Hearing those words, Evan Stone finally set the glass down and scribbled a note in the form:
"No witnesses."
He then ordered a fresh glass of whiskey and moved to the next Ice Spring Street resident.
"Name."
"..."
"Name!"
"Samuel Lowe."
"Did you see the disaster?"
"I... I..." Samuel Lowe gulped nervously after witnessing the earlier events. "No, I didn't."
Evan Stone nodded and moved on to the next person.
As Evan Stone efficiently dealt with all the residents, meticulously documenting their statements, an idea began to form in the minds of Samuel Lowe and the others.
Did Marshall set us up?
Weren't these supposed to be just reserve law enforcers?
Looking at how smoothly Evan Stone handled the situation, dodging their questions with ease, they couldn't help but wonder:
Could he really be one of the law enforcers?
Maybe this was Marshall's plan all along—to solve this mess and clean himself up, using them as scapegoats?
As they pieced the situation together, their faces grew more somber. They stared at Evan Stone, afraid that once he finished questioning them, he might pull out a gun and take them all down.
Evan Stone went through all the interrogations slowly and methodically, pressing thumbprints on each report, even for those who had been knocked unconscious, writing down "No witnesses" for them, and forcibly pressing their thumbprints.
Next, he asked the bartender for a thick rope, tied all the people's hands together, and pushed open the tavern door.
"Thanks for cooperating... See you tomorrow."
The boy in the tattered cotton coat stood at the door, offering a brief smile to the tavern's occupants before turning and leaving.
The tavern fell into silence.
They're not dead?
It wasn't long before Samuel Lowe, his back soaked with cold sweat, snapped out of his shock. He looked toward the bartender.
"...What are you waiting for? Come help us untie this!"
…
"Did you hear gunshots?"
A law enforcer in the teahouse hesitated before speaking.
"No... Did you mishear?" Quentin Farr casually responded while playing mahjong, his focus not leaving the game. "Don't worry, the people from Ice Spring Street know their limits. The worst they'll do is pull a knife. If they start shooting, then no one's safe."
"True."
"That Evan Stone kid, do you think he'll make it out today?"
"Hard to say... He's better than William Young, though. If those people get serious... well…"
"If someone dies, will there be a problem for us to explain in District 3?"
"What's there to explain? A poor kid from Cold Frost Street, I heard his parents were made mad by a disaster. Even if he dies here, just bury him somewhere, who will ever know? Who will make trouble?"
"Don't worry, District 3 is Marz's territory. He'll handle it..."
"Three-dot."
Bang
Bang
The door suddenly swung open again.
"Tsk, who is it now?" Quentin Farr stood up in annoyance. "Always someone with issues."
"Probably that kid, discovered something's wrong and ran to report to us. Hah."
"He hasn't even been gone that long, don't tell me he just went around the corner and came back?"
As they were talking, Quentin Farr opened the door to find Evan Stone standing there, causing his brows to furrow instantly.
"What now? Didn't I make myself clear to you?"
"This is my work report."
"…?"
Evan Stone pulled out a form from his pocket and was about to hand it to Quentin Farr when he noticed a spot of blood and skin flakes on the corner of the page. He flicked it off with his finger, wiped it clean, and then smiled as he handed it to Quentin Farr.
Quentin Farr froze.
The other law enforcers, who had been playing mahjong inside, also paused in confusion.
"…?" Quentin Farr took the form, looked at it with suspicion for a moment, and then smiled. "Little Chen... I know this task must be a challenge for you, but you can't just press your thumb and hand it in like this."
"I didn't fool anyone."
Evan Stone replied seriously, "They're inside the tavern. If you don't believe me, you can go ask them."
Quentin Farr's frown deepened. He stared at Evan Stone for a while, unsure whether this was a joke or if he was serious... but no, those people couldn't have been that honest in the investigation.
This kid... he wouldn't have used his charm to get them to cooperate, right?
But how could it have happened so fast?
"I'll go check." Quentin Farr immediately stood up, ready to leave, but then paused and turned back. "You should know, falsifying the task report will get you disqualified from the exam, right?"
"I know."
Quentin Farr took a cigarette, placed it in his mouth, and walked toward the tavern with an air of disbelief, followed by the other law enforcers, all curious to see what was going on.
After watching them leave, Evan Stone looked down at the mahjong table, where a few lines of characters flashed across his vision:
[Audience Expectation +1]
[Current Expectation: +3]
...
Black Axe Tavern.
"Can you hurry up?"
The tavern was a mess, the cries of pain echoing throughout. Samuel Lowe, who had been less injured, looked at the slow-moving bartender and couldn't help but curse.
The bartender shot him a cold glance, "Talk too much and I'll slit your throat."
"…Why weren't you so tough just now?"
"The kid was a law enforcer, what good would being tough have done?"
"Is he really a law enforcer?" Samuel Lowe's eyes widened. "Are you sure?"
"Many years ago, when I was dealing drugs in District 3, I was tracked by a law enforcer... his movements were exactly the same as that young man. If I hadn't been lucky, I never would've escaped to District 2." The bartender paused, "Do you know who that law enforcer was?"
"Who?"
"The Chief of Law Enforcers in District 3, Victor Hale."
Samuel Lowe stood frozen.
Squeak
The tavern door opened.
Quentin Farr stepped in, looking around in shock at the tavern, now a scene of carnage. He froze as he took in the sight of the bleeding, barely alive Ice Spring Street residents.
"This…" Quentin Farr stood like a statue at the door, "Did that kid do this?"
More law enforcers who had arrived also gaped in shock.
Quentin Farr stepped into the tavern, carefully stepping over the knife-like bones of the corpses and the howling men. Those who were still conscious glared at them with fury in their eyes.
"Quentin Farr!!" Samuel Lowe gritted his teeth as he sat up. "You this f**king off b**ta*d! I will kill you s*n of b**ch."
Quentin Farr furrowed his brows. "What did you just say?"
Click-clack
The sound of a bullet being chambered echoed through the room. The bartender, having moved forward silently, had his gun pointed directly at Quentin Farr's forehead.
The other law enforcers froze in surprise, quickly drawing their guns and aiming them at the bartender and the struggling patrons who were attempting to rise.
The tavern, soaked in blood and tension, fell into an eerie stillness.
"What do you think you're doing?" Quentin Farr's forehead beaded with cold sweat as he spoke in a low voice. "Don't forget, we're supposed to be working together."
"Working together? You send that guy to destroy everything and still talk about cooperation?!" Samuel Lowe shot back, his voice dripping with venom.
"…I don't know what's going on here. Evan Stone is just a reserve law enforcer…"
"screw you a fu**cking reserve law enforcer" Samuel Lowe pointed at the bloodied tavern floor, where the sound of moans echoed. "Dare you tell me again, this is a f**king reserve enforcer?!"
"…I…"
Quentin Farr fell silent, unable to respond.
"…Where's Evan Stone?" he finally turned and asked one of the other law enforcers.
"He... he seems to have left."
"He left?"
"Yeah… he said he was off duty."