MTL - The Law of the Silent Gentleman-Chapter 3 hunted young man
The shack is like another world.
This was the place where the original founders of the city lived, and as time passed, it gradually became the oldest and most dilapidated place. Sometimes there is a roof above the head, and sometimes a small clear night sky is exposed; It's a muddy mess. If the shack is regarded as individual small houses, they are connected as one and indivisible; if regarded as a whole building, it is too fragmented. Giuliano couldn't tell which of them was a corridor and which was a room. Sometimes they shuttled through a narrow aisle, where many ragged people sat or lay down, as if the aisle was their home; sometimes they broke into an empty house with intact doors and windows, but no one seemed to live there. They entered a cellar, and the assassin casually plucked an oil lamp from the wall, and the light dyed his white mask gold. After leaving the cellar, the assassin casually threw the oil lamp to a beggar lying on the side of the road.
They climbed up a row of stairs, where the shack extended to a higher place, forming a small two-story building. The second floor was like a tavern, with a group of sullen drinkers sitting at their tables, not interested in the intruders at all. There was another Silent Man in the tavern! Wearing a brass-colored mask, he leaned lazily against the wall, threw a throwing knife into the air, and then quickly caught it. It was unclear whether he was trying to kill boredom or showing his skills to potential customers. The assassin walked towards him, passed him, and in a blink of an eye, the masks of the two had been exchanged. Giuliano didn't see them at all.
Without saying a word, the assassin pushed Giuliano out the back door (or was it the front door?) of the tavern, passed a wide plank suspended in the air, and jumped from the window into a stone building. The place looked like a tailor's shop, with stray fabrics on the floor and a mannequin standing in one corner. The assassin took off his black cloak and draped it over one dummy, took the scarlet cloak of the other dummy, and draped it over himself to shield the weapon at his waist. Giuliano guessed that he disguised himself to avoid pursuers. After changing his coat, the assassin grabbed Giuliano's arm and dragged him out of another window. The two circled around in the winding alleyway. When Giuliano was about to faint from blood loss, they finally arrived at their destination—a small room in the gap between a stone building and a shack.
The place is not big, only a bed, a set of cabinets, a chair and a table composed of two wine barrels and a wooden board. The room is only for one person to live in, and if two people are squeezed in, it will be extremely crowded.
The assassin closed the door and raised his chin towards the bed. Giuliano understood what he meant by "lay down." With a groan, he fell onto the bed with a "boom". The assassin took off the cloak he had "looted" from the tailor's shop, threw it on the back of the chair, turned to the cabinet, and kicked it. With a "creak", the cabinet door trembled open. He bent down, groped in the cabinet for a while, and took out a dirty wine bottle. He uncorked the bottle, took a sip himself, and handed the bottle to Giuliano. The red-haired young man looked at him hesitantly. The ruthlessness that ordered the assassin to kill the enemy just now seemed to have disappeared, and now there was only a wounded and pitiful young man lying on the bed.
The assassin forced the bottle into his arms. Giuliano looked at him in bewilderment. The assassin pointed to the wine bottle, meaning let him take a sip. The strong, pungent smell of bad wine made Giuliano dizzy. He wiped the stained neck of the wine bottle with his sleeve (with little effect, it seemed that the stains were not stained but melted into the glass), and looked timidly at the assassin again.
It shouldn't be poison. Otherwise, Giuliano thought, the assassin would have been poisoned.
Under the assassin's firm gaze, he took a quick sip of his wine. Alcohol poured down his throat, irritating him to cough violently. He blushed, covered his lips, and asked intermittently: "Here...cough cough...what is it? Who are you?"
Wordlessly, the assassin snatched the bottle from his hand, and with the other hand lifted his shirt. The cloth stuck to the wound was torn apart suddenly, and Giuliano hissed in pain. The assassin watched his wounds as carefully as a skilled butcher watches a dead sheep. Giuliano flinched involuntarily. The assassin tore off his shirt, rolled it up, and threw it to the red-haired young man. "Bite." He ordered coldly.
"What?" Giuliano was taken aback.
The assassin held Giuliano's bare chest with such strength that the young man was immobilized. Before Giuliano could move, he lifted the bottle and poured the rest of the wine on the wound. Alcohol penetrated into the flesh, and the severe pain seized Giuliano immediately, as if thousands of needles were pierced into his wound at the same time. He couldn't help screaming, completely disregarding whether the cry would be heard or attract pursuers. Throwing away the empty wine bottle, the assassin calmly dug out a roll of bandages from the cabinet. Sobbing, Giuliano lay weakly and obediently on the bed, cooperating with the assassin's movements and asking him to bandage his wound.
"It's not a fatal injury. You will survive." The assassin wrapped the bandage very skillfully and with ease, "As long as the wound is not infected, you can survive."
The wound hurt so badly that Giuliano's face was whiter than a bandage because of the pain and blood loss. He sniffed, his lips trembled, and asked in a low voice, "I might die?"
"It might live, too," said the assassin. He bandaged the wound, dragged the only chair in the room to the bed, and sat down. "So, what about the money?"
"Money?" Giuliano looked at him in surprise. The assassin wore a brass-colored mask, showing no expression, and his gray eyes were cold, like the cold waves of the winter sea. Giuliano couldn't read his mind. The assassin is like an elusive shadow that no one can see through.
"You promised to pay me to kill your pursuers. I did. Now it's your turn to pay."
A trace of blood appeared on Giuliano's pale face. "I'll pay," he said sheepishly, "but not now. I can't go home, my family…" He closed his eyes. What emerged in front of his eyes was not pitch black, but blood-like red, as if a raging fire was burning against his eyelids, burning his eyeballs.
"They died, they were murdered, the mansion was occupied by the city guards, they said my father had committed treason, my whole family was going to be hanged, I tried my best to escape..."
fire. scream. Loud voices. Chaotic footsteps. The crisp sound of metal clashing. The sound of the bowstring vibrating. The sticky sound of weapons piercing flesh.
Giuliano shivered.
With one hand propped on his knee, the assassin stroked the edge of the brass mask lightly with the other. "So your father is a traitor, a shameful sinner, and an enemy of Vanessa city-state?"
"No!" For a moment, anger took over Giuliano's mind. Paleness and timidity receded from him, and the ruthless look of an owl who ordered assassins to slaughter the enemy in the dark returned to his eyes.
Giuliano grinned his teeth in pain because he yelled too hard, but the assassin glared at him, "Don't say that about my father! He didn't treason! I know in my heart, father, he would never do that kind of thing! Yes They... are the city guards, it was Cousin Fernando who framed him! It must be like that! Otherwise, why didn’t they send father to a fair trial? Why did they kill him to silence him?”
The assassin remained unmoved, tapping his fingers on his knees regularly. "Actually, I don't care what crime your father committed." He said quickly, "I don't want to know who the so-called 'Cousin Fernando' is. I only care about one thing—"
The fingers suddenly stopped. He leaned forward, lowered his voice, and the air passed through his throat, echoing between his teeth, making a hissing sound like a poisonous snake.
"—when will you pay me?"
Giuliano flushed. "I don't have the money to pay you now!" He paused and argued for himself, "But my family does! As long as I clear my father's grievances, the governor will definitely return my family's property. Although my father's official position is not high, but My family has always been in the fabric business, and my mother is in charge of the family..."
"I don't care," the assassin interrupted. "I never pay on credit. The fee is paid now."
"I told you, I have no money now! But I will pay you later!"
The assassin sat on the chair without moving, as if he was thinking about the countermeasures to deal with bad customers. Giuliano shrank back subconsciously, retracting his hand reflexively like a finger touching the tip of a needle. He suddenly felt so cold that he wished he had a piece of clothing on him now. It's a pity that he has nothing but **** bandages.
The assassin thought for a while, stood up, and pushed the chair aside. Giuliano thought he was agreeing to a moratorium on collections. However, he quickly turned around, with his hands behind his back, and walked to the front of the bed, looking down at the red-haired young man lying on the bed, like a beast looking at a dying prey, thinking about where to start.
"You don't have to pay," the assassin said. "You can use other things to pay off the debt. I'm not very picky."
"You mean... what?" Giuliano had nothing of value on him. If you wear a formal suit, at least a few pearls and gems can be pulled from the collar and cuffs, and the fabric of the clothes is also expensive, worth a lot of money. But when he escaped from the house, he was wearing nothing but pajamas.
"I have nothing now..." Giuliano said guiltily, "What do you want from me?"
"You," said the assassin.
He stepped onto the bed before Giuliano could react, on top of the young man. Giuliano grabbed him by the lapel and tried to pull him off of him. But the assassin seized his wrists and easily pressed them down on top of the young man's head with just one hand.
"I want you."
