Chapter 72
The revelation hit Joseph like a slap to the face. “He… He’s not Mr. Lee?”
Olivia stared at the figure in Stellar’s hands, her mind racing. The rest of the Lee family looked on, equally stunned, as they tried to make sense of what was happening. Who else could this be, if not Mr. Lee?
Stellar reached behind the figure’s ear, fumbling around, but his fingers came up empty. He couldn’t find the seal of the human-skin mask. A sense of unease began to creep up his spine.
Could it be? Was this really Mr. Lee? Or was something more sinister at play here?
Just as panic started to take root in Stellar’s chest, Nash spoke up, his voice weak and strained. “Rip his clothes off…”
Stellar, now kneeling with Mr. Lee’s lifeless body on the ground, hesitated for a moment. As he began to remove the clothing, Joseph shot to his feet, his expression twisted with fury.
“Stop!” Joseph’s voice rang out, raw with emotion.
He had looked up to his father for as long as he could remember. His father had been his hero, the man who had shaped his life and kept him going through dark times. To see his body treated like this… It was more than Joseph could bear.
“My father is already dead!” Joseph’s voice cracked with anger and grief. “And yet you’re going to rip his clothes off? Are you going to take away his dignity too?”
Olivia, still processing the chaos around her, overheard something from the bodyguards. One of them whispered, “A killer was spotted outside earlier. The masked man… he killed the West’s assassin.”
Her heart skipped a beat. A killer had been trying to murder the warden, and the masked man—the one who had just killed her grandfather—had been his bodyguard?
It all clicked. Something wasn’t right about her grandfather’s death. There was more to the story than anyone had realized.
Then, in a voice loud enough for everyone to hear, Stellar swore, “I, Stellar Orwell, colonel of the Northern Territory’s ninth army, swear on my life that if this person is indeed Mr. Lee, I will offer my life in apology for my offense!”
The room went quiet. The mention of his military rank sent ripples through the crowd.
A colonel?
Joseph, still in a daze, took a few staggering steps backward. His world was spinning.
Olivia, meanwhile, had gathered her thoughts. She walked over to her father and whispered urgently, “Dad, I just heard that an assassin tried to kill the warden. And that masked man, the one who just killed Grandpa… he saved the warden’s life.”
Joseph froze, his blood turning cold. The weight of her words hit him like a punch to the gut. If the warden was assassinated at the Lee estate, the ramifications could lead to war. And no one could predict how the public would react. Their family would be shunned.
Olivia moved quickly, crossing the room toward Stellar. “Colonel, please. Verify this person’s identity.”
With permission granted, Stellar moved swiftly. He tore off the body’s clothes, exposing its smooth, unwrinkled skin. To his shock, the body didn’t look old. The muscles were firm and well-defined, a physique that none of the young heirs could ignore. Some even blushed, feeling inadequate.
On the chest, a faint white line appeared. Stellar pinched it with his nails, lifting it carefully. It was a thin piece of human skin, synthetic and expertly crafted.
The truth was now laid bare before them.
Beneath the disguise, Mr. Lee’s face was gone. Instead, a middle-aged, mixed-race man was revealed—one who bore no resemblance to the retired war hero they had all known.
The warden, still concerned about Nash’s condition, knelt beside him. “How are you feeling? Do you need medical attention?”
Nash, though still pale from blood loss, retrieved seven snake-shaped gold needles from his pocket. With swift, deliberate movements, he inserted the needles around his wound, channeling his inner energy to stop the bleeding. The toxins on the needles killed the virus, and the blood flow slowly stopped. After a few minutes, the bleeding was under control.
But before Nash could stand, a chilling presence descended upon them.
Six figures, cloaked in black and wearing masks, dropped down from the mansion’s top floor. They landed soundlessly, like shadows.
The one at the front, who seemed to be their leader, spoke in a heavily accented voice. “Smiling Grim Reaper… I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”
“Shawn!” Nash’s voice was full of disbelief.
“You’re still alive?” His shock was palpable. Shawn was a notorious killer from Balaria. Six years ago, they had received the same mission. But Nash had never expected to cross paths with him again.