"If that weapon hadn't been leaked, it must have been your Security Bureau's people who appeared there."

Molade said, glancing at Hans out of the corner of his eye to gauge his reaction.

As a perennial frontline operative of the Security Bureau, Hans naturally noticed the young man's clumsy probe.

But now, Hans had no spare energy to deal with such immature acts, because Molade's words had made him think of something.

"Alright, and then? Where were those Security Bureau people, and what were they doing?"

Hans's face was expressionless, but Molade could feel a kind of urgency in his heart.

This made him think that the matter at the sanatorium might not be as simple as he had initially thought.

"...Mr. Hans, you should know that the Filmede Sanatorium is near the lakeshore, so there are a few small docks nearby for mooring pleasure boats.

Those people, the ones I mentioned, they were exchanging a person-filled sack with another group of men in black at the shore."

"A person-filled sack? Do you know who was in it?"

"Yes, I do. The person inside the sack was Mr. Walter, the owner of that sanatorium."

"Walter Bilson?"

Hans wrote something down in his notebook.

"The business genius who, at only twenty-eight years old, owns millions in Loiz? That Walter?"

"Yes."

Molade nodded.

"Alright, and then they just left? Did they exchange anything else?"

"No, they just threw the sack into the lake."

Molade shook his head.

He could still remember the shock he felt that day, but now he had become somewhat numb, no longer feeling the initial terror.

Hans nearly lost grip on his pen when he heard this, because on another page of his notebook was the testimony of Walter himself.

"...Hmm."

Despite the turmoil in his heart, Hans silently suppressed his excitement and regained his composure.

"Mr. Hans?"

Molade, seeing Hans lost in thought, felt his unease grow.

A death was bad enough, but now it seemed there was a deeper secret?

Oh, Lord above, let it not be so.

"That, Mr. Francis, do you have anything else to add? If not, I'll be leaving."

Hans snapped back to reality.

"Of course, I remember there were also three men in gray military uniforms, but I'm not sure which country's soldiers they were."

Molade nodded.

"After those people threw Mr. Walter into the lake, some others seemed to have sealed off the port."

"Gray uniforms? That's likely the colonial army. The colonial army has a special organization, and the color of their uniforms is different."

Hans pondered for a moment and then wrote "Colonial Army?" in his notebook.

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

"The colonies? Come to think of it, the epaulettes on those men were of a style I haven't seen before; it's very likely they were from an army newly established in the colonies."

Molade thought for a moment and nodded.

"So, it's not surprising that some foreigners showed up at the sanatorium."

"Foreigners?"

Hans almost couldn't control his emotions.

To the major countries around the kingdom, the Esflore Kingdom was just a backwater, with only a few major cities and the Rodels Mountains having any touristic value.

Apart from the locals, which country's people would come here? To this sanatorium?

"Mr. Francis, can you specify which country those foreigners were from?"

"...Mostly from Norian, and there were also some from the Yafis continent, you know, those indigenous people who get rich by selling some, political assets and local specialties."

Molade recalled his time at the sanatorium.

"Anything else?"

Hans noted the information, then looked up and asked.

"...That's pretty much it. I can't think of anything more right now."

Shaking his head, Molade breathed a sigh of relief.

Keeping this matter to himself wasn't good; speaking out now was like relieving the pressure in a high-pressure steam engine, preventing it from becoming a time bomb.

"Hmm... Thank you, Mr. Francis, for providing the information. Then I'll be leaving." Hans closed his notebook and put it back in his trench coat.

"By the way, can I go now? What about the medical expenses..."

Molade didn't finish speaking but just looked at Hans.

"Don't worry about it, your medical expenses have already been covered by the Security Bureau. You don't need to worry about that.

Also, you can leave whenever you want, Mr. Francis, but I suggest you stay at the hospital for a while longer." Hans pointed to Molade's injured arm.

"After all, it's a gunshot wound, not just a scratch."

"...Then, can I make a phone call to my family? And... do I have to pay for the call myself?"

Molade hesitated.

"Of course, please come with us." Hans nodded.

The Security Bureau personnel helped Molade get off the hospital bed and then took him to a special ward in the hospital.

Though it was called a ward, there were no patients inside; it was all Security Bureau personnel and equipment.

Some were furiously writing, others were tapping on wireless communication devices, and some were smoking, but with submachine guns and magazines nearby.

"..."

Molade suddenly felt as if he was dragging an anchor and couldn't move.

"Ah, Mr. Francis, please rest assured, this is a Security Bureau-affiliated hospital, which is why our action team is stationed here."

Seeing Molade's stiff expression and knowing what he was worried about, Hans explained.

"The situation is a bit special right now, so you need to use the phone here."

"You're going to monitor it?"

"I'm sorry, but yes."

Hans said.

"Then I won't make the call."

Molade shook his head.

"I want to go back to the ward now."

"You don't need to hide anything, Mr. Francis. The Security Bureau is well aware of what's going on with your family."

"I just don't want to involve my family."

"Although I should remind you that they have already been involved, whether by force or by choice." Hans looked at Molade, but the latter clearly didn't catch the deeper meaning in his eyes.

"However, as you wish, Bodler."

Hans called out to someone in the room.

"Here, Captain."

A young blond Security Bureau member ran over.

"Take Mr. Francis back to his ward."

"Yes!"

Bodler "escorted" Molade back to the ward.

Meanwhile, Hans briefly shared the information he had received from Molade with the other action team members present.

"No wonder we couldn't find any clues. The suspicious items submitted for examination also didn't report any anomalies."

A middle-aged man took a puff of his cigarette.

"It turns out there are people from the upper echelons of the bureau involved in this."

The others nodded.

But they deliberately avoided one issue, that the Walter who was supposed to be at the bottom of the lake was now staying in their Security Bureau's safe house.

And according to his testimony, Molade was actually the prime suspect in this sanatorium kidnapping case.

"Hans, you go investigate this Francis. I always felt this case wasn't just a kidnapping or gang warfare."

The middle-aged man said.

"Hehe, should've thought of that earlier, right? Otherwise, the Security Bureau wouldn't be handling this case."

"Yes, Director!"

Hans nodded and was about to leave the room.

"Wait a minute."

"What is it, Director?"

"Now that we know there are high-level people involved in this, you know what to do, right?"

"...Yes, Director."

"And Walter, sigh... I'll take some people to see him today."

The middle-aged man said, getting up and extinguishing his cigarette in the ashtray.

"I'll leave this to you for now."

Half an hour later, Molade requested to go home.

After weighing the options, Hans agreed to let Molade go home for a visit.

"Mr. Francis, we'll need your cooperation with some things.

Please be prepared to be summoned at any time until this case is resolved." Hans came to Molade before he left.

"...Alright, Mr. Hans." Molade nodded, put on his coat, took his briefcase from Bodler, and got into the Security Bureau's car to go home.

When they reached the intersection of Klausk Street, it was already 9 p.m.

Molade and Bodler said goodbye, and then Molade, carrying his briefcase in one hand, started walking towards his home.

However, at that moment, someone stumbled towards him.

Before Molade could react, the person collided with him.

"Hey! Watch it!" Molade lost his balance and fell to the ground.

He struggled to get up, rubbing his sore buttocks, and was about to see if the person had intentionally bumped into him.

Suddenly, the person pulled out a dagger and stabbed at him.

Under the streetlight's glare, the blinding reflection caught Bodler's attention in the car.

Seeing what was happening, his face changed dramatically. He wanted to immediately draw his service pistol, but it was already too late.

The person's dagger had already touched Molade's coat.

Molade's adrenaline surged, spreading throughout his body.

He let go of the briefcase.

Ignoring whether the gunshot wound would burst open, he fiercely hit the attacker's wrist with one hand and tried to snatch the dagger with the other.

He had thought the best outcome would be getting cut, but to his surprise, he successfully took the dagger.

Just as he calmed his pounding heart, no longer worried about being stabbed to death there, the attacker suddenly pulled on his hand, stabbing the dagger deep into his own neck.

It was as if he was stabbing someone else, not himself.

Instantly, blood gushed from the man's neck, staining the front half of Molade's body red.

The man looked up at Molade.

His eyes were filled with murkiness, like those of a dead man.

"Hehe, haha!" He laughed maniacally, then closed his eyes, no longer breathing, his body losing all strength.

Molade's hands also lost their strength.

He stared wide-eyed at everything, suddenly feeling as if he hadn't woken up yet.

The corpse, having lost all support, slid off Molade and collapsed on the ground, forming a pool of blood beneath it.

Soon, the crowd around noticed what had happened, and those who understood screamed, ran away without looking back, fainted from the sight of the blood-stained Molade, or took advantage of the chaos to steal wallets.

"Murder! Murder!"

"The murderer! Catch the murderer!"

"Police, where are the police?! Hurry up, there's a murderer here!"

People scattered in all directions, nearby residents closed their doors and windows facing the street, drew the curtains, and hid inside.

Soon, the entire street was left with only Molade, the fallen corpse, some scattered briefcases, and bags of vegetables and bread.

The lone car light shone on the suddenly silent street.