When entering the circus ground, Panthonia was not accompanied by any subordinates. He observed left and right: a hyena man doing divination, a cannibal performing fire breathing, attracting a group of children with steam tank toys, and colorful things of all kinds. Directly in front there were some separated huts, behind which you could see a large tent that could hold several hundred people, and pointed roofs with colored flags. He immediately distinguished the places where people could be hidden and arranged eyeliners, but today he came alone.
When Panthonia first arrived in Shijin Town, Travis sent him a second note through a groom. The content was nothing more than that if he was not alone, Mardias would be dealt with immediately, and another precise meeting place was also scheduled. Because the opponent was a long-term member of Military Intelligence Division 7 and knew the face of almost every colleague of Division 7 in Stormwind City, and there was not enough time to transfer subordinates from outside, Panthonia appeared alone in public for at least twenty years for the first time.
Panthonia felt good about this. Not the most prudent behavior, but he liked the feeling. He was not afraid of any angle of sniping, because Travis was not good at bows and arrows and throwing daggers. Just being "good" is of little use. Since the first time he picked up a weapon, the number of people who could snipe him could be counted on one hand.
A clown carrying a bunch of balloons stopped in front of him and said, "Take one for your grandson? Granddaughter?"
Because of the face paint, especially the thick and greasy bright red around the mouth, the clown always looked like he was smiling. And the inverted blue triangle on his eyebrows made him look like he was crying. He puckered his mouth and opened his eyes as wide as possible, but couldn't help blinking from time to time due to the uncontrollable itching of the paint seeping into his eyes. Judging from the wrinkles on his face, he was over forty years old.
Panthonia looked at this clown, imagining how he sold himself to the circus, how he relied on a face that would not get angry even if spat upon in public to make others laugh, and how he shamelessly peddled balloons to make a living. The clown knew that he might have asked the wrong customer, but he refused to give up, even though he was starting to fear the man in front of him.
"I'll take them all." Panthonia took out a silver coin. The clown hurriedly took it, wiped it on his pants and put it in his pocket. He bowed, extending his left hand holding the balloon string.
Panthonia drew a dagger and swiped it over the clown's left hand. Feeling the cold on his skin, the clown was startled and looked up to see the balloons eagerly surging into the sky. He raised his head, his arms high, as if to embrace the colorful arcs gradually shrinking into a cluster in his vision. Some children were attracted by his movements and came to his side. They looked up at the balloons disappearing.
On the left side of the open space, there was a square hut with a signboard painted "Mirror Maze". There was a cardboard notice at the entrance reading "Private Rental, Do Not Enter Without Permission". Panthonia removed the cardboard and walked in, seeing the corpse lying in front of the cash register. It was the mirror house manager of the circus, with a neat cut on the spine of the neck. The fresh blood underneath had not dried yet.
This was the scheduled meeting place. The so-called mirror maze was built of many life-size wooden partitions that could be dismantled temporarily. Each wooden wall was hung with life-size mirrors. Customers paid five copper coins each time, walked from the entrance to the exit of the house under the sandwich of these mirrors. They would not really get lost, but would be confused by seeing their own reflections again and again after each turn, and enjoy this confusion. So, like all customers, Panthonia saw many of himself extending endlessly in his vision.
Travis leaned against the mirror, and as soon as he heard footsteps, he shouted, "Are you here? Shawl."
"Yes."
"Don't move. Stay where you are now."
This was the central part of the maze, a wide rectangle, reminding customers that they were halfway there and there was no need to look back. Judging from the footsteps, Travis determined that Panthonia had just entered. He himself hid behind the front mirror wall and spoke to the top of the tent, amplifying his voice to cover the entire rectangle. He believed that at this distance, Panthonia could not yet determine the source of his voice for the time being.
"Did you bring what I wanted?" he said.
"It's here. In my hand."
Travis heard the old man shuffling through some papers. His original plan was to exchange Mardias for those bribery materials and then escape. But soon he felt that this was a very foolish idea, because spreading these things through him instead of the Archbishop was of little use. So he had a more satisfying idea.
"What do you think of the place I chose? No matter which way you look, you only see yourself. This suits you well, doesn't it? You foolish old fraud. I suggest your coffin be filled with mirrors inside. "
"Are you going to start our transaction or chatter there?"
"Hmm, starting to worry about the lovely little grandson. He's sleeping soundly."
"Is he with you?"
"Maybe, maybe not. Can't tell you now. You'd better not try to find him yourself."
"This is not the way to do business, Travis."
"But you have no other choice, Shawl, really none."
Whenever Travis thought of how many people, including himself, used to call him "the old man" with awe and avoidance, he felt disgusted. Now he called him "Shawl" because he was convinced that what he was going to do was destroy everything about this arrogant man, the meaning behind this surname. He tightened his grip on his sword.
"Let's talk, Travis. What's the point of doing this for you? When you first joined the Seventh Division, you were much smarter, you knew what was most important to you and what was worthless. Now you're doing worthless things."
"Shut up or you'll never see him again, or just a pile of flesh."
"It sounds like he's not with you now, is he?"
"Shut up!"
"You can't get away, Travis. Even if you kill Mardias, kill me, you can't even leave Elwynn Forest. You should know that well after working for me for so long. Of course you can choose to live in those abandoned caves. But is that really what you want? To go back to being that dirty savage?"
"I won't change my mind. Now you..."
Panthonia interrupted him: "There is a better solution. Bring Mardias back to me, back to Stormwind City. Let this matter pass. "
"Who would believe your nonsense."
"Nonsense? No, no. This is a good promise, and I haven't finished yet. I can marry Dalia to you."
Travis did not speak. Panthonia continued: "I'm old, Travis. You know that's why I value Mardias. But it will take him at least seven or eight years to do anything. I'm not confident I'll live that long. So I hope his mother will have a capable husband who can assist Mardias. Do you think why I let you be Dalia's bodyguard? Besides, I know your thoughts about her. "
"You make me laugh, old fox. If you really intend to do so, anyone can see that Jorgen is a better choice."
"Jorgen? What do you know about Jorgen? He was bribed by the Archbishop to oppose me. I've had two undertakers take care of him. You're jealous of him, that won't do. Say 'yes', Travis, then we have a win-win situation. Think carefully about the ridiculous kidnapping you planned, why. Power? Take it. All I want is the future of the Seventh Division."
When Travis realized that he was really seriously considering the conditions Panthonia had spoken of, he began to fear. He was convinced that this was all nonsense - from any perspective. But that did not stop him from being attracted. His temples began to ache. Strange sounds rang in his ears.
After a while, he finally spoke, the first few syllables still sounding somewhat blurred. "Walk fifteen steps forward, put down the materials, then turn around and go back, and I'll tell you where Mardias is."
"Are you sure you want to do this?"
"Hurry up!"
"Well, if you insist."
Travis tightened his grip on the sword, counting Panthonia's steps. From one to fifteen, it was only about a foot away from the partition he was hiding behind. When he bent down to put down the paper, Travis's long sword would stab out from the gap between the two partitions, into his body. Perhaps from the clavicle into the chest cavity. Perhaps the head. Even without bending over, such a distance was enough to stab him in the abdomen.
Thirteen, fourteen. Fifteen. The last footfall. He stood still. No longer moving. "I left it here," Panthonia said, followed by the sound of paper crashing to the ground.
Travis thrust the long sword out fiercely with both hands. He rarely used both hands to kill. The pleasant sound of the blade piercing flesh and bones burst out. The sword tip was slightly slanted upwards. He saw blood flowing from the end of the mirror wall along the blade, through the gap, dripping in front of his little finger. By feel, Travis knew he had stabbed the heart. Even better than imagined - a fatal blow.
Travis's whole tense body relaxed in an instant, like a child who had just stolen bread and escaped. His heart was still beating violently, echoing the rhythm of the fifteen steps just now. Is that it? Is it that simple? Why didn't I find a chance to assassinate him earlier?
He was about to pull out his sword and then go deal with Mardias. As his hands were about to grasp the hilt of the sword again, a shadow enveloped him. He looked up and saw Panthonia step onto the mirror wall, standing on the narrow edge, holding a dagger, looking down at himself.
Travis knew what he had stabbed - the corpse of the manager he had left at the entrance of the house. Panthonia had brought it over to block the attack, then stepped onto the smooth mirror wall with the corpse.
Travis gave up the idea of pulling out his sword to resist, and ran frantically towards the exit. He heard Panthonia jump down from the mirror wall behind him, chasing after him. The moment he escaped outside the exit, he did not know that he was like a new soldier who had just gone to the battlefield for the first time, but turned and fled under a hail of arrows. He almost forgot that he still had Mardias as a backer, so he rushed desperately towards the main tent in the center of the grand circus performance.
"He shouldn't chase after us now, right?"
"Hard to say."
Jorgen and Bossia fled into the circus fairgrounds. The crowds around made them feel much safer, but Jorgen did not dare to take it lightly.
"I'm exhausted, half scared by you," Bossia panted, "Why not rest in town?"
"Too conspicuous. At least half the people in Shijin Town stayed here."
"Then, how about there?" Bossia looked at the main tent not far away, "There are many people, and we can also rest."
Although it seemed strange to run to watch the circus after fleeing for their lives, Jorgen had to admit that Bossia's suggestion was actually very good. "Okay," he said, looking back to see no sign of the undertaker catching up, then led her to the entrance of the main tent.