Chapter 61: Prelude to War

"Should we place the hospital under lockdown? We can contact the mayor of Chicago immediately to request the authority to do so," Gloria said, taking out her phone.

"No, there is no need. Alerting the enemy now would only make him terrified of our influence," Schneider stopped her, stepping over the caution tape and into the ward. His iron-gray eyes scanned every detail of the room with cold precision, and finally, pacing across the floor, he halted in front of the curtains in the corner.

At the spot where Schneider stood, Gloria and Ryder instinctively reached under their trench coats for their sidearms. Because this ward faced the sun, the curtains were made of thick, patterned fabric, hanging all the way to the floor and immensely wide. Would that be enough to hide a person behind them? Could the killer really be arrogant to such a degree, or was the Chicago Police Department's competence so utterly pathetic that they failed to discover a suspect hiding right at the crime scene?

Expressionless, Schneider pulled back the curtain. There was no bloodthirsty murderer hiding behind it; instead, what met his gaze was a severed head staring blankly with unclosed eyes.

It was Andrew's head.

"It was kicked over here." Schneider glanced back at the body's position, then looked up at the blood-splattered ceiling. "After decapitating him, the killer punted the head into this corner like a soccer ball. The blood spurting from the neck masked the trail of the rolling head, and the Chicago P.D. personnel didn't dare disturb our crime scene too much, which is why they missed it."

The anger in Gloria and Ryder's eyes nearly materialized. An Executioner operative should never be treated this way, neither before nor after death. The killer had shown utter contempt for Andrew after murdering him!

"This is a good thing, gentlemen." Schneider lowered the curtain to cover the head, as if granting him peace. He raised his head, his cold eyes sweeping over the two of them. "This contempt means our enemy is unaware of our true methods and power. Therefore, even if we don't lock down this hospital tonight, he won't choose to flee in a panic. Instead, he will wait until he is fully satisfied and ready to peel the face off his prey with his own hands, and only then will he choose to leave and search for his next target."

"Director, what should we do?" Gloria asked in a low voice. Her fingers were trembling slightly—not from fear, but from an irrepressible rage.

"Even though he expressed contempt for an Executioner operative without knowing the facts, this kind of person is ideally suited for a public execution," Schneider said. "Notify the Academy headquarters and tell them the freshman combat practicum can begin ahead of schedule."

"Combat practicum?" Ryder and Gloria were both stunned.

"You seem to have grave doubts. Did you not take the combat practicum during your freshman year?" Schneider asked flatly, glancing at them both.

"No... it's not that, but isn't the target this time far too dangerous? Andrew was considered a veteran operative, yet facing the killer, he barely had time to fire a single shot, and chances are he missed..." Ryder tried to dissuade Schneider from his dangerous notion of using the killer as a practice dummy for freshmen.

"No, he didn't miss." Schneider cut Ryder off, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. "Look up."

Ryder and Gloria instinctively raised their heads. With their exceptional vision carefully examining the spot Schneider was staring at, they were astonished to find a pitch-black bullet hole left in the ceiling.

"He didn't miss. He just only had time to fire a warning shot into the air before he died," Schneider lowered his gaze to look at the headless corpse and said flatly. "The moment he stepped into the room, he knew he was dead. Dodging, fleeing, or releasing Spiritual Words—all of it would be futile. He knew clearly that the only thing he could do was not to save his own life, but to save the life of the girl in this room."

"So he used his only shot to fire a warning, giving up self-preservation to attract the night-patrol guards and save the girl in the ward. Otherwise, after killing him, the killer would have had plenty of time to peel the girl's face off before escaping." Schneider lowered his gaze slightly.

After taking deep breaths, Ryder and Gloria let out heavy sighs. They could almost feel the final resolve left behind by the man lying on the floor of this slaughterhouse-like ward.

"If that's the case, it's all the more reason not to drag freshmen into this. When Andrew was tracking him, the Executioner Bureau estimated the target to be a Class B half-breed. But judging by the current situation, the enemy has likely reached the level of a Class A. This mission should be handled entirely by Executioner operatives; letting freshman recruits get involved is far too dangerous!" Gloria whispered.

"No, it's settled. As I said, the target this time is suited for a public execution," Schneider said coldly. Gloria wanted to say more, but catching sight of the ferocious, piercing intent in the Executioner Director's eyes, she ultimately chose silence.

"Director, the victim in Ward 303 on the fourth floor seems to have regained some consciousness," a voice reported through the comms in his earpiece.

"Coming immediately," Schneider pressed his earpiece and replied in a deep voice.

Ryder stood up from beside the corpse, and Gloria stepped aside to clear the way. Schneider stepped over the headless corpse and headed toward the door. Just before crossing the threshold with one foot, he suddenly asked, "Does anyone know where his hometown is?"

"Andrew's?" Gloria paused, looked back at the remains on the floor, and answered softly, "I remember it's Honduras. Surrounded by mountains and water, with coral reefs, whale sharks, and seahorses—it's supposed to be a place where spring flowers bloom year-round."

Without another word, Schneider nodded and silently left the ward.

Leaving Gloria and Andrew behind, Schneider walked down the corridor and took the elevator to the fourth floor. The lights in many of the fourth-floor wards were on; patients who should have been fast asleep long ago seemed awakened by the earlier commotion brought by the Chicago Police Department. They were whispering amongst themselves, craning their necks to look toward the end of the corridor. Schneider stepping out of the elevator did not attract attention; the occasional person glancing his way simply assumed he was an ordinary patient dragging an oxygen cart.

Schneider made his way through the crowd to the end of the corridor, where several men in black trench coats stood guard outside a ward door. Seeing him approach, they bowed their heads and stepped aside. The patients in the corridor who had been watching this area looked in bewilderment as Schneider—who looked far more like a critically ill patient than an investigator—walked past the grim-faced men in dark sunglasses.

"Is the person inside?" Schneider stood before the door and asked coldly.

"Yes, she has calmed down a bit," the guard on duty nodded.

Schneider nodded in return and pushed open the ward door. Raising his gaze to the hospital bed inside, the iron-blooded Executioner Director visibly froze for a fraction of a second the moment he saw the girl sitting there.

For in that instant, Schneider probably understood why that criminal had been so persistent—risking everything just to leave a witness alive, waiting solely for his next visit. The iron-gray eyes reflected a face of such breathtaking beauty that it seemed to brighten the murky gloom of the hospital night, explaining everything.

Indeed. With a girl like this, the Bloody-Faced Killer would undoubtedly return.

And when he did, the Executioner Bureau would make him pay with his life for his defiance of the Secret Party's authority and his desecration of the dead.