What to do if you encounter a madman in another world (Thirty-nine)
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When you woke up, everything was dark before your eyes, your hands were tied, and you were half sitting and half lying against the cold wall. The damp and cold air invaded your skin, but your heart couldn't calm down for a long time.
You had a terrible dream that Fiennes did not find Emma, and you returned to England in despair.
Wartime London, under a gray sky, filled with giant anti-barrage balloons. The dream scene shifts rapidly, and you seem to be in 21st-century London again, with streets full of tourists and red double-decker buses dripping with sticky blood.
In the dream, a man asked you coldly, your brother is dead, it was Feints who killed your brother, why do you want to forget all this.
You tried desperately to recall the appearance of the man in your dream, but you could not remember anything at all. You only remembered the miniature pattern of the lion and horse crown on his cuff.
System, are you still there?
There was no response from the system, only the usual sound of electricity.
You twisted your hands together on your knees, trying to break free from the hemp rope, and tears of fear gathered in the corners of your eyes.
Ina, why are you trusting people so easily again? You didn't even know Wells's identity, but you followed him out of the manor without any precautions.
Fortunately, the hemp rope was not tied very tightly, and you successfully untied it, as if the other party had no intention of tying you up at all.
The hourly bell of the church not far away suddenly rang, anxious yet urgent, like a series of uncontrollable sighs, one after another.
You begin to count the chimes in your mind to try to determine the time, but before you finish, you hear the sound of a key turning in the lock.
A ray of light squeezed in from the crack in the door, illuminating the dark basement.
You struggled to stand up and took a step back. The hemp rope slid down your blue and white skirt to the ground, and the bumps on the cold and hard wall hurt your back.
At the intersection of light and darkness, there is a man standing in front of the steps, looking down at you coldly.
His face was wrapped in a black linen veil. His deep gray-brown eyes were as sharp as an eagle's. His chest muscles bulged high, making him look very strong. The many wrinkles around his eyes indicated that he was at least forty years old.
Several French men dressed similarly to him rushed in from behind him, and soon the lights in the basement were on.
You finally see the original appearance of the "basement".
It turned out to be an abandoned bathroom.
Before you could figure out the situation, the man in the first place strode towards you, and then the world spun around and you were thrown into the big bathtub.
His movements were rough, making your head spin. You grabbed the edge of the tub with both hands and tried to climb out, but he pushed you back in with one hand again.
The feeling of suffocation becomes stronger and stronger. The cold water wraps around you, making you feel chilled to the bone. The fluid feeling everywhere on your skin makes you feel desperate.
"German woman."
His voice was hoarse, and it sounded as if he had swallowed a handful of gravel before dying.
The rough, calloused hand forcefully lifted your thigh, the bulging veins on the back of the hand forming a stark contrast to the pale skin underneath.
The man's gray-brown eyes narrowed, and he snorted coldly and changed his tone: "Heh, Natsu Weber."
You were picked up by a pair of strong hands and then thrown to the ground mercilessly.
The rising despair, like the black sea water, spread out from the bathtub. The cold water kept wrapping around you tightly, like you were drowning. In between, you coughed desperately. The familiar water torture once again made your headache flare up violently.
The man half-knelt down, grabbed your hair, and forced you to support yourself on your elbows and look up at him. He looked you over carefully with the eyes of a prey.
You were completely soaked in water, and water kept dripping down your wet blonde hair and skirt. You opened your mouth to speak, but before the words came out, you were replaced by a violent cough.
"Want to play with a German woman?"
The man spoke again, his hoarse voice like gravel, pouring into your ears like a tidal wave. The second half of his sentence immediately sentenced you to death, "Played with Lan, and then sent it back."
Immediately behind the man came excited echoes and sounds of eagerness to take action.
“No…no…”
You understood what the man meant, and regardless of your headache, you took the hand that was holding your hair with both of your hands, used the force to sit up, relaxed a little, and then immediately made a "V" sign to him.
The man saw the gesture you made, and his lips hidden under the linen mask curled into a mocking arc.
He suddenly loosened his grip on your hair and then stretched out his big hand to cover yours.
His middle finger passed through the middle of your "V" sign and gripped it tightly. The rough calluses on his palm scratched you, and the constant force caused your right hand to bend backwards, almost forming a twisted arc.
"Woman, you are really stupid. You dare to make such a gesture to a Frenchman."
"Please... please believe me, I... I really am gay..."
You don't understand what's going on, but you still endure the pain and keep making excuses in French.
"Many people have said that before you."
At this moment, you have completely lost the ability to think deeply. The headache and the incessant sound of electricity make you close your eyes uncomfortably.
Even though it was pitch black in front of you, you could still feel the man's eyes sweeping across your pale face, sliding across your body, and gradually stopping at your chest.
"Captain, the general did inform you that the 'V' sign..."
A rational voice tried to analyze.
"The coward who fled to a foreign country when the war broke out?"
"That's right! The brothers sacrificed their blood, shed their money and contributed their efforts. Why does he think he can take over France after returning home? There is no such thing as a good thing in this world that can be achieved without doing anything!"
In the pain, the sound of nagging arguments reached your ears. From the echoes around you, you could tell that the first questioning voice belonged to Wells.
"I said it doesn't matter who takes over. What we need to ensure at this stage is that the tricolor flag flies over France."
The man let go of you, turned around and stood up. Wherever his eyes swept over, the sound of arguing disappeared without a trace in an instant.
After saying that, the man turned sideways and gave you a last look of disgust.
"If you want to play, you have to do it as soon as possible."
As soon as the words fell, the water droplets that were originally attached to your body instantly turned into countless hands, tightly wrapping around you like vines. Your weak struggle seemed to add to the bullying, and a terrible despair poured from the top of your head to the soles of your feet.
The system still doesn't respond, the headache is unbearable, and you have no other way to prove your identity.
The gaze that followed you closely brightened and dimmed, dimmed and brightened again. Amidst your fearful, secret worries and hesitant struggles, the god of fate seemed to have finally heard your plea.
"Chief, perhaps she really is a comrade."
The words were like sharp swords, instantly cutting off the vines that bound his body. The vines lost their vitality and continued to shrink until they disappeared.
You barely endured the headache, opened your eyes, and tried hard to find the source of the sound among the overlapping figures.
Black curly hair, a thin face, and the same arrogant look as always, you called out the name you remembered: "Ro...Roche..."
…
The carriage drove along the Old Market Square Road towards the Petrus estate.
Even though Wells has apologized to you many times, you still don't want to talk to him. You dig your fingers into the carriage seat and keep your eyes on the oak forest in the distance.
Along the way, the steam from the grass and leaves was rich and fragrant, mixed with the vaguely tense atmosphere in the air, and the faint sighs only added to the fatigue.
It’s not that I don’t want to, it’s that I don’t know what to say.
Ever since you learned that the original owner of the Petrus estate was the Duke of La Rochelle, you no longer had any expectations for Rouen. You just wanted to complete the task quickly and leave. You were really tired of this endless hatred and revenge.
After returning to the manor, several more days passed.
You sat in the room and started to worry again. There was really no sign of Schleicher at all. How could you help the organization complete the Violet Project?
"Come in."
There was a knock on the door. You rubbed your still sore arm, but the knocking continued intermittently. You got up and opened the door, but unexpectedly saw a figure that shouldn't be in Rouen.
"Emma, why are you here?"
Emma blinked her blue eyes, tiptoed, and babbled "Mom." You were surprised for a moment, then quickly squatted down, picked up Emma, and kept kissing your baby daughter.
"I say, Fel, you don't have to worry at all. I didn't even ask Ina to go to headquarters."
After you had been intimate with your daughter enough, you looked in the direction of the sound and saw Schleicher leaning against the stair railing with his hands in his pockets, while Feintz was wearing a military uniform and looking at you and Emma with a gentle expression.
"Brother...Fei...Fei"
When you saw him, your anxious heart finally calmed down, but the terrible tears rolled around in your eyes again.
"Um."
Fiennes looked at you deeply, walked over and wiped away the tears from the corners of your eyes with his hands. The affection and longing between the two of you were fully expressed in the silent gaze.
He took Emma in his arms, and Emma kicked around happily in her father's arms, babbling "Daddy" and "Mommy" non-stop.
…
Several people sat around the dining table to eat. The light from the chandelier above their heads occasionally flickered vaguely due to electrical problems, creating a romantic atmosphere of a candlelight dinner in the hazy atmosphere.
"I have sent for enquiries. The Marshal will not be back in La Roche-Guyon for a few days. He has gone back to see his wife."
Schleicher took a sip of Armagnac, a brandy from the Armagnac region of southwestern France.
Feinz mixed the cassoulet with mayonnaise and handed it to you. You took it, tasted it, felt the temperature, and fed it to Emma.
Feintz didn't follow Schleicher's lead on discussing military affairs. "Have you read the latest bulletin?"
"Hmph, what's so good about this? If nothing unexpected happens, Mueller and I will be up there again. I can't stand those people who keep saying they want marital fidelity but force people to do things that are unfaithful to their marriage."
"If I report it again, I'm afraid I'll be at risk of quitting the party."
"What can I do? Do I have to do what Mueller did and find a random gypsy woman disguised as an Aryan?"
Schleicher angrily took another swig of Armagnac, his eyes shifting to you who was feeding Emma.
Your original temperament tends to be gentle, and now the maternal glow emanating from you makes you look even softer. If you look at it for a long time, people will feel that their cold hearts are warming up.
He didn't stare for too long and moved away calmly.
"The fact that Heatherine can give in only shows how foolish she is. As a woman, she can't even contribute the most basic reproductive value to the empire, and she can't even keep her husband..."
You didn't want to get involved in the conversation between the two men, but when you heard Schleicher mocking Mrs. Heatherlin, you were already in a bad mood these days, and you became even angrier. You couldn't control your emotions and threw the spoon in your hand directly onto the plate.
The soup spoon hit the plate with a harsh sound, and the unpleasant words finally disappeared, but for a moment, everyone's eyes were focused on you.
Emma was frightened by her mother's behavior and looked at you with confusion. Fiennes wiped the corner of his mouth with a napkin and lifted Emma from the high chair into his arms.
He came to the rescue and said, "Herli, you can adopt one first and get the higher-ups to withdraw the notice first."
Adopt a...
The familiar conversation made you dazed for a moment.
Schleicher narrowed his eyes slightly in your direction, humming noncommittally, and the topic was put on hold for the time being.
…
You sat in front of the dressing table, taking care of your long hair, applying a layer of hair oil on your hair after blow-drying it. Time passed, but you just didn't want to go back and lie down with him.
You saw him walking towards you in the mirror, his lips curled down, he put down the essential oil, and walked towards the bed, just brushing past him on purpose. Feintz's face immediately turned ugly.
He walked straight to the sofa in the bedroom, sat down, unbuttoned the collar of his shirt, leaving it half open, rolled up his sleeves to his elbows, and pursed his thin lips into a cold, hard arc.
"Come here and let your brother see it."
He didn't even call her by name. You knew this was a sign of his anger, but when you thought about the history of this manor and the possibility that Sally, whose life or death was uncertain, might be related to him, you hesitated.
Seeing that Feintz’s expression was getting darker and darker, you bit your lip reluctantly and sat down next to him, but from a distance.
He pressed his forehead with his left hand, and patted the sofa with his right hand, motioning you to sit closer, but you closed your eyes and pretended not to see.
Seeing your bratty behavior, Feintz laughed angrily, stood up, and took the initiative to sit next to you. You subconsciously avoided him, but he still held you in his arms forcefully.
"How long have you not seen me? Huh? You only think of your daughter and not your brother?"
You lowered your eyes in his arms, not saying a word but just struggling in resistance.
Seeing that you were silent, Feinz buried his head in your neck, and soon his lips slid down from your ear to your lips. The strength of the restraint on your waist was gradually increasing, but the kiss was as soft as a cloud.
His arms embraced you, and his lips touched yours, feeling so light and airy, as if you were walking on cotton, but this was probably just a momentary illusion.
Because after a while, the kiss became entangled, like light breaking through the clouds, all concentrated on one focus, igniting a raging fire, and you could clearly feel his heart beating violently against your right chest.
After the kiss, you collapsed in his arms, gasping for breath, trying your best to calm down the cramping kiss.
The familiar scent of brandy wrapped around you tightly, making you feel at ease. Suddenly, a sob came over you, and you tried hard to swallow it, but you still couldn't stop the tears from rolling down.
You admitted that you were still feeling scared about being mistakenly arrested a few days ago.
If you hadn't met Roger at that time, if Roger hadn't acknowledged your identity, you don't know how terrible things you would have experienced, and you don't know if you would see him and Emma again now.
"Yina? Does it hurt?"
Seeing you crying, Feinz thought that he didn't control the strength of the kiss well and hurt your lips again. He frowned and was about to check, but was interrupted by your tearful question.
"The manor originally belonged to the Duke of La Rochelle? What kind of robbery is this..."
"I said I don't want to discuss this matter with you any further."
When he heard that, he knew exactly what you meant. The slight smile on his face disappeared without a trace, and his face became even more gloomy. He couldn't help but pinch your waist again. You cried out in pain, and he let go of his hand.
"The original owner was the Duke of La Rochelle, but the transfer has already been notarized and completed."
Maybe you were silent for too long, so he added an explanation that made things even more obvious. Although his words still carried the intimidation of a superior, he began to stroke your arm up and down, which seemed to imply a compromise.
"Ina, put away your overflowing compassion and useless sympathy. Showing mercy to your enemies is the greatest injustice to yourself. Remember?"
"Remember..."
What's the point of remembering it? We're enemies, and he's your real enemy...
Forget it, it's a done deal, there's really no need to discuss it any further. You've argued about this enough, and neither of you can change the other's mind.
However, when you think about how much innocent blood is on his hands, how many comrades have disappeared in the vast night fog, and how you have fallen to this point under his so-called protection, you suddenly find your feelings for him a little laughable.
God, my mind is a mess and I don’t want to think about it anymore.
Ina, let’s get down to business.
"What happened in the army this time?"
You try your best to calm down, soften your voice, and stop being as aggressive as before. You take the initiative to put the matter behind you and try to get useful information out of him.
You sat up slightly and kissed his face randomly. Later, you sat up and knelt on him. You took the initiative to climb onto his neck and kissed his eyes.
Sure enough, those deep blue eyes like the sea soon began to ripple again, revealing a desire for tenderness, and the voice became extremely gentle again.
"Nothing, it's just that my brother misses my baby Ina too much."
The answer was as expected, and the secret was kept as tight as ever. You sighed inwardly, a perfect blush rising on your face, and muttered under your breath, "Liar..."
Feinz smiled and didn't respond. He hooked his hands around your waist and then took the initiative to kiss you deeply. The zipper on the back of your dress was unzipped.
The wedding ring he had been wearing on his left hand was cold, and when it touched the warm skin of your back, it caused you to shiver and made you hug him tightly, but you still stubbornly thought hard in the trembling.
He was the commander of the Paris area, but he "left his post" and came to Rouen. It definitely couldn't be because he missed you. He always put the empire first, so there must be other reasons.
What could it be?
Could it be related to the Marshal? Or... to the Violet Project that the organization wants to implement?
Your sixth sense tells you that the latter is very likely.
…
Next room.
Schleicher was sitting cross-legged on the bed, staring at Emma. Emma got tired of looking at him, so she lowered her head and started playing with the doll in her hand.
"Ahem," Schleicher pretended to cough twice and reminded, "Baby, your mother said you should go to bed at this time."
Emma was still pulling the little rabbit's ears and playing with it by herself. Her white and tender little face was soft and cute, and she looked very adorable.
Schleicher suddenly had an idea and lowered his voice to coax her, "Darling, do you want a brother to play with Emma?"
Emma caught the key information, raised her head and said in protest: "No, no! Lai, brother, Emma's brother, Lai!"
"My dear child, it's not a brother, it's a younger brother. Read it with your uncle. Emma has a younger brother named Lai."
Emma was confused by what her "brothers" said. She tilted her head and looked at the uncle in front of her with a puzzled look. Did she remember what her mother said wrong?
"Lai, brother?"
Schleicher took the opportunity to take the doll from Emma's hand, put it next to the bedside table, then carried Emma to the bed and covered her with a quilt.
"Yes, Lai, little Emma will have a brother named Lai."
"Brother, Lai."
Emma was lying in the small quilt, completely confused. She yawned and fell asleep following her uncle's instructions.
Schleicher tucked Emma in awkwardly.
This feeling is pretty good.
…
Your head rested on the armrest of the sofa, your eyes scattered and fragmented, aimlessly looking at the patterns on the ceiling above your head. Your left hand stroked his sweat-soaked hair, straightening out his golden hair, which was the same as Emma's, strand by strand.
"What are you thinking about?"
Fintz rested his head on your thigh, his cold wedding ring now thoroughly stained with both of their body heat, resting on the inside of his leg, making it hard to tell which was hotter.
In fact, from the beginning, a sentence from a book you once read has been running through your mind. When he asked, you said it in Chinese without any preparation.
"Wallfacer Bill Hines, I am your wallbreaker."
"Bill Higgins? Hiens? Who?"
He leaned forward, sat up, and pulled you into his arms.
You didn't expect that his language skills were so strong. Without any prior preparation, he translated an unfamiliar foreign name into Chinese and English based on the pronunciation and intonation, and he didn't even use his native language.
"Yamasugi Keiko's husband."
You're speaking German again.
You think about it carefully, they are really similar to you, and when you think of their endings of one death and the other missing, you can't help feeling melancholy.
"Ina?" Feinz was still a little confused. After failing to search for the character in his mind, he put his arm around your shoulders and said.
"Um."
You completely relaxed next to Feints, burying your face in his arms like a little girl.
You forget everything again for a moment. Everything seems empty, and only the joy of being in close contact with each other is real, even though this reality cannot be expressed to others.
"When did you get to know the Japanese and... the British?"
"Brother, it's a character in a book."
"What book?" He asked with a look of inquiring intent.
"It's a Chinese book."
You think about it, it’s probably still more than half a century away from publication.
"Oh, I'm so sticky. I want to take a shower."
"good."
He held your lips, which were slightly pouting because of your coquettishness, and kissed them again, then carried you to the bathroom.
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