Chapter 192
Barton seemed to read Aldo's thoughts and waved his hand irritably, "Keep searching. Use every connection we still have. Spend whatever it takes. We must find Eva! I want to see her alive, or at least her body if she's dead!"
He paused for a moment, his voice dropping lower, carrying a chilling coldness that made one shiver, "You all should know, Eva is our last lifeline right now."
Aldo and the others trembled slightly, almost imperceptibly.
Barton's gaze swept over their fearful faces as he spoke slowly, "Even if we somehow manage to escape back to headquarters and return to the Father, if Marco finds out we lost his Eva—or worse, got her killed—how do you think he'll deal with us?"
At the mention of Marco's name, it was as if a cold wind suddenly swept through the dim sewer.
Aldo and the others turned pale instantly, their eyes filled with deep, bone-chilling fear they couldn't hide.
Marco, the man always dressed impeccably, wearing gold-rimmed glasses, speaking gently as if he pitied the world—a priest-like figure.
He was the spiritual leader and mastermind of Thorn of Justice.
But among the higher-ups and core members of the organization, no one was naive enough to think he was truly a kind saint.
Quite the opposite.
Marco's methods were far more calculated, subtle, and cruel than Barton's straightforward brutality.
He was a master at manipulating people, using their pain, hatred, and weaknesses to bind them tightly to his cause.
He offered protection, gave them hope and strength for revenge, but at the same time, he controlled every part of their lives—including their families.
Aldo and the others had been saved by Marco when they had nowhere else to turn, after their families suffered at the hands of the mafia.
Marco protected their loved ones, gave them weapons and a path for vengeance, but in doing so, turned them into his sharpest and most obedient tools.
They didn't dare betray him, because betrayal meant their families' safety would no longer be guaranteed. It meant facing a cleanup worse than anything the mafia could do.
Their hatred was the most powerful card in Marco's hand.
He carefully wove a web of revenge, turning everyone into pawns they couldn't escape from.
So, they had to find Eva.
Not just for Barton, but for themselves—and for their families who were under protection.
Eva was Marco's most special creation, the pawn he had invested the most emotion and effort into.
Losing Eva meant facing Marco's wrath, something no one could bear.
"Yes, boss," Aldo replied in a hoarse voice. "The search has slowed down a bit these past few days. We'll figure something out, disguise ourselves, and go out to look again. We'll definitely bring Eva back."
Barton didn't respond. He just leaned back against the cold iron barrel, closing his eyes. His face showed a mix of exhaustion and frustration, but beneath those closed eyelids, a sharp, icy glint seemed to flicker faintly.
He was thinking, calculating, searching for any slim chance to break through this desperate situation.
Hundreds of miles away, far from the chaos and bloodshed of Arcturus, atop a scenic yet treacherous seaside cliff, there was a small, isolated village.
The people here lived simple, peaceful lives, working at sunrise and resting at sunset, completely cut off from the conflicts of the outside world.
At the edge of the village, near the cliff, a gentle slope had been turned into neat terraced fields.
It was farming season, and villagers worked in small groups in the fields.
Among them, one man's figure stood out.
He looked to be around forty, tall and lean, dressed in simple but clean linen clothes. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing toned forearms.
He was patiently teaching a few young teens how to mound soil around newly planted vegetable seedlings. His movements were skilled, his tone gentle, and his face always carried a compassionate, calm smile that seemed to soothe any worry in the world.
He was handsome, with deep-set features, especially a pair of dark brown eyes that looked remarkably clear and kind in the sunlight, as if they could embrace everything.
The villagers respected him deeply. Rumor had it that Marco was a traveler who came here a few years ago, drawn by the village's peace and simplicity. He stayed, helping the villagers improve their farming techniques, teaching the children to read, and even offering free medical care with his knowledge of healing.
He was knowledgeable, kind, and selfless, quickly earning everyone's admiration.
At this moment, he was bending down, demonstrating the task with his own hands. The sunlight fell on his slightly sweaty forehead, casting a golden glow that made him look like a saint stepped out of a mural.
Suddenly, a sharp eagle's cry pierced the sky.
The villagers looked up to see a strong, glossy black eagle diving down like an arrow from the sky, the wind from its wings making the crops in the field bow slightly.
Under the curious and awestruck gazes of the villagers, the fierce eagle didn't attack anyone. Instead, it landed gently on the outstretched, muscular forearm of Mr. Marco.
"Alright, kids, that's it for today's lesson," Marco said softly to the watching children, his face still carrying that compassionate, gentle smile. "Go play, and remember to help your moms with chores."
The children looked in awe at the eagle standing calmly on his arm, its eyes sharp. They let out excited murmurs before obediently running off.
Once the other villagers returned to their work and stopped paying close attention, the smile on Marco's face remained unchanged, but his gaze deepened almost imperceptibly.
He reached out with his other hand, skillfully and gently removing a waterproof metal tube tied to the eagle's ankle.
He rubbed the cool surface of the tube with his fingertip, then, with a very subtle movement that drew no attention, opened it and pulled out a roll of specially treated paper.
He unfolded the note, his eyes quickly scanning the short message written in code.
A few seconds later.
On Marco's face—always wearing that compassionate smile, almost perfect in its serenity—a sharp, cold glint appeared.
He lowered his head, looking at the eagle standing quietly on his arm, and whispered in a voice only he could hear, "Eva, gone missing."