Althea recalled the night she hid in the barn in the Westfall. Grains of rice were scattered on the ground, and a painful basket pressed against her back. Moonlight filtered through the spider-webbed windows, illuminating the empty aisle. At that time, it awakened a fear of being alone, and she had to close her eyes.
Now the situation was different. The room was filled with people, yet she felt an unprecedented, irresistible loneliness, as if her inner self had been exiled, sinking into a swamp, with the icy mud crawling up her skin. Someone was watching her; a boy on her left had been staring at her for a while.
"It's all your fault. They just wanted to catch you," the boy said. His voice was low, but like a knife hanging motionless on the wall, it made her reluctant to approach. She had bullied this boy before, tearing pages from his textbooks to fold paper airplanes, but now she couldn't even bear to listen to him speak.
"It's because of you that we're in this mess," he said.
Althea buried her head in her knees. The words "it's because of you" felt so true, as if that was the sole core of this whole event. Regardless of the cause, the circumstances, or the potential outcome, it was all the same: she had caused it.
Since childhood, she had such fantasies: being in an unfavorable situation, like being kidnapped, and then seizing an opportunity to grab a weapon and turn the tables. These kinds of fantasies weren't unusual; every child who grew up listening to hero stories had them. But now, Althea didn't even realize that this fantasy might be buried deep in her mind forever. Not disappearing, but never having existed.
She thought sleeping was a good idea, but she couldn't fall asleep. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the dead Gondore.
"My good daughter, pick up a weapon. Fight." When Gondore said this to her, the wound on his neck closed. The blood-red line widened into two particularly sharp rhombuses on each side, then returned to its original state.
Althea had heard about the so-called "exposure" of Gondore. She didn't believe it.
She remembered practicing swordplay with sticks with Gondore before the age of eight, many times hitting him. But since she turned nine, she never hit him again. She always thought, "I'll definitely hit him next time," next time, the time after that. Every time, it ended in failure. She never questioned why. By the time she was twelve, Gondore refused to train with Althea anymore. She told herself: her father had taught her everything he could. She had learned it all.
Now, she finally understood: perhaps before the age of eight, Gondore was just a father who had to let his daughter hit him occasionally.
Althea raised her head to look out the window and saw Mohnitz and the "ugly man" Kaelaman standing about ten yards away, talking. Even though they hadn't noticed her gaze, she immediately turned her head. Father, if you want me to fight alongside these people...
She couldn't hear what the two were saying. If she could, she would have covered her ears.
In the cold air outside, Kaelaman tried to lower his voice as much as possible.
"What was the original plan? I'm asking you."
"To get the money, or take revenge, or both. Is that so hard for you to understand?" Mohnitz replied.
"You asked them for fifty thousand gold coins. Originally, you said five thousand."
"Because fifty thousand is more than five thousand, can you at least understand that? Count your own fingers, is it nine or ten?"
"Don't play games. Even if we had wings, we couldn't fly away wrapped in fifty thousand gold coins. I know you're trying to force them to hand over the entire Everlock family."
"Oh, it seems like that fire didn't fry your brain; instead, it made you better at thinking. I'll tell you the truth: getting a measly five thousand gold coins and then running away was never my first choice. And Darkshire can't just produce fifty thousand gold coins in cash."
"Mohnitz, not everyone is fixated on revenge. Our job is killing, and if we keep obsessing about avenging the dead, how are we going to survive? Screw this warrior's honor crap—many folks just want to take the money, drink good wine, eat well, buy a woman or two, and live life comfortably."
"Living a comfortable life... does that even concern you? You cover your face with your hand when you eat now; no amount of money can fix that."
"Go to hell."
As Kaelaman reached for the handle of his axe, Mohnitz swung his long knife, hitting his wrist. Then, he delivered a direct kick to the side of Kaelaman's neck, knocking him to the ground.
Mohnitz pointed the blade at Kaelaman's throat.
"You'll respect me, Kaelaman. Don't forget who's the boss now, and what I say is everything. You weren't this stupid before. It seems like Gondore's fire really scorched your brains. Money can be earned anytime, but this is the only opportunity to redeem our honor. If you keep thinking 'just take the money and run,' do you know what we'll become? A bunch of softies, hunting rabbits just to survive. Want to stand up? Wait. You know what we do when someone disrespects the boss, don't you?"
Kaelaman didn't speak. His remaining left eye glared at Mohnitz through the mask, his heavy breathing sinking into the air.
"Faster," Mohnitz said. "No one gets special treatment."
Kaelaman clenched his teeth, grabbed his left pinky finger, and twisted it until it snapped. He shuddered but made no sound.
"Next time, it'll be your ring finger. You can stand now." Mohnitz sheathed his long knife.
Kaelaman held his left hand, his body tilting slightly as he got up.
"You can't guarantee... that others won't have thoughts similar to mine," he said.
"So what if they're smarter? Those without brains certainly won't suspect any flaws in our plan. When I mentioned 'fifty thousand gold coins,' they were thrilled beyond words. As for those smarter than you, they wouldn't dare to defy my will. However, aside from your attitude, I admit there are risks in the current plan. No matter whether we end up with fifty hostages or fifty thousand gold coins, it'll be challenging to make a clean getaway."
"What's your plan then? Leaving the Everlock' little girl behind? It would be no issue to take her and go..."
"That's not the best solution. Elro and Joseph are Gondore's biological sons. If they inherit even a tenth of his character, they'll readily abandon this troublesome adopted daughter when the time comes. I initially considered focusing solely on Althea, but it's very likely we'd get nothing. That's why I decided to snatch all these brats, putting pressure on Gondore's two sons through the entire town."
"Revenge or money, you need to lead us down one path. Otherwise, it won't just be me who offends the boss."
"You don't need to tell me that. I squeezed some valuable information out of Staven, very useful information. Now, I have a new plan that can solve everything. There are different risks, but if it succeeds, we'll gain more than just gold coins and revenge. You'll see, Kaelaman. When the time comes, you'll understand how unworthy it was to rashly offend me and lose a finger."
"You better not disappoint the brothers."
The next day, the town's main government members and Jorgen gathered again at the mansion. Mohnitz didn't require the townsfolk to be present because it wasn't necessary. Many of them had voluntarily stayed here for a day and a night.
"After a night of consideration," Mohnitz said, "I wonder if Mr. Mayor has reached a conclusion?"
Elro looked at Jorgen and only spoke after receiving a nod of approval. "We're raising the gold coins."
From Mohnitz's expression, Jorgen could tell he didn't believe them. However, making the kidnappers believe wasn't the primary goal. Providing accurate and truthful information to them would be foolish.
"Oh, the children should be pleased to hear this news," Mohnitz remarked. "Especially Miss Althea."
"Fifty thousand gold coins is not a small sum. I hope you've considered how to take them away. Do we need to prepare carriages?" This was Joseph's question, another test.
"That's not the reason I called you all here today," Mohnitz replied.
He evaded the question, Jorgen thought. But what came next interrupted his further analysis.
"I've already mentioned that this whole affair stems entirely from Gondore's treacherous actions a year ago, and it has no direct relation to the over fifty children we're holding. I don't want you all to see us as mere criminals with no moral compass. Since you've started preparing the gold coins, we'll also show some goodwill — before the gold exchange, we'll return the children to their parents."
This statement caused a small commotion among the council members. The Everlock brothers and Jorgen simply waited for the continuation.
"However, we must retain at least one hostage—"
As expected. Jorgen saw Elro clench his fist, anticipating the anticipated twist.
"Jorgen." He spoke softly. "How can I ensure Althea's safety? Can I do it?"
"Calm down, Elro. Our advantage in surrounding them hasn't changed."
While Jorgen said this, he had already considered that in the worst-case scenario, if there had to be a sacrifice, one Althea was far better than her plus over fifty children. The council members and townsfolk would never agree to hand over
fifty thousand gold coins for just one Althea. If this escalated their conflict with the Everlock family further, it could lead to a more devastating outcome. To avoid such an outcome, Althea, this piece he and Dalia had worked so hard to
find, might disappear forever; the Everlock family would suffer an unimaginable blow. But Jorgen was mentally prepared for this, the final step in his strategy that he couldn't tell Elro and Joseph about for now. All he had to do was wait for
reinforcements to arrive and organize the attack. If the situation became more chaotic, such as Elro refusing an attack without a guarantee of Althea's safety, making it impossible to resolve, Jorgen would not hesitate to return to his initial
mission: ensuring Dalia's safe escape.
Mohnitz intentionally lengthened the pause between his words, observing everything before him, entering once again into his self-satisfied state. He was deeply convinced of the perfection of his plan, despite the risks, as true perfection
always encountered resistance. He was very satisfied with the effect of his speech yesterday; now, he was looking forward to the impending, uncontrollable excitement and surpassing yesterday's satisfaction that would well up within him. He was
confident that no one could say the following words in the same way and with the same infectious charisma:
"We demand to exchange one hostage, Dalia Shawl, for all fifty-four children, including Althea. I know she is in Darkshire. The time to collect the gold coins can be extended, but this must be executed tomorrow. Please note that this is a
demand, not a choice. If refused, we will immediately kill all fifty-three children, except for Althea."