Chapter Twenty-Three: The Discovery

Verac truly hoped that Carmine would discover the theft tonight. If that happened, he could clear his name after the search was conducted today, and then he would have no reason to fear future inspections, allowing him to boldly keep the documents in his room to study at his leisure.

Conversely, as long as Carmine remained unaware of the theft, Verac would have to stay on guard against searches, unable to simply bring the files back. This would severely hinder his progress and drag down his efficiency.

Verac couldn't help but find the irony in his own psychology—stealing something only to be desperate for the victim to discover the loss.

After safely transferring the documents to Julia's room, he opened a book on his desk and feigned reading, while his mind replayed the contents of the file folder.

From a rough scan, he had gained a general understanding of the rebel organization. Francis had been the initial soul of the movement; after he died four months ago, his close friend Chris had taken up the burden and begun leading the group. Only a few months later, he had met the same end as Francis.

At first, Verac had only thought of Chris as a core member of the rebels. This status had just the right amount of connection to the organization—high enough to be taken seriously, but not so high that they would commit their full strength to tip the balance, which had been perfect for playing the Thomas family.

Now, things had exceeded Verac's expectations. He had suddenly transformed into the leader of a rebel organization with at least several thousand members. The situation was objectively better than he had anticipated, but it also brought its own set of crises.

The first two leaders of this organization were already dead.

On the surface, he was the second leader, Chris, but in reality, he was the third. Given the established pattern, he feared that he, too, would likely die under various special circumstances before long.

Being a member of the rebel organization was already a hot potato; becoming the boss was no longer just a matter of how hot it was...

Although Verac admired these people and believed that what they were currently doing—robbing the rich to help the poor—was a cause worthy of the lower classes cheering, it was, after all, a life-threatening business. It was different from the new life he was gambling his own life to secure on this journey, and he had absolutely no intention of getting too deeply involved.

To avoid one day being executed as a rebel member while wearing the mask of Chris, he had to accelerate his plan as much as possible and run off with the money early. Moreover, looking at the current situation, he feared that once he had the money, he wouldn't be able to stay anywhere in Bressia and would have to flee to another country.

Today was the tenth day since his rebirth. In just ten days, he felt he had turned the existing landscape upside down, causing a catastrophe that could lead to the total annihilation of both the rebel organization and the Thomas family if not handled well.

"I really don't know what the future holds..." The reality was changing too fast; Verac could hardly imagine what the situation would evolve into after more time passed.

At this moment, he wanted to find something to relieve the pressure and relax the nerves that had been taut for ten days. But he realized, to his surprise, that he hadn't thought about smoking for ten days.

He had once been a chain-smoker, only being forced to quit after being captured in his previous life to impersonate Chris. After his rebirth, logically, his body's dependence on nicotine should have remained. He had subconsciously smoked a few cigarettes in his miserable little room, only to find that beyond feeling nauseated, he didn't feel even a shred of physical or mental relief.

"Heh..." Verac mused over this.

It seemed that not only was it difficult to seek change in an unchanging life, but it was equally difficult to remain the same in a life that was constantly changing.

"Dinner time." Assuming there were no servants outside, Fletcher didn't bother with pretenses and pushed the door open directly.

Verac put down his book, let out a long sigh, and followed Fletcher downstairs to eat.

Dinner was no different from any other night; Dempster's death had only caused huge ripples in the shadows.

After dinner, it was time for Verac to rest, so he returned to his room and went straight to sleep. He had done enough for one day; he needed a good rest while waiting for Carmine to discover the theft.

...

A restaurant.

"Verac." Dempster clinked his glass with Verac's. "How is life in Old Nanyue?"

"Not bad. The money I've skimmed from the Thomas family is enough to last a hundred lifetimes." Verac smiled brightly, dressed in luxury, his speech carrying a confidence and complacency he hadn't possessed before. "It's just a pity that I'm not quite used to life abroad. If I can, once the heat dies down, I'll return to Bressia, go to a big city in the south, and bring you and Nord with me."

Nord, sitting to the side, couldn't hold back and asked, "Then can I drink twenty-gram Imbit wine?"

"As much as you want." Verac smiled slightly.

"Haha! I've seen so many rich people in restaurants, and I've never heard any of them say Imbit wine is all you can drink. We've really made it this time!" Nord jumped up in excitement.

"It's Verac who made it. Why are you so excited?" Dempster purposely put on a stern face, pouring cold water on Nord.

Nord was stunned.

Before his face could fall, Verac couldn't help but laugh: "It's our money."

"Our money? You liar." Dempster's face sank rapidly.

Nord also began to stare at Verac with cold eyes.

The restaurant grew dim, and from somewhere, a screeching sound emanated, sharp enough to pierce the eardrums.

...

Verac woke up with a start, drenched in cold sweat.

"Having a nightmare?" The bedroom light was on; Fletcher stood by the bed, expressionless.

"Yes... how did you..."

"I was preparing to wake you, and you happened to wake up on your own." Fletcher clasped his hands behind his back, his gaze sharp, as if trying to see through Verac's disguise. "Did you steal anything from Mr. Carmine?"

Verac was still dazed. "What?"

"If you admit it now, you might be spared. If we wait until we find Mr. Carmine's stolen items on you, you and your friends will be executed immediately," Fletcher said.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Fletcher, I don't quite understand what has happen—" Verac shook his head, looking bewildered.

Before Verac could finish, Fletcher gave him a swift, clean slap.

"Smack!"

"Answer me. Did you steal it or not?" Fletcher asked.

"No."

"Smack!"

"Answer me. Did you steal it or not?"

"Mr. Fletcher, I didn't..."

"Smack!"

"Last chance! Speak! Did you steal it or not!"

Verac's eyes were bloodshot. He tremblingly covered his swollen cheek. "I didn't, Mr. Fletcher."

Having been slapped three times by Fletcher, Verac felt as if he had been transported back to his previous life. Back then, when he was a slow learner, Fletcher would teach him every day. If he hesitated or mispronounced a single word, Fletcher would slap him hard, throw things at him, or insult him with the most vicious language—a completely different person from the gentle, refined butler he appeared to be.

In this life, Verac had performed well, and Fletcher had never revealed this violent side. Now, he had finally shown his true colors.