Joseph's face reflected deep unease before he finally mustered the resolve to explain. "In truth… this place is a secret facility run by the authorities."
Charles opened his mouth to demand more details, but before he could utter a word, a low, imposing voice cut across the conversation.
"What is the meaning of this?"
Both men spun to face the newcomer—a tall, broad-shouldered middle-aged man in a pitch-black leather cloak. He advanced with commanding strides, hawk-like eyes sweeping the room. Upon seeing the guards sprawled unconscious on the floor, his expression hardened at once.
That man was Edward Cavendish, Joseph's uncle. Charles recognized him as the same official who had interrogated him back when he first lost his memories.
"Uh… H-head," Joseph stammered as he hurried over to Edward, sounding flustered. "It's gotten complicated, sir. There's…some kind of misunderstanding."
Edward said nothing at first. His gaze slid to Charles, eyes narrowed. "A misunderstanding? You'll have to enlighten me."
Charles swallowed. He wanted to respond carefully, yet his thoughts whirled as he tried to frame an explanation. But even before he could speak, Edward merely sighed as though he'd already pieced something together, and nodded once.
"Very well. Take him to get bandaged and rested up. We'll need a proper debrief soon about everything that happened," Edward said, surveying Charles's condition. "You don't look so good yourself. Get those injuries seen to."
'I haven't even managed to say anything yet.' Charles thought wryly. He suspected Edward wouldn't be pleased by the scuffle he'd caused. But any attempt at explanation dissolved into twinges of pain that rippled across his body. The sword slash to his calf was still bleeding slowly, an unrelenting throb that weakened him further.
Joseph turned to Edward urgently. "Sir, let me bring him to the infirmary. His condition's getting worse by the minute."
Edward inclined his head in agreement, stepping closer to unlock the chains still binding Charles. "I'll handle matters here. Go ahead and get him patched up."
"Thanks," Joseph murmured. He slipped an arm around Charles's shoulders, bracing him gently. "Can you stand?"
"I—I think so," Charles managed, trying to straighten. With Joseph's help, he hobbled past the guards strewn across the cell floor and out into the corridor.
Meanwhile, Edward bent over the fallen guards, rousing one who had sustained fewer injuries. "Come on, wake up. Can you move?"
"Uh… y-yes, sir," the large man mumbled, blinking dazedly.
"Good. Help your partner to the infirmary as well. He looks like he's just knocked out, but we'll see if there's anything worse."
---
As Joseph guided Charles along the corridor, Charles recounted in detail how he'd been abducted without warning, forced into captivity, and then attempted his escape—still wincing from the painful marks left by the manacles.
"I noticed I was being tailed when I headed for Old Town," he explained, leaning on Joseph's shoulder. "Tested it a couple of times, ordered the carriage to stop in random spots, that kind of thing. The carriage behind me acted so suspicious. I was convinced I had a tail. Then I tried a few more maneuvers. I found footprints in a perfect vantage point—someone had been lurking there, probably watching me and the other pursuers. Next thing I knew, they closed in on me. I didn't even have time to slip away."
Joseph listened in silence as they arrived at the infirmary. Inside was a simple arrangement of several cots, a cabinet of medical supplies, and a table where one of Edward's subordinates was already preparing a golden-red salve, thick and sticky in consistency. Charles was coaxed onto a bed, and the medic carefully dipped a cloth into the pungent ointment, then daubed it along Charles's bleeding calf.
The salve's heat flared fiercely at first, startling Charles with a hiss of pain—but the warmth soon faded into a bizarre, soothing chill that seemed to dull the throbbing wound. Although curious about the unusual medicine, Charles held his questions back. Nearby, the injured guard who had clashed with him earlier lay on another bed, bruised but apparently not in critical condition.
Joseph's tone turned grim. "We never intended to harm you like this. We only wanted to bring you in for questioning about Michael. He's being hunted right now."
Charles gave a disbelieving scoff, equal parts anger and bafflement. "So you kidnapped me—beat me half to death—to 'invite' me here? Are you out of your minds?"
"Our unit operates covertly," Joseph admitted, averting his gaze. "Usually, we approach our targets when they're alone, so we can keep the mission secret. We… never meant for things to get out of hand like this. But when they confronted you in Old Town—acting in secret, as usual—you naturally fought back. Everything spiraled. I'm truly sorry."
Edward stepped in, giving a curt bow. "We do owe you an apology for the harm. This outcome was not our intention."
Charles looked past Edward to the other men in the infirmary. Their faces ranged from sullen to downright furious at him—understandably so, given that he'd knocked some of them out cold. He sighed, then asked quietly, "But I still don't get it. Why does the disappearance of Michael Berg merit so much interest from a secret government unit? Are you telling me this is no ordinary case? Something else is going on?"
Joseph exhaled slowly, dropping his voice to a more guarded level. "I'm afraid we can't share every detail. Some intel is classified—only for internal eyes. We can't talk about it with outsiders."
"Unless absolutely necessary," Edward added cryptically.
Joseph furrowed his brow at that remark from his uncle, clearly uncertain what Edward meant. But Edward turned back to Charles before Joseph could raise the question.
"You mentioned noticing footprints—someone apparently following you. Specifically, you said you saw three sets of footprints, correct?"
Charles hesitated, eyes narrowing. "I did. But wait… how did you know it was three sets? I didn't mention that number earlier, just that I spotted footprints and realized I was being shadowed."
A faint sheen of sweat dotted Charles's forehead. He gazed at Edward warily, his muscles tensing as if he wanted to scramble away—but his wounded leg made it impossible to do so gracefully. "So how could you possibly know I found three distinct sets of footprints?"
Edward's intense stare seemed to cut right through him, the older man's face unreadable except for the faint tightening around his mouth. Charles pressed himself back into the infirmary cot, wanting more distance between them but having no way to achieve it without aggravating his injuries.
From across the room, the large guard who had fought Charles earlier observed him with grim satisfaction, apparently pleased to see him rattled and uneasy.
Edward shot a glance at Joseph, who let out an uncomfortable sigh and gave a slight nod. Edward returned that nod, as if some silent agreement had been reached. This only deepened Charles's apprehension.
Edward turned back to Charles. "Charles, would you consider joining our special unit? We could benefit greatly from your abilities."
The sudden invitation left Charles speechless. Even the wounded guards looked startled by Edward's offer.
*What? Why are they inviting me all of a sudden? And what does any of this have to do with the third set of footprints?*
Edward's eyes glinted as though reading Charles's thoughts. "Why wouldn't it be related?"
Charles's brow pinched in confusion. He tried to edge away from Edward, unsettled by the aura of absolute certainty emanating from him.
"Don't be so frightened," Edward said coolly.
"How… how did you know what I was thinking?" Charles managed, ignoring any semblance of politeness at this point.
"Because I can read minds, obviously," Edward replied, matter-of-factly.
"What do you mean?" Charles demanded.
"That's something you'll only learn if you join us," Edward said, his tone oddly firm.
Charles shot back, "And why on earth would I agree to that?"
Edward's features remained composed, as though none of this chaos bothered him in the slightest. "Remember when you examined those suspicious footprints? Three sets in total?"
"Yes, I remember. So?"
"Because our people—those who were trailing you—only numbered two. Not three. Doesn't that make you wonder who made the third set of footprints?"
"…Wait a second," Charles murmured, unease wrapping around him like a cold draft. He'd assumed the third set might belong to a drunk or an old person who'd just happened to be shuffling around. "Couldn't it have been a random bystander? A vagrant or local resident, or somebody planning to rob me? They might have realized I wasn't from around Old Town…"
Edward folded his arms. "Let's be logical here. You really think a common pickpocket or drunk would knowingly follow you around, especially when you already had two of my men on your tail? One of them's big enough to scare away most troublemakers. No petty criminal would bother risking that kind of chase. So why else would we see fresh footprints from some mysterious third party?"
Charles fell silent, mulling it over. The logic was hard to refute. If an ordinary mugger had glimpsed one well-dressed target and two bulky watchers, any sensible thief would back down, not follow them further.
"They wouldn't meddle, right," Charles conceded. "Unless it was no ordinary thief."
Edward nodded once. "Precisely."
Joseph broke in quietly. "Chief, do you really want him to know about—?"
"I believe the time's come, Joseph. Circumstances have forced our hand." Then Edward refocused on Charles. "I suspect the third set of footprints belonged to the 'Script-Decipherers.'"
At that cryptic phrase, an uneasy hush settled over the room. Everyone else stiffened, aside from Charles, who merely wore a puzzled frown, uncertain of who or what Edward was referring to.
**TO BE CONTINUED...**