Chapter 198: Glory and Pain

True Qiangzhe ？

Upon hearing the burned man's words, the middle-aged man naturally recalled the Water Bottle Director from that morning, then nodded and admitted:

"There is one, but he's already gone—unlikely to return anytime soon, and certainly won't join us."

"Tch…"

Hearing this dull reply, the burned man let out a disappointed tch and turned to leave, but the middle-aged man called out to stop him.

"Tiger, how's it going at Laoser Arcade?"

"Huh? What do you mean, how's it going?"

"Of course, how's the fire-setting going?!"

Seeing the burned man's dismissive, half-attentive attitude, the middle-aged man frowned and snapped sharply:

"Didn't I tell you to set fires at Laoser Arcade to pressure the wealthy district residents into pressuring the Secret Investigation Bureau, so the secret police would be drawn there to patrol? How did you do?"

"Oh, that? Done, done!"

The burned man replied irritably:

"I went out at night and burned some garbage stations and traffic posts, watched over the homes of big merchants and nobles, set fire to their gardens and carriage sheds, and sneaked into a few small noble houses without guards to light fires—more than enough."

"Not 'more than enough'—it has to be certain!"

Looking at this subordinate who had grown increasingly hard to control, the middle-aged man frowned:

"After Patton died, we have no one left in the upper ranks of the Secret Investigation Bureau. Now we can't track the secret police's movements at all—we must be extra cautious and draw them away before we act! You're doing this…"

"Alright, alright, I'll go set more fires then!"

After muttering irritably, the burned man, having failed to find "Tiger," ignored the middle-aged man reeking of weakness and turned away in deep disappointment.

The middle-aged man sighed, then lifted his head to glance northwest toward the valley, toward the towering steel tower shaped like a "7," and slowly shook his head, suppressing the anger in his eyes.

Forget it. Not worth it.

After losing three men in a row, we're short on hands right now—not the time to quarrel with this fool. If this operation fails again, the time left for me and the kingdom won't be much…

…

"Woof! Woof woof!"

(Ow! So painful!)

"Woof woof woof!"

(@#￥% dog curse words)

"Woo Wu? Woof woof woof Wu? Woof woof woof!"

(What are you doing? Suddenly plucking so much fur from my butt? It hurts!)

Seeing the little husky, eyes full of Weiqu, barking at him nonstop—on lamppost walls, puddles on the ground, shop windows—Li Ang could only give it a sincerely apologetic look.

Sorry, sorry.

I didn't know what that watch of his could do—I was afraid using my hair might expose me, or trigger tracking or control abilities.

The Mirror World, being a phantom reflection, can bypass all that, and since I had no time to get anyone else's hair, I had no choice but to pluck your dog fur—the color matches.

I'm truly sorry, I really am. I had no other option. I won't do it again, and once this is over, I'll make it up to you properly!

"Woof woof Wu …"

(You better mean it…)

I will! I promise!

"Little Barkins…"

After waiting a long time without Li Ang speaking—unaware he was apologizing to a dog over a handful of butt fur—the fat uncle sighed and comforted gently:

"Don't be too disappointed. Not having that kind of magical ability isn't the end of the world.

Old Barkins had no ability at all, yet he still braved over three hundred nail guns to drag me out of a trench full of corpses.

So don't worry—even without that kind of power,

as long as we're brave enough and lucky enough, we can still accomplish plenty!"

So… you've been so kind to "me" because Old Barkins saved your life?

Hearing the fat uncle's words, Li Ang, walking behind him, felt a flash of understanding in his eyes.

After glancing at the two terrifying scars beneath the man's neck collar, Li Ang pondered, wanting to gather more information, then softly asked:

"Uncle Owen… tell me about the past?"?!

You never liked hearing those stories before—why now…?

Hearing this unprecedented request, the fat uncle jumped in surprise, glancing back at him, sensing something different about the boy.

But seeing the dejected "Little Barkins," and recalling how he'd just plunged from hope to utter despair, he sighed and let go of that strange feeling.

Of course—this child had talent, yet just barely missed another life. It's only natural he's changed…

"Alright, I'll tell you."

Smiling kindly at Li Ang, the fat uncle's heart stirred as he recalled the years he and Old Barkins fought for the nation—he wanted to tell every moment of those days.

It would comfort the disappointed Little Barkins, and make this boy—who'd always hated Old Barkins—understand that his father wasn't beyond redemption. That drunkard, before he drowned in his liquor, was once a true iron man!

But…

Looking at Little Barkins' thin frame and the bruises on his arms from beatings, the fat uncle fell silent again, his kind round eyes filled with deep confusion.

What did his and Old Barkins' glorious past mean to this child?

With the family's main laborer gone and military subsidies perpetually delayed, the boy's mother had to cut every corner, work dawn to dusk at grueling jobs—until her body broke down, and in the year before her death, liver disease tormented her with nightly screams.

Old Barkins, too, suffered severe, lasting injuries from the war—he couldn't sleep without alcohol, and after spending every penny, he could only watch his wife die, then completely collapse into the man he is now: beating his son, even stealing Little Barkins' money to buy liquor.

I remember, before the war began, Old Barkins' family was so happy—Little Barkins had a reliable father and a gentle mother. The past my comrades and I once took pride in… for this poor child, it was the beginning of his fall from heaven into hell…

"…"

Understanding why Little Barkins so hated hearing about the past, the fat uncle's back instinctively hunched, his expression sinking rapidly.

"Actually… it's just… some… old things. The past is past, uh…

It's not that I won't tell you—but you don't need to hear them. Let's hurry and get your money back. If Old Barkins gets released early, it'll be trouble."

"Uncle Owen, please tell me."

"If you really insist…"

After vaguely mumbling, the fat uncle's voice strained as he quickened his pace, walking forward while speaking gently:

"Come have dinner at my place tonight—I'll tell you then, alright?"