"So how did it go?" asked Sigerson, who'd only just returned from his week-long trip back from Alms.
"All according to plan: the rebels surrendered after a dragging fight, although I suspect their protective leader was the one that forced them to. Never have I seen such a ferocious pack of humans as them."
He chuckled lightly, perhaps relishing in this major victory.
"However, there was one surprise I never expected; it turns out that Mr Hoffman had died for some time and his daughter had taken over the family business."
At this unexpected revelation, Sigerson raised his eyebrows in surprise and asked, "What is she like?"
Grock let out a particularly big cloud of smoke before laying his pipe carefully on his office desk.
"Calm, polite, and exceptionally sharp—very much like you."
"Surely then, we cannot trust her. This surrender could be a ruse to get closer to us."
"I've thought of that. Currently, they're going around the country, pacifying the citizens as we speak with a few Enforcer officers overseeing them. Not only that, the information they are receiving regarding the military campaign is partially fabricated."
He let out a final chuckle.
"So much for Blight's strategy," he scoffed. "His attempt at attacking us from the inside's been overturned, the provision transportation problem's been solved, and now, even the rebels have been quelled. The only thing that remains to be watched is our alliance with Sardis."
"That reminds me," said Sigerson, eager to relay his discoveries, "I've searched through Alms and found out from a bartender that Levi Arestor did in fact meet Mr Barrett. Unfortunately, it was unclear what they were talking about; the bartender claims he only saw Arestor present a newspaper to Barrett, who instantly flushed at the sight of it, departing moments later with it in his hands. Here is a copy."
He yanked a mouldy set of papers from his burlap sack, handing it to Grock. On the cover was a photograph of Annabelle Paulos standing in front of the massive villa Sigerson had visited earlier.
"I see," murmured Grock, scanning through the paragraphs in a second. "This detailed record of her success must've blown Barrett's temper. He couldn't bear to see his wife's murderer go free so happily so he used this article, which incidentally contains the address of the villa on the mailbox, causing Barrett to take it with him in case he forgot. If Arestor knew of Barrett's explosive temper, it wouldn't be hard to convince him to murder all three culprits of the accident."
"Exactly my thoughts. I believe Arestor must've conversed with Barrett beforehand during a few drinks, secretly learning everything needed to trigger an emotional response of some kind. Adding onto my previous deduction, this means Arestor is the true mastermind behind the three murders, who in turn was directly influenced by Blight into doing so through constant brainwashing. The other two murders were mere cover ups for their true target."
"Blight did all this?" said Grock rhetorically although Sigerson answered him despite watching his confident countenance wear away like dust. "He must still have spies within Ecclesia, otherwise he'd never be able to predict that Mr Paulos would leave for a meeting, taking away the security from the villa so Miss Paulos would be prone to danger. This is a cunning villain we're up against… very cunning…"
"As long as his conspirators are within the country, there is no easy path for us," commented Sigerson, closing his eyes to take a well-deserved rest.
"I see why you warned me against the rebels so adamantly; confirming Blight's involvement in these murders means he's the one behind Annabelle Paulos' death."
"Which in turn, means he's set his eyes on the alliance between Sardis and Ecclesia. Blight couldn't have harmed him here, not with the Enforcers' security, but since he knows the chances of Paulos temporarily returning to Sardis for safety was high, killing him there would be much easier without the Enforcers around. His spies would blend in like chameleons; Sardis hasn't been on their guard against him yet.
"There's only one problem for Blight however, and that is to convince our allies that we're the ones that assassinated Paulos or else Sardis won't be affected by the death of the president's brother, perhaps even stirring up a vengeful spirit among them against himself. To make it look like we're the ones who want Paulos dead, Blight likely made the rebels surrender in order to get closer to us, then camouflage themselves and kill Paulos, making it look like you sent them to kill him. You've notified Sardis that the rebels are working with us, haven't you, Grock?"
"Naturally, our allies would want to hear everything going on, so yes."
The troubled detective opened his mouth languidly but was abruptly cut off by Percy and another Enforcer captain, who entered the office politely but sharply.
"The rebels are all under control, sir!" reported the captain, while he and Percy saluted as usual like clockwork machines. Grock nodded and dismissed them before addressing Sigerson once again.
"I am heading off to meet the rebels, but rest assured, they will not escape my caution for even a moment."
"As long as you keep in mind that their surrender could be a ruse, we should be able to overtake Revalty soon enough and end this war," returned Sigerson, also giving him a taut salute.
Grock tipped his head in acknowledgement then left without a word.
—
Two days later…
Shaking from top to bottom, the abandoned tenement block the rebels had previously hidden themselves in trembled at the uproar within the depths of its brick stomach. The news of Paulos' assassination rocketed throughout the country at an alarmingly fast speed, even more so when it reached the heart of the great city. Around every street corner and every alleyway was the news of this daring assassination. When Grock heard of it, a cloud of shock and suspicion flitted across his face but never out of control. Calmly approaching the rebels' old hideout, which he had returned for the time being, he addressed Mira in a dangerously calm manner, sounding like a rattlesnake's subtle warning.
"Miss Hoffmann, surely you can explain what has happened?"
Simultaneously, dozens of clicks lit up against the room's silence; a wall of Enforcers loaded their firearms, aimed right at the ragtag group of rebels in the middle, including Mira. Although the rest of her comrades trembled at this sight or wore the utmost defiant, almost proud, expressions on their faces, Mira remained indifferent.
"I am not in a position to speak, sir," she said bluntly. "Perhaps you should understand the facts before making accusations?"
The Enforcer captain next to Grock cocked his pistol, giving her a murderous glare.
"You better change your attitude or else you'll lose your head," he growled with every intention of blowing out her brains.
"Stand down, Kent," ordered Grock sharply then turning back to Mira. "My other captain will report back to me in a minute—if I find one fact out of line… I can assure you that your death will come swiftly."
Right on cue, Percy Hale marched through the entrance and delivered his report instantly.
"Sir! On the scene of the crime were the weapons which incidentally, are the same model the rebels used. However, when examined carefully, the bullets did not match the firearms."
"Elaborate, Hale."
"Inside the guns were little sharp protrusions that would most definitely have made scratches on the discharged bullets."
"And the bullets lodged in the man had no scratch marks?"
"None at all, sir."
Grock narrowed his eyes in concentration, focusing his mind on this curious problem.
"One other thing, sir. We've caught a gang of small-time outlaws whose fingerprints match the ones on the weapons. Even though they deny having connections with Blight, it's still fairly suspicious."
"I see."
The director challenged Mira's stare for a brief moment, while contemplating on his next course of action, until he finally dropped the gaze.
"You may go for now."
With that said, Grock disappeared again among the grey uniforms and left, leaving the rebels in a cloud of confusion.
—
Once all had been settled with the rebels, a withered hand clasped his wrinkled forehead as Grock let out a sigh that carried the burdens of fatigue out of him. Sleep was a rare enjoyment for him; in fact, many Enforcers joked how an elephant would sleep more than him though unbeknownst to them, their jokes were actually reality.
There's still no proof the rebels had to do with Paulos' assassination—if anything, it's been diminished. Blight might've let them surrender on purpose but after seeing them pacify the discontent left in the country, I doubt they're an active threat. The guns may have been the rebels' choice weapons but the bullets were mismatched, and besides, no one would leave their weapons behind on purpose unless they want them to be discovered, so this all points to Blight using the outlaws to frame the rebels. This also makes sense if I look at it from his perspective since now it's very likely that the rebels surrendered at his command, so Sardis would assume the attack came from us, breaking our alliance as he wanted. In any case, it's fairly obvious that they no longer see us as allies and will most likely join Revalty in order for Paulos to avenge his brother, whom he'd always favoured over his sister. Fortunately, the preparations have been made… Let me reveal to you, Blight, my hidden card…
When the carriage stopped outside of the foreboding steel fence where Sigerson was waiting, Grock put his head through the window, explained the situation as well as his deductions, before hurriedly calling for the driver to whisk him back to Alms in order to resume his position on the battlefield.
"He's got it all wrong," muttered Sigerson, watching the carriage escape from his sight. "He never took into account the murder of Annabelle Paulos, which would've been unneeded if his reasoning was correct, although… that place is where I should focus my attention on. Grock can handle the battlefield, and I, the finer details."
In a situation like this, an Enforcer assistant was practically a multifunctional key, enabling the investigator to gain information from anywhere.
"Time to find Percy again."
—
Ecclesia's camp, a day later
Lieutenant Morad, a thickset man whose tangled beard gave him the appearance of a troglodyte, stood as still as a statue in front of a light green tent, waiting for the arrival of the Supreme Commander. Though described as a tent, the structure resembled a house more than the intended fabric construction; its skeleton was made up of the rutted wooden beams that had once belonged to a flourishing house, while the remnants of its broken down remains still laid exposed for all to see. What on earth was Grock planning on bringing? It couldn't possibly be ammunition, could it? Since Sardis no longer supplied them with ammunition, the soldiers were all given limits as to how much they could bring to the battlefield, so it had to be something else.
A deep rumbling noise seized the ground they were standing on, bringing an earthquake to their camp. When Morad temporarily left his station to try and track down the cause of the seismic trembling, he found himself facing dozens of silvery cogs, polished to perfection and utterly soundless. The stretched clump of gears heaved a thick tread, which ploughed through the moderate layer of snow left on the pathway as if it never existed. Through a relatively tiny chimney-like pipe sticking out inconspicuously from the base of this behemoth of a machine, steam trickled out feebly while the hexagonal turret clanked and twisted to face the stunned lieutenant.
"What on earth is this?"
Before anything else could come from his lips, another much smaller vehicle arrived at the camp among the tanks. Out stepped Grock, clad in his usual dark coat, who instantly spotted the lieutenant among the gathering sea of soldiers and so marched up to him, gesturing at the massive barrels pointing to the distant land to be conquered.
"These were my hidden weapons made by Mr Bork, our ingenious engineer," said Grock, waving at the towering steam machines, which might've been able to rival their house-sized tents in size. "I've purposely kept them hidden from everyone until now to catch the enemy off guard."
"B–But how do we operate or fight alongside them, sir?" an astonished Morad asked, still unable to keep his eyes off the new sight.
"Not a problem," returned Grock with alacrity, bringing the lieutenant into the main tent in the centre of their camp and drawing up a map of their immediate surroundings. From there, he issued orders while demonstrating the strategy implementing the tanks with miniature figures. Using soldiers to fight was a thing of the past, one that cost more lives than needed; now, their moving shields made it near impossible to pick them off one-by-one.
"We're advancing tomorrow," declared Grock, rising up and standing at the door of the 'tent' with his hands clasped behind his back.