty the Emperor. If Fran hadn’t been a good child, why would he have rallied his old comrades to argue so fiercely with a group of youngsters at the assembly, only to then volunteer to lead a rescue team to save him?

Yet…

Fran offered a bitter smile. In this situation, how could he possibly speak the truth?

He could only step forward, moving closer to Colonel Raif.

He closed his eyes, exhaled slowly, and then spoke with a hidden meaning.

“I am a traitor. They are right. I am now Miss Yuli’s secretary, an agent of the Teutonic Army Intelligence Bureau!”

“There’s nothing to be surprised about, is there? This is just the kind of person I am. I only wanted a little more money, and Miss Yuli has been very good to me, so I came here.”

“Betrayal? I don’t care about such things. There are so many traitors in Congress; what difference does one more make? Besides, I’m just a pretty face; I haven’t done anything to truly wrong anyone.”

“I genuinely don’t care about any of this…”

“It’s you who thought so highly of me, wasn’t it?”

“Spies and such—how could anyone believe such foolishness? Me, a spy? Impossible…”

Fran gave a wry smile, then opened his eyes to look at Colonel Raif. Colonel Raif was watching him too, his eyes filled with an ineffable sense of loss and despair. It was a gaze so complex that not a trace of hatred could be discerned.

All Fran could perceive was cold indifference.

He offered another bitter smile, but what could he do? ‘Colonel Raif, think carefully…’

Fran winked at Colonel Raif.

Colonel Raif looked at him helplessly, almost wanting to laugh in exasperation, but…

Suddenly!

Colonel Raif sensed something was amiss. Why would Fran make such a gesture? Was it merely to provoke him?

No, that wasn’t right. He recalled the rumor, and suddenly everything clicked into place. Re-examining Fran’s words, connecting the first letter of each Francian sentence he had just spoken, a sudden clarity dawned on him.

His eyes brightened, even as his face was streaked with blood. He lifted his head, almost ready to voice his suspicion.

But then…

He remembered the room was still filled with rows of Teutonic soldiers. After a long moment, Colonel Raif sighed, then continued to shout at Fran in an angry tone.

“I must have been blind to call my brothers to rescue you, Fran, you traitor!”

Fran recoiled two steps, his face grim. He was on the verge of tears, but he couldn’t break down. This was a stage, surrounded by an audience. What should have been one of Shakespeare’s great tragedies, appeared to the onlookers as a boisterous comedy.

The stage lights suddenly illuminated the clown. Quidar tossed a gun in front of Fran; the black pistol struck Fran’s foot before clattering onto the concrete floor.

“Clap—clap—”

Quidar smirked, clapping his hands, then leaned in to whisper to Fran.

“Since that’s the case, Secretary Fran, it’s not good to have too many enemies, is it? Conveniently, you can also demonstrate your loyalty to the Empire. Pick up that pistol, and then… deal with this old man!”

Ah…

Fran’s eyes widened, unable to believe what he had heard. He stared intently at Quidar’s sneering face, but the man merely tilted his head, his eyes fixed on Fran, and chuckled, “Can’t you?”

The surrounding soldiers suddenly aimed their guns at Fran in unison. Yuli frantically shook her head, shouting, “What are you doing? What are you doing?!”

Lyon quickly restrained the distraught Yuli, repeatedly whispering in her ear, “Don’t interfere. The situation is suspicious; we can’t trust Fran unconditionally!”

Yuli struggled against Lyon’s grip, and several nearby soldiers also moved to control her. Yuli thrashed, exasperated, “Let go, let go! I didn’t say I unconditionally trust Fran, just let go of me!”

Only then did the soldiers dare release Yuli. After all, they wouldn’t truly dare to harm her; she was the station chief. Yuli panted, glaring furiously at everyone around her, her gaze finally settling on Fran.

This time—

She took a deep breath, calming herself. Standing there, she watched Fran, awaiting his choice…

Watching Yuli fall silent, Fran felt cold sweat trickle down his back. ‘Tsk…’ he thought, a bitter smile forming in his heart. ‘These people…’

‘Last time, I took a bullet for Yuli; wasn’t that enough?’

Despairingly, he picked up the gun from the ground. Meeting the suspicious gazes of those around him, he slowly raised the barrel, aiming it at Colonel Raif.

Time seemed to freeze in that moment. Quidar observed Fran as he raised the gun, scrutinizing his demeanor, his face, his expression, his movements. Every detail that could betray his inner thoughts was under Quidar’s surveillance.

Yet, he found Fran remarkably calm. Aside from his slow movements and a slight tremor in the hand holding the gun, there were almost no discernible issues. Even the shaking hand could be attributed to a lack of experience with firearms.

But…

Quidar was genuinely curious. He was intensely curious whether this man would pull the trigger. In his view, this was the ultimate test for Fran. Loyalty or treachery depended solely on whether he dared to fire that shot.

If he dared, Quidar would almost certainly reduce his suspicion of Fran’s identity by eighty percent. But if he didn’t dare, even if Fran concocted the most elaborate excuses, Quidar would consider his identity as a spy essentially confirmed. Then, he would have to consider how to write a report to his superiors, requesting the apprehension of a suspicious individual.

‘Heh—’

‘Tell me, Miss Yuli, would you still be able to stop me then?’

Lost in this pleasant fantasy, he suddenly snapped at the young man before him, his voice sharp and severe.

“What are you waiting for?!”