Chapter 359: The Beast (Part 1)

The children were celebrating the success of the magical potion on the grassy field when, suddenly, a few ominous black dots appeared on the horizon along the dirt road.

Hoffa spotted the figures, and the smile on his face gradually faded. His brows furrowed slightly.

The black dots grew larger, eventually turning into three jeeps that came to a halt about a dozen meters from the camp.

From the vehicles, more than a dozen men dressed in black jumped out. Their hands remained in their pockets, gripping something unseen. From the central jeep, a man in a white lab coat stepped down.

At the sight of these people, Hoffa's expression darkened. Their attire was identical to the people who had taken him to the hospital when he first woke up at King's Cross Station. And that doctor—Hoffa knew his type all too well. Though not the same person, he bore an uncanny resemblance to the one who had lectured him during his time in the psychiatric hospital.

He never expected to see them again in this remote, godforsaken place. Had his actions in London exposed him? Or had someone on the train recognized him and tipped them off, leading these asylum agents straight to him?

The man in the white coat glanced around as he stepped out of the vehicle. Nearby, a farmer's wife, who had been chewing on a stalk of hay, paused her work and watched the newcomers with curiosity.

The men in black approached the woman, engaging her in an enthusiastic conversation while jotting notes on a list.

Hoffa grew increasingly wary. His body tensed, ready to bolt at any moment.

In stark contrast to his apprehension, the farmer's wife gradually lowered her guard. Whatever the doctor had said to them made the women beam with joy, and soon, they were calling out their children's names.

The children, gathered around a makeshift stove in the bushes, responded to their mothers' calls and ran towards them.

Just then, a tear-streaked woman emerged from a wooden house, supported by two teenage girls. She approached the doctor, who spoke to her with a warm smile.

Moments later, the woman began calling out:

"Arthur! Arthur, where are you? Come here, quickly! The doctor is going to examine you!"

It was then that Hoffa realized the boy named Arthur was the soldier's son. His mind flashed back to his own time in the hospital, then to the chaotic state of the cooking area on the ground. Instinctively, he grabbed Arthur's arm and whispered urgently, "Don't go."

"Why, sir?"

Arthur looked up at him in confusion.

A sudden wave of panic gripped Hoffa—stronger than the fear he felt when those men first arrived. "You can't go. They'll kill you!" he warned.

Not far away, one of the men in black opened the jeep's trunk and pulled out bags of fruit candies. The colorful sweets looked delicious, enticing. They began handing them out, one by one, to the children.

The kids cheered, delighting in the treats. The doctor crouched down and gently took a child's hand, speaking to them in a kindly manner.

At that moment, a teenage girl broke away from the crowd. She walked toward Hoffa, her head lowered, hands in her pockets, her pace slow and unhurried.

Pain and unease surged through Hoffa's mind. He gripped Arthur's hand tightly, unwilling to let go. But this frightened Arthur, who struggled against his grasp. "Sir, my mother is calling me. Please, let me go."

Hoffa didn't release him. Instead, he pulled Arthur further back, his voice trembling as he muttered, "They'll kill you. They'll kill you. They'll kill you…"

The girl quickened her pace. Hoffa saw her approaching, and his terror erupted again. He clamped a hand over Arthur's mouth, lifted him into his arms, and ducked into the bushes, preparing to flee.

Suddenly, the girl dashed forward with startling speed, blocking his path with outstretched arms.

From a distance, the doctor casually turned his gaze toward the unfolding confrontation.

Arthur, still in Hoffa's grasp, had tears welling in his eyes as he looked at the girl.

"You've lost your mind, Hoffa."

The girl furrowed her brows and whispered urgently, "They're armed. Do you really think you can run?"

Hoffa's eyes darted around. The black-clad men had their hands in their pockets, slowly surrounding them from the distant bushes.

A throbbing headache made him gasp for breath. He didn't care about anything else anymore. "Move aside!" he demanded.

"Rushing out now is too dangerous. They're not the same organ traffickers from that night."

The girl leaned in close and murmured in his ear, "Listen to me, Hoffa. Not every doctor is from London. I eavesdropped just now—these people are from Sheffield. They don't know me, and there's a good chance they don't know you either."

Hoffa shook his head hard, struggling to suppress the pain. "What's your plan?"

The girl thought for a moment, then said, "It's simple. We play along and blend in. If they ask, just say you're my younger brother—Miller Goszak. As long as we pass their inspection, we'll be safe."

She continued speaking, but Hoffa had already stopped listening.

The moment she uttered that name—Miller Goszak—he felt as though an invisible bolt of lightning had struck him, leaving him frozen in place.

Miller Goszak. Miller Goszak.

The seemingly insignificant name was like a small pebble tossed into a still pond. But beneath the surface lurked a monstrous, frenzied creature that, in an instant, overturned the entire pool.

Arthur slipped from Hoffa's unresponsive arms, stumbled back onto the ground, and bolted through the bushes, running toward his mother.

"Hoffa? Hoffa, do you understand?"

The girl was still whispering, trying to get his confirmation.

But Hoffa stood motionless, his mind in a fog of pain. A thin trickle of blood slowly seeped from his nostril, barely noticeable.

The black-clad men continued their approach, tightening the encirclement around the two suspicious figures.

The girl stomped her foot, clenched her jaw, and grabbed Hoffa's hand, pulling him toward the camp.

Hoffa followed her like a lifeless puppet, his blank mind now spiraling with the weight of this new information. Pieces of shattered memories, triggered by that single name, began rearranging themselves—like a jigsaw puzzle slowly reassembling itself.

He seemed to see a faceless man smiling at him from the void. He seemed to catch the lingering scent of violets at the tip of his nose. He seemed to hear a frenzied cry echoing from the depths of his heart—the wild beast's furious roar:

Liar!! Liar!! Liar!!

The young girl led Hoffa to the camp and stopped beside a jeep.

At that moment, the doctor was going around, questioning the children one by one—asking about their names, ages, places of origin, beliefs, and education levels.

After finishing the round of questions, the doctor stood before the crowd and spoke with grace, "By royal decree, starting today, our hospital, in collaboration with various universities in Sheffield, will establish community schools in Yorkshire. All children aged eleven and above must attend, and tuition fees will be completely waived."

The farming mothers, upon hearing this, clapped their hands excitedly, their faces alight with joy.

The doctor raised his hand in the air, suppressing the cheers. "Of course, this applies to adults as well. We will offer adult education programs and establish dedicated community schools for adults to learn and interact. When the time comes, you must all register at the designated locations. Do you understand?"

The farmwomen exchanged uncertain glances. They hadn't expected that they, too, would be required to participate. Susanna stepped forward and asked, "Sir, what about our farm work?"

The doctor responded coldly, "That is not my concern. You must make your own arrangements. Receiving an education is a great privilege—I hope you won't take our goodwill for granted."

Murmurs spread among the farmwomen. In the crowd, Arthur timidly raised his hand and asked, "Sir, may I bring my stove and broom to school?"

The doctor frowned. "A stove and a broom? Why would you bring those?"

"Because they are my friends," Arthur replied.

A broom.

Hoffa caught fragments of the conversation between the doctor and Arthur. To the beast within him, even the smallest piece of information could trigger a seismic reaction.

For a brief moment, he saw snowflakes swirling in the air. A silver-haired girl stood before him, holding a golden sphere.

"Did you see it? Did you see my last broomstick flip?"

Hoffa tilted his head back. The blinding sunlight cut into his skin like knives. Blood trickled silently from his nose, streaming down his neck and onto the back of his hand.

The conversation between the doctor and the boy continued.

Doctor: "What did you say?"

Arthur: "The stove and broom are my friends."

Doctor: "Why are you friends with a stove and a broom?"

Arthur: "Because—"

Doctor: "Listen carefully. Humans cannot be friends with stoves and brooms. Humans can only be friends with other humans. Do you understand?"

"But—"

The doctor raised his hand, cutting off the boy's argument. He spoke bluntly, "Arthur, do you believe in magic?"

Arthur's eyes lit up instantly. He leaned in and whispered excitedly, "Magic? Have you seen magic before?"

The doctor's face changed dramatically. The warmth in his demeanor vanished, like cracked porcelain revealing the coldness beneath.

"There is no such thing as magic!!"

He roared so loudly that everyone's attention was drawn to him. Naturally, his words also reached Hoffa's mind.

Inside his thoughts, flames flickered in a dark underground chamber. The faceless man's features twisted in the firelight, and the beast roared at him—

"Miller!"

"I'm glad you finally got my name right, Hoffa Bach."

The scattered fragments in his memory were beginning to take shape—but that shape was so terrifying that the beast let out a despairing howl. It was so frenzied and pained that it shattered the newly formed image with a single stomp.

Back in reality, under the brutal afternoon sun, Hoffa tilted his head back, blood uncontrollably pouring from his mouth and nose, as though his very veins had ruptured from the agony.

The girl holding his hand suddenly felt something sticky. She looked down and gasped at the sight of her palm—covered in bright red blood.

She turned sharply to the man beside her. Hoffa had lost all consciousness. Blood soaked his chin and flowed like a stream down his neck.

Inside his mind, the faceless man was laughing maniacally. They were fighting, leaping across spiraling staircases inside a vast, empty castle. Countless stone hands jutted out from the walls, grasping at him. Step by step, he climbed the tower. At its peak, a frail girl stood with her back to him. The beast stretched out its claws.

"Miranda, come back with me."

A buried memory had been triggered. And beyond that memory lay an endless abyss, from which a sweet fragrance drifted, tendrils reaching toward him—dragging him back to an unseen world.

No!!!

The beast let out a furious roar.

A fierce wind swept across the wheat fields.

The doctor grabbed Arthur by the collar, lifting him off the ground. With spit flying, he shouted, "Magic does not exist! It never has, it never will!"

"B-but—"

Arthur pointed a trembling finger at the doctor's ear and cried, "Then what is that?"

The doctor froze. Slowly, he turned his head.

At some point, a tiny pebble had begun floating beside his ear.

It was such an insignificant object, yet it made the doctor's grip loosen. His face twisted with fear as he stumbled backward, staring at the levitating stone as if he had seen a ghost in broad daylight.

But it didn't stop there.

As the wind rippled through the wheat fields, more and more pebbles began rising from the ground—small at first, but soon countless stones emerged. They moved erratically, floating, tumbling, as if imbued with life itself.

Then, as if drawn by an invisible force, they gathered into a stream, surging forward in one direction—rushing toward something unknown.

(End of Chapter)

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