"Are you working for Stromgarde?" Tusha asked.
"No, it's not quite accurate to say that. There is indeed someone who gives me direct orders, but that person is not Prince Galin. He's not qualified yet. Panthonia Shawll, ever heard of him?" Lawrence responded.
"I haven't been hiding in a cave all these years. Looks like I made a mistake, Lawrence. I should have found a new hideout when that MI7 agent started tailing me two years ago. I remember his name was Jorgen... is he here too?" Tusha inquired.
"It's a mistake for you, but a huge boon for us. Jorgen is not here, and, in fact, he has no connection to what we need to discuss today," Lawrence explained.
"Now, I'm quite interested in MI7. On one hand, they're fighting 'Dinner' traffickers, restricting its spread, and on the other hand, they're harboring you—the inventor of it. You see, sometimes, I just can't understand the human way of thinking, just like now."
Lawrence chuckled, pulled a chair from nearby, and sat close to the iron bars.
"Vossuva, my old friend..."
"Don't say that name in front of me unless you want to die now. I don't want to kill you yet because your words have piqued my interest, but that doesn't mean I can't," Tusha interrupted. "So, what should I call you... Tusha?"
Tusha didn't answer. In the shadow, Lawrence couldn't see his friend's face clearly, only the breath that seemed to float in the heavy air, born in darkness yet restless when breaking the silence.
"Alright, Tusha," Lawrence moved the chair back a bit, away from the bars. "There's been a colossal misunderstanding between us all these years. The depth and complexity of this misunderstanding sadden me. If we can move beyond it and be frank with each other, then nothing can stop us from achieving something extraordinary. Even with our differing motives, our goal is the same."
"Misunderstanding? Which one are you talking about? For me, you're still the one who stole and defiled the potion formula, became a millionaire with it, and then disappeared. Misunderstandings require agreement on both sides but not mutual recognition, so there is no misunderstanding between me, the fugitive, and you. Therefore, there's no need to eliminate it. Lawrence, in my eyes, you're just a rotting flesh waiting to be cut off. It's not a matter of how many knives or when. For all these years, whenever I hear raindrops on a wooden board, the wind blowing over the water, or fire igniting a bundle of firewood, I don't hear water, wind, or fire. I hear the sound of my knife cutting through you. Do you understand, Lawrence? Since you want us to be frank, I'll take this step: whenever I think about the past, I am extremely angry, Lawrence. Before I kill you out of this anger, you'd better find a way to change my mind."
"For someone shackled in a dungeon, with the most crucial thing controlled by someone else, your words are quite irrational... but I understand. Let's make it clear, 'Dinner' is an accident for me too. I made it accidentally and unexpectedly found it profitable. If it weren't for the certainty that you would kill me, we could have run this together—on a very small scale, supplying only the wealthiest and most vacant individuals. This way, we could have earned enough funds and avoided the harm it caused to thousands today. You probably think I had my son take away your research data to prevent them from hindering my wealth, right?"
"At least, until this moment, it's the most reasonable explanation."
"That was done out of necessity... Apart from bringing you here, there's no other purpose. In fact, I am confident enough to say that my value and protection for this data are no less than yours, and I have the means to provide better protection."
At this point, Tusha shifted his sitting posture slightly, and Lawrence almost stood up. Accusing Tusha of not being enthusiastic about protecting the research data implied a lack of understanding. After confirming that Tusha had no further actions, Lawrence continued.
"I just said that our motives differ, but our goal is the same. This goal is to make the potion you brought out famous worldwide. In terms of motives, you want to spread the glory of the tribe, while I simply want the beauty of the potion itself to astound—its enormous potential, its incredible effects on the human body, and how difficult it is to tame. It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. I can't bear the idea that only a handful of people in the world know its beauty. So, like you, I hope it can work intact on all races. I was young then, full of endless admiration for your knowledge and wisdom. I thought: working with this person is my only life goal. If I can't achieve it, it's better to die. When I saw those people kill my wife, burn down my house with my own eyes, I told myself: all these sacrifices are worth it."
Tusha remembered that incident. Although his whereabouts were extremely secretive at the time, rumors of "an anthropologist having dealings with that troll" had spread within a small circle. A group of people who deeply hated trolls tried to convince Lawrence to set traps to capture Tusha, but their request was denied. Instead, they resorted to those actions.
Lawrence raised his left hand, with three of the fingers being prosthetics. "After witnessing those atrocities, I naively thought I could get some sympathy from you... but this is what you did to me. You cut off my fingers one by one, asking if I revealed anything. You were a hundred times more cruel than them, my old friend. But even in that moment, I survived. I prepared myself psychologically to win back your trust, even if I lost nine fingers, one hand, one leg. But you stopped after three fingers and said I could assist in your research. I believed in the ecstasy of life at that moment. However, I knew in my heart that you would only give me one chance. So when I accidentally created 'Dinner' and earned my first coin through it, there was no chance for me to gain your forgiveness again. What else could I do besides escaping?"
"Don't make it sound like everything is accidental. You desired the things that wealth brought you..."
"I don't deny that, not at all," unexpectedly, Lawrence raised his voice, interrupting Tusha. "Firstly, I'm just a mortal, unable to cast everything aside like you. Losing my wife and the inheritance left by my grandfather, I could only seek solace in things bought with coins; otherwise, how could I go on living? More importantly, I can't go it alone—also because I'm not you. Where ability falls short, let resources compensate; that's my philosophy. I once cooperated with Ravenholt, but they couldn't meet my research needs. I didn't actively join Shawll; he took me in after a capture. Besides you, Shawll is the person I admire the most. I am extremely wealthy, not in need of monetary help, but he provides everything else—manpower, resources, and, most crucially, understanding and praise for my work. Over the years, I thought I had everything needed to achieve success—but I was wrong. For that most perfect and mysterious potion, I am still an outsider, able only to analyze its components, lacking an understanding of its essence and soul-level comprehension; these are things only you, its unique heir, possess. Help me, Tusha. You know in your heart that our days are numbered; before that day comes, let's accomplish the common pursuit we share."
Unaware, Lawrence had approached the iron bars while speaking. Now, Tusha could easily reach out and disfigure his face, destroy it. Lawrence scratched his chin with his right hand.
"Although you say taking away those data had no other purpose... but I guess you hope I will translate them for you."
"That's just one of countless things you can do but I can't."
"So, specifically, what are you doing now?"
Lawrence widened his eyes, surprised for a moment, then smiled. This smile, too, expressed joy, but it didn't evoke thoughts of sunshine, warm breeze, and clear springs; it was more akin to cracked soil under sunlight, insects' corpses emitting foul odor in the warm wind, and a snake swimming in a clear spring. He stood up.
"Let me show you something first."
Glocara lay on the bed. She didn't expect to fall asleep quickly.
The air in this room was not well-ventilated and somewhat dirty, but it was unusually spacious. She wanted to open the window a bit to let in some fresh air but found it stuck.
Since entering the castle, her treatment had been decent. In fact, someone who looked like an officer sternly reprimanded Varokar, saying he shouldn't behave so indecently in front of the guards. She heard someone call him Prince Galin. She even got a hot bath and dinner brought out from the kitchen.
Just a few hours ago, she thought she was destined to spend the night in the wilderness, but now she was lying on a very comfortable bed—much better than the one in the White House. She curled up, toes fiddling with the sheets, tightly hugging an extra pillow, feeling its softness and warmth. She tried to dispel the inner discomfort with these material benefits. Varokar wasn't the first man to harass her; that problem had passed.
Thinking about what happened to Tusha was inconclusive. Glocara was more concerned about the fact that "the journey has ended." Although now aware of her temporary confinement, at least her life was not in immediate danger, and it was much better here than being confined in Booty Bay. She hoped to fall asleep quickly so that she could see tomorrow sooner. After tomorrow, there would be another tomorrow. And then another tomorrow. As long as she could live to see these tomorrows, the end of her journey would be worthwhile.
But she still wanted to recall everything she experienced on this journey: the hasty escape, the damp jungle, swollen soles, cracked wounds, dizzying raptors, mud-covered body, sweatdrops in the sunlight, campfires rising on small hills in the dark night, lighthouses swinging golden ribbons into the distant sky, charred rabbit meat, circus tents set up on a grassy field, a flock of bluebirds flying overhead, snow melting on fingernails, a hidden lakeside cave to avoid mountain dwarves, a bear fearing it might attack, a crocodile's tail peeking out in the swamp, gunshots, morning mist, bridge piers, gravel, evening breeze—
I want to sleep now. Please be safe and sound.
To avoid the shackled arms restricting his body, Tusha pressed his arms against the wall, tilting his neck to peer through the window grille.
"I didn't see anything special," Tusha said, "this is not enough for me to understand what you're doing, Lawrence."
"He's sitting right there."
"I can see someone sitting. So what?" After a brief silence, Tusha said, "Wait... I see his eyes. Seems interesting. He's looking at us, but..."
"He's the only one who reached this stage with such clear consciousness. All the subjects before either didn't survive a week or became thoughtless husks. We're at a crucial moment now, so I need your help. For example, his ears still can't hear anything, and vision faces a more complicated issue."
Tusha frowned. The name "Dinner" originated from the temporary blindness it caused. Every time he thought about this becoming the most well-known feature of the potion, he felt unhappy.
"Eyes, eyes, eyes are always the most troublesome. Is there blood on that wall?"
"There's blood on the wall."
"It's his own blood. He still has a tendency to harm himself, but the frequency has decreased by forty percent in the past two weeks."
"What's his name?"
"I never define unfinished works. The rejects from the past, used by Shawll as assassins, got a name for a undertakers. Prince Galin wanted to call the intact product 'Stromgarde Unyielding Knight,' a typical noble naming quirk. At least until now, he's just me—our unfinished work, without any name."
"Unyielding Knight? Ugh, can't stand it. I prefer undertakers. But what I'm asking is this person's real name."
"Let me think... Renner. Renner Marvin, probably. It doesn't matter because no one will remember later."