I am not guilty!

The train, a monstrous iron serpent sent to ensnare Mr. Dutch Van der Linde, hissed and groaned as it finally shuddered to a halt at the Saint Denis train station, its steam billowing like a dragon's breath. It was fortunate, indeed, that this era did not yet possess such advanced, insidious equipment as modern times, which prevented the common public from monitoring various news on their own. Otherwise, this very train would probably have been blown to smithereens when it dared to enter the snowy, treacherous mountains of Ambarino, a fiery sacrifice to Dutch's cause.

"DOWN WITH THE UNITED STATES FEDERAL GOVERNMENT! DEFEND DUTCH VAN DER LINDE!"

"RECRUIT A SUICIDE SQUAD TO TRAVEL TO THE AMERICAN EAST TO ASSASSINATE WILLIAM MCKINLEY! FOR THE PEOPLE!"

"MR. VAN DER LINDE WANTS US TO STAND, BUT THEY WANT US TO KNEEL! GENTLEMEN, LADIES, IF WE CHOOSE TO KNEEL AGAIN THIS TIME, THEN WE WILL NEVER HAVE A DAY TO STAND UP AGAIN! WE WILL BE FREE!"

"SEND TROOPS! SEND TROOPS! SEND TROOPS!"

"WE DEMAND WAR! WE DEMAND WAR!"

The thunderous, guttural shouts of male and female workers, a furious, unified roar, enveloped the entire city of Saint Denis, a tidal wave of defiance. Various frantic, impassioned sounds even passed through the thick, vibrating walls into the newly stopped train, rattling its very foundations.

Mr. Dosia, a man whose face usually wore a smug expression of control, who had just prepared to stand up from the plush train seat, placed his hands on the armrests of the chair and, with a visible shudder, sat back down, his face paling to an ashen grey.

The expression of everything being under his meticulous control had completely dissipated, evaporated like morning mist, replaced by a slight, undeniable panic as he cursed, a strangled whisper, "Sh*t! Did you hear that, McKinley?! Damn it, these Westerners are all lunatics! They actually want to start a war?! With us?!" He ran a trembling hand over his bald head.

Mr. McKinley and the young, arrogant Von, who had just stood up and were preparing to swagger towards the door, also stopped dead in their tracks, their previous determination suddenly turning into a profound, gut-wrenching hesitation. McKinley's jaw dropped slightly.

"This, Mr. Dosia," McKinley stammered, gesturing vaguely with a shaking hand, his voice thin, "you know, we are just accompanying personnel for this operation. I think it would be better for you to be the leader at this time. This is also your responsibility, your burden."

Mr. McKinley had already begun to regret it, a bitter taste in his mouth.

Damn it, he thought, a cold sweat breaking out on his brow, listening to the crazy, bloodthirsty sounds outside, he was sure that as soon as he went out and revealed his identity, they would be completely torn to shreds in the next second! Not even a single bone left!

"Goddammit, Dutch Van der Linde, what the hell are you truly up to, you madman?!" Dosia hissed, his eyes wide with fear.

The young man, Von Roosevelt, however, possessed a certain, almost pathological, courage, born of ignorance. Listening to the deafening commotion outside, he felt no fear, no apprehension. Instead, he opened the train door with a casual push and, with a sneer of contempt, walked out, stepping onto the platform.

"These people who can't even get enough to eat still have so much free time to shout? It seems they really should have their wages cut further, to keep them in line." Von muttered, his lips curled in disdain, his eyes sweeping over the fervent crowd with utter contempt.

For Von, he completely failed to understand the raw, terrifying power of the common people, because his family had instilled in them from a young age the insidious idea that the common people were merely consumables, disposable tools, and the only thing they needed to consider, and would only consider, was how to use them to gain greater profits, to extract more wealth.

Moreover, whether in Europe or America, all major wars and dynastic overthrows from ancient times to the present were initiated by the upper class, by the elites. Their common people had no inherent awareness of resistance, no spirit of rebellion, which also meant that their culture completely lacked the profound Eastern idea that "the people are like water, which can float a boat or overturn it."

So, even though the slogans outside were deafening, a roaring tide, Von still didn't care. He merely adjusted his tie, a picture of arrogant indifference.

He still foolishly believed that as long as Dutch Van der Linde, the primary culprit, could be arrested and swiftly sentenced, these common people would at most shout a few times, launch one or two small, disorganized charges, and after dozens or hundreds of casualties, both sides would inevitably negotiate. He could then appropriately grant them a few more benefits, a paltry sum, and once the heat of the matter passed, he could slowly deal with them, crushing their spirit.

Boiling a frog slowly, gradually squeezing back the lost wealth, little by little bringing the West back on track, and letting these consumables continue to serve as their consumables! This was their most skilled, most insidious method.

Of course, this was merely the personal, naive thought of Von, a young man who had been instilled with his family's poisonous ideas for a long time. The upper echelons of the United States Government were not fools, and even Mr. Dosia and Mr. McKinley, who were currently sitting, trembling, in the car, were not fools. They understood the true danger.

"So, Mr. Dosia, you are fully responsible for this matter," McKinley said, his voice tight, his eyes fixed on Dosia. "Now, what do you think we should do, precisely?"

McKinley and Dosia ignored the young man who had gotten off the car so brazenly, and instead, their faces grim, began to discuss, their voices low and urgent.

Listening to Mr. McKinley's half-threatening, half-coercive words, Mr. Dosia's face turned extremely ugly, a sickly green.

Although he had risen in power by selling information, a treacherous path, he was not stupid.

At this point, he felt he could only openly negotiate with Mr. McKinley, laying bare their shared predicament.

"Mr. McKinley, you and I both know that this arrest operation is just a pretense, a farce. It's clear that the situation in the West is not normal right now; it's a powder keg ready to explode. You and I are in the same goddamn boat, sinking fast, so I don't think you need to keep thinking about pushing me out to take the fall. Only by reaching an agreement, by cooperating, can we possibly escape unscathed, with our lives intact." Dosia leaned forward, his eyes wide with desperate urgency.

"Listen to the slogans outside, Mr. McKinley," Dosia hissed, gesturing wildly towards the thunderous roar, "do you really think you can stay out of it, that you're immune? I'm certain that if you really pushed me out, these Western commoners would even overturn our train and make us stay in the West forever, buried under its rubble!"

Mr. Dosia looked at Mr. McKinley with a gloomy expression, his heart filled with extreme, bitter regret. He wished he hadn't been elected so early, hadn't sought this cursed power. If he had waited a few more years until this matter was over, he could have sold information without this trouble, without this terrifying risk.

Mr. McKinley pondered slightly, his brow furrowed, finding Mr. Dosia's words to be surprisingly reasonable, undeniably true.

He looked up at Mr. Dosia, his eyes meeting his, and said, his voice tinged with grudging respect, "Alright… Mr. Dosia, you've convinced me. You're right, the three of us are completely in the same boat now, a sinking one. So, what do you want to do, precisely?"

"Quietly, Mr. McKinley, quietly." Mr. Dosia leaned in conspiratorially, his voice a low whisper. "We both know that we are only here to make a show, a public spectacle. The Federal Government doesn't really want us to arrest Mr. Dutch Van der Linde and take him to the East, not with this mob outside. So there's no need to bring the members on the train, to risk their lives. The three of us can sneak over by ourselves, like rats, and meet Mr. Dutch Van der Linde under the guise of a friendly visit."

Dosia's eyes gleamed with a desperate cunning. "That way, we'll have something to report when we go back, a fabricated success, and there won't be any danger for us here, no bloodshed."

Listening to his words, Mr. McKinley looked up at him in surprise, his mouth agape. He hadn't realized it, but someone from the lower ranks could also slack off, could also scheme, like this?

Although openly discussing slacking off was not good and very embarrassing, a blatant admission of cowardice, Mr. McKinley found it remarkably feasible, a path to survival.

"Good, then we'll do as you say, Dosia!" McKinley nodded, a wave of relief washing over him.

The train quietly stopped in the train station, its engines hushed. The fifty 'mib' members brought on board were told to wait in the car, their purpose forgotten.

Then, Dosia and his two companions quietly snuck into the city of Saint Denis, their movements furtive, deliberately taking small, winding paths, asking for directions along the way, and finally, after much nervous wandering, arrived at the grand manor of Mr. Van der Linde, the very man they were supposed to arrest.

Then, they looked at the formidable bunkers and menacing Maxim guns set up at the very entrance of Mr. Van der Linde's manor, their steel glinting in the sun. They wiped the cold sweat from their foreheads, their faces pale, and cautiously expressed their intentions to the grim-faced guards at the gate.

"Oh, sir," Dosia stammered, his voice trembling, "could you please announce that we are humble government personnel from the East and would like to see Mr. Dutch Van der Linde? A courtesy call, you understand."

"You've come to arrest Mr. Van der Linde, haven't you?" The gunman at the gate, dressed in a crisp black Van der Linde's Guard uniform, looked at the three of them with a gloomy, knowing expression and said coldly, his eyes piercing.

"Ah, this… you could say that, perhaps," Mr. Dosia's face was full of a forced, sickly smile, and he chuckled shyly, a pathetic sound. "But if Mr. Van der Linde isn't available, then it's fine, perfectly acceptable if he doesn't see us! We understand he's a busy man."

"Mr. Van der Linde has specifically instructed that those from the East who come to arrest him can enter without announcement." The guard's voice was flat, devoid of emotion.

"So you may enter." He gestured with his rifle, the cold metal glinting.

"Ah, is that so? Then thank you, kind sir!" Dosia exclaimed, a wave of relief washing over him, his smile widening unnaturally.

The guards, impassive, led Dosia and the two others into the manor, their footsteps echoing on the polished floors, had them wait at the villa entrance, and then, with a curt nod, announced their arrival.

"Mr. Van der Linde, the people from the East are here."

"Let them in then." Dutch was sitting casually on the sofa, still holding a newspaper and reading it, a picture of serene power.

Hearing the guard's announcement, he slowly put down his newspaper and took off his glasses, placing them carefully on the table.

Hosea and Arthur on the second floor, having heard the commotion, immediately came downstairs, their faces grim, their hands on their hips.

At this moment, Dosia and the two others had already entered the villa, their steps hesitant.

Before Dosia even fully entered, his humble, fawning laughter had already reached them, preceding him like a bad smell.

"Ah hahaha, Mr. Van der Linde, hello, Mr. Van der Linde! It's an honor, a profound honor, to meet you, sir! I am Dosia, the humble Minister of the 'MIB' Department of the United States Federal Government, but you can just call me Dosia, a mere servant. I have always heard that Mr. Van der Linde is very charismatic, a true leader of men, and I never expected it to be true upon meeting you today. Just seeing you for the first time has given me a soul-shaking feeling; it is truly my honor, my privilege!"

Mr. Dosia's glib tongue was practically his most potent weapon; before even shaking hands, a string of effusive, nauseating praises had already poured out, a torrent of flattery.

Dutch stood up from the sofa, his gaze sharp, piercing, but without a hint of condescension or disdain. Instead, he actively extended his hand to shake Mr. Dosia's, a gesture of unexpected equality.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Dosia. There's no need to be so humble, my friend." Dutch's voice was calm, authoritative, yet filled with a strange, unsettling sincerity. "I believe that everyone has the right to self-respect, to dignity, so you don't need to humble yourself before me because of my power. Please remember, people are born equal, and it is only by abusing one's power or acting self-important that defines class, that creates division."

Dutch firmly shook Mr. Dosia's hand, his grip strong and steady.

Although his expression was serious and his words were a gentle reproach, for some reason, Mr. Dosia felt a profound sense of genuine respect emanating from him, a warmth he hadn't expected.

A sense of respect he had never experienced in the cold, cynical upper echelons of Eastern society before. This feeling made Mr. Dosia unconsciously straighten his posture, his shoulders squaring, and a trace of genuine admiration for Mr. Van der Linde arose in his heart, a seed planted.

Arthur, standing behind Dutch, a silent observer, was taking notes furiously with a pen and paper, recording the interaction between the two parties, his face grimly amused.

"Mr. Dosia, the 'MBI' Minister of the Eastern Federal Government, who came from the East to arrest Mr. Van der Linde, was immediately aggressive and self-important, saying: 'You, an outlaw from the West, still want to redeem the lowly people of the West? This is utterly ridiculous!'" Arthur scribbled, a mischievous glint in his eye.

"And Mr. Van der Linde solemnly replied: 'Only feudal lordism and capitalism define humanity by class, dividing people into various ranks and classes. This is the greatest insult to democracy! Every person is born equal, and every person possesses the same status and dignity! We are not anyone's slaves, and you are not anyone's masters. Those of you who can speak such words are not worthy of the people's support!'" Arthur finished, a smug satisfaction on his face.

These contents were to be published in newspapers later, to highlight the greatness of Mr. Van der Linde's humanity, his profound wisdom, and his unwavering commitment to the common man.

As for whether it matched the truth, that was utterly irrelevant. Propaganda was truth.

"Thank you, Mr. Van der Linde." Mr. Dosia, still reeling from Dutch's words, sat on the sofa at Mr. Van der Linde's instruction, his movements stiff.

Von and Mr. McKinley, who followed him, also sat down on the sofa, their faces pale, their eyes darting nervously around the room, taking in the armed men surrounding them.

"So, you are here to arrest me, aren't you?"

Dutch handed out cigars to the three of them from the table, his movements smooth, then softened his attitude slightly, a playful glint in his eyes.

As he spoke, a group of Van der Linde gunmen and members, grim-faced and silent, surrounding the room stared intently, menacingly, at Dosia and the two others on the sofa, their hands resting on their holstered weapons.

Cold sweat broke out on the foreheads of Dosia and the two others, trickling down their temples.

Mr. Dosia didn't even dare to look at the surrounding, hostile gazes; he could only brace himself, his voice a nervous squeak, and say:

"Um… you could say that, Mr. Van der Linde. Of course, if you don't have time, that's fine; we can come back next time, no pressure at all." He chuckled nervously, a dry, pathetic sound.

At this point, they had completely given up on the absurd idea of arresting Dutch.

The sheer, terrifying madness of public opinion in Saint Denis had already scared them witless. They didn't believe they could arrest Dutch Van der Linde in the West, not with this fervent populace.

And Mr. McKinley, sitting nearby, nervously stood up from the sofa, his movements jerky, then pulled out a document from his briefcase, his hands trembling slightly, and then bowed his head, respectfully presenting the document to Dutch with both hands, a gesture of profound submission.

"This… this is the arrest warrant issued by the United States Federal Government, Mr. Van der Linde, you can take a look, of course, if you don't want to, that's fine, perfectly understandable."

However, to his profound surprise, Dutch stood up, extended both hands to straighten Mr. McKinley's trembling body, and stared intently into his eyes, his gaze piercing, saying, "I told you, Mr. McKinley, you don't need to humble yourselves before my power. Stand tall."

Then, he calmly reached out and took the document, his movements fluid and confident.

McKinley's body trembled slightly; Dutch's unexpected, almost benevolent attitude had almost made him succumb, to fall to his knees!

He looked at Mr. Dutch Van der Linde, who was stern-faced before him, radiating an almost divine authority, and suddenly had a strong, chilling premonition.

This man, this outlaw, would probably truly stir up a tremendous storm in America, a revolution that would shake the very foundations of the nation!

The scene momentarily fell silent, broken only by the rustling of paper. Mr. Van der Linde sat back down on the sofa and began to flip through his own arrest warrant, reading it with an almost casual air.

Aside from the rustling sound of Arthur writing furiously, recording every detail, only the nervous, ragged breathing of the three terrified men remained, filling the tense silence.

However, to their utter surprise, Mr. Van der Linde, after calmly reading the document, not only showed no anger, no outrage, but instead stood up from the sofa, a new, unsettling glint in his eyes.

"I do not agree to your arrest." Dutch stated, his voice firm, resolute.

"It's alright, then we'll come back next time, Mr. Van der Linde…" Mr. Dosia quickly stood up from the sofa, his voice a nervous squeak, already preparing to make his hasty retreat.

"But I will go back to the East with you." Dutch added, a sly, triumphant smile playing on his lips.

"Okay, then we'll next time… huh?!" Mr. Dosia habitually responded, his mind still on escape, but as soon as he spoke a few words, his mind finally caught up, his eyes widening in utter disbelief.

No? What does that mean?

That can't be right! Why in God's name would he go to the East with them?!

No, they hadn't even considered bringing Dutch Van der Linde back to the East this time; in fact, the Eastern Government itself didn't truly want to bring Dutch Van der Linde back to the East, not with his current power.

According to their intelligence, this Dutch Van der Linde had at least an army of ten thousand men, loyal to the death, and even the fervent public support of the entire West, a populace ready to riot.

And he also had a group of absolutely loyal subordinates, fanatics who would die for him.

Dealing with him at this time was completely useless; if he died, it would thoroughly ignite a devastating riot in the West, and his loyal subordinates would certainly lead troops to launch a brutal terrorist attack in America, plunging the nation into chaos.

This guy was a complete ticking time bomb, a walking disaster. Neither Dosia and the two others who came to arrest him, nor the Eastern Federal Government, truly wanted to arrest him and take him back, at least not before Europe got completely involved in their own bloody war.

America had just found its footing, barely stabilizing; they did not want internal problems to cause those predatory European empires to cast their eyes of aggression here again, to carve up their nation!

"I do not recognize your judgment. I am not guilty." Dutch's voice was a powerful, defiant roar, his eyes blazing with conviction. "If I must be guilty, then my crime can only be: a crime committed for the better lives of the people of the West! A crime of compassion!"