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Panthonia grabbed the suspect by the collar, pushing the back of his neck against the edge of the sink. The suspect's hands shrank back, trembling, palms facing Panthonia.

"Two people can prove you entered that room at three o'clock," Panthonia said. "So far, I can't be certain that you killed the homeowner. But if you keep denying it..."

"I really, really wasn't there, Investigator. I know who you're talking about... Kare and Delat, right? They owe me money. They're lying... to avoid paying..."

"So now you're the victim?"

Panthonia punched the suspect in the face several times. The man tried to speak, uttering a few indistinct syllables, but Panthonia hit him again. The suspect fell silent, his head drooping, blood dripping into the water, slowly fading in the flow.

"Enough," said the assistant, who had been watching from the side, stepping forward to restrain Panthonia's arm. "He'll really die."

Panthonia looked at the assistant, lowered his fist, and released the suspect. Before the injured man could collapse, the assistant quickly supported him.

"We can't continue questioning him like this," the assistant said. "He needs medical attention."

"Then take him."

The assistant supported the suspect and took two steps before stopping, looking back at Panthonia.

"Uh, why don't you take a break... There isn't much going on today... Just a suggestion. You don't really need to consider it."

As expected, there was no response. The assistant left with the injured suspect.

Panthonia looked at his raised fist, then dipped it into the sink to wash off the blood on his knuckles. Blood was something he was very familiar with, but at some moment in the past few days, it felt like he was seeing it for the first time. At the scene of Hilsbeth's attack, there was a dried bloodstain on the ground, with a strand of hair almost unrecognizable in color. He had seen countless broken limbs, charred bones, and rotten organs, but he had never felt the way he did facing this bloodstain. It was inconspicuous, from a distance looking like a dark spot on the road or spilled coffee, but up close, he felt the dark red spreading in his chest, corroding continuously, making it hard to breathe. From Hilsbeth's injuries and eyewitness testimonies, he could deduce the exact sequence of the attack: hit from behind with a stone... strike... fall... again... again. He could reconstruct this process without feeling anything, but it was this bloodstain that made everything real, bringing the attack to life and replaying it in his mind.

However, what was even more unbearable were the processes he couldn't replay in his mind: how the poison corroded her tongue, mouth, throat, all those delicate parts. He had caught the dealer who made the transaction with Dennisen's fiancée. What the woman bought for a high price was not a high-grade poison suitable for assassination but a corrosive substance that caused pain without being lethal. These days, Hilsbeth couldn't chew or swallow, receiving nutrition only through tubes or injections—along with the baby in her womb.

"The poison didn't enter her system," the doctor said. "Though Ms. Hilsbeth is currently weak, once she can eat normally, she will recover quickly. It's best for her to leave the hospital for recuperation as soon as possible. Staying here until the baby is born might make her too depressed. But once she's out, please provide her with the most comfortable living environment possible; also, I know you're busy, but spend as much time with her as you can. These are common suggestions for everyone. The issue is that Ms. Hilsbeth particularly needs this because... though she has been very strong, the psychological impact might gradually manifest. Being attacked is unfortunate enough, but losing..."

"I know," Panthonia said.

—Know what?

Panthonia knew nothing about how Hilsbeth viewed these experiences, nor could he force himself to understand. He couldn't bring himself to ask. He hated waiting, hated waiting for the crooked handwriting on the paper after handing her the pen and paper. For a moment, he even began to hate her—why wasn't she more careful? Why was she in that place at that time?—and this hatred quickly reflected back on himself. His heart was filled with anger every moment because only anger could suppress his frustration, even if the anger was directed at himself. During interrogations, he used more severe violence than before, but every time his fist hit a suspect, he felt like he was hitting a hard wall, a wall that only reflected his own image.

Hilsbeth was pregnant. He was going to have his own child. He once thought he had understood and could handle it smoothly; but now, the pain she endured made him doubt. A child, a woman like Hilsbeth, and the role she would take on—a mother—what place would they have in his life? And for them, what meaning would it have to be involved in his life? The current Panthonia Shawl had grown up in a world of murder and mutual destruction and would continue to live in such a world. Perhaps the only way was to hide her and the child, hide them forever... in his vast, almost infinite shadow.

In the first few days, he visited Hilsbeth every day. Gradually, he couldn't do it anymore, reducing it to once every three or four days. Until the past week, he hadn't visited her at all. He couldn't bear her silence. Couldn't bear the sound of the pen scratching on paper. Couldn't bear the thought that he would never hear her speak again. He needed some time alone to think about what to do next; he knew it was more like an excuse to avoid the accumulating guilt.

There was also one more thing, part of the excuse. The council meeting had ended without an immediate decision on establishing an intelligence agency. Panthonia told himself this would affect how to settle Hilsbeth, so he patiently waited to resolve this first. He wouldn't think that this couldn't be a reason to cut off his visits to her.,

Koen finally met with Panthonia on a windless night. By the pond behind the mansion, the dim moonlight slid like a snake into the rippling water along the stone steps.

"First, I want to congratulate you, Panthonia. The council has decided to establish an independent intelligence agency. Of course, this is a congratulations to both of us and to all the citizens of Stormwind who will benefit."

"That's wonderful, Your Grace. No words can express my gratitude."

"Let's skip the formalities. We both know you're not good at it. As for the operation of the intelligence agency, it will initially follow the plan you proposed for a three-month trial, but it will temporarily have only a staff of ten. There's an unused warehouse by the East Side Police Station that someone will convert into a suitable office."

The ten-person staff was only a third of what Panthonia initially planned, but that didn't matter. Moreover, he didn't think he could find nine people in the current police force who completely agreed with him. As long as he had the authority, he could slowly cultivate and develop everything needed for the future.

"Once again, thank you, Your Grace. I will not disappoint you..."

"Don't be so quick to say that. When did I say you would lead this agency?"

Panthonia was silent for a moment. He saw only irritation in Koen's eyes.

"Since you said the agency will operate according to my plan, surely only I can manage it properly..."

"Do you doubt my support for you?"

"No, Your Grace."

"There are other voices, Panthonia. Some strongly oppose you as the leader. They hardly need special reasons because your brutal interrogation methods are well-known. I'd say they understand nothing, but they actually just oppose me, and your actions have become their tool. They don't believe only you can implement the plan. They think anyone with some brains can follow the plan and succeed."

"Do they have another candidate?"

"The Chief of Police proposed someone else. It's utter nonsense! He doesn't even think about who gave him the power to speak!"

That the person Koen had promoted was now leading the opposition seemed to be the real reason for Koen's anger, regardless of the specifics of the opposition.

"Then... who?" Panthonia asked.

Koen gave the name. It was the internal affairs investigator who had questioned Panthonia after Salvaney's demise.

"They rate him very highly—meticulous, respectful of due process, excellent character, rich experience... but these are just excuses. The real reason is that some people are afraid, they don't trust you, Panthonia. They want someone who can oppose you—that investigation report proves it. Few people have seen it, but almost every one who has is firmly against you leading the intelligence agency, even impulsively. If I didn't know you well, I'd probably be one of them."

Panthonia said nothing.

"That's right, I've read it. The report is with me now. I don't care what you did to eliminate Salvaney, but some people do. A group of people who don't understand the big picture, shortsighted. But I can't only blame them. You've caused too much trouble, Panthonia. I've dealt with many of your problems, but this can't go on forever; it's no good for either of us. If I had given up on supporting you when I first knew a woman committed suicide because of you, it would have saved us these troubles now; but I understand the bigger picture, no one understands the urgency of eliminating Salvaney like I do. I will still support you, Panthonia. If you're not the leader of the intelligence agency, then my long efforts will be wasted, and it will become a tax-wasting, redundant entity."

"What do you think I should do now?"

"Eliminating the impact of this report isn't hard for me, but the question is whether it's worth it. Salvaney's demise is history. Maybe you need to prove again that you're worth my trust."