Chapter 871: Growing Serious

After the intense pain ended… or maybe it didn’t, and he just became numb.

The Marilo man, tied to a chair with electric wires, was barely breathing. Only the faint rise and fall of his chest showed he was still alive; otherwise, he was almost like a corpse.

From his ankle to his knee, all the flesh had been scraped off by a wire brush. A doctor performed an amputation on-site without removing the bone. Both lower leg sections remained, but they were no longer legs—just bone.

He hung his head, going through an interesting psychological process—from initial terror to calm acceptance.

He dared not reveal who was behind him, because then it wouldn’t be just him dying, but his brothers, sisters, and family.

Everyone related to him by blood would be wiped out—this was Marilo’s way.

This country, divided between two ethnic groups, frequently carried out massive bloodline purges against each other.

This practice even extended into everyday behavior.

Instead of letting everyone connected to him face death, he chose to face it alone.

At first, the pain and fear were unbearable, almost forcing him to speak.

But when pain numbs, it stirs inner resolve and courage.

How much worse can it get? Isn’t this as bad as it gets?

His only regret was that he shouldn’t have gone to the casino, shouldn’t have been tempted by the free fifty-thousand chips to play a couple of rounds.

There’s a common wise saying worldwide: the poorer the place, the more people gamble.

It was the same in Marilo; casinos were everywhere in the slums, and everyone liked to gamble for fun.

If you lost, it was a wasted day; if you won, you could skip work for days.

Once this habit took hold, it controlled people—someone with true willpower wouldn’t get addicted in the first place.

At first, there were wins and losses until he faced Lynch’s final hand.

All invited guests were wealthy and surely had tens of thousands on hand—everyone on the ship thought so.

Only after discovering the check was fake did they realize a problem had occurred.

He casually wrote a fake check to bluff, but the six major banks all had offices on the cruise, and they immediately detected the account number didn’t match any city’s rules—it was nonexistent. That’s when the trouble started.

From polite questioning to rough treatment, and now this, it had all happened in just over ten hours.

He forced himself to shake his head weakly. “Kill me…”

His barely audible voice made the faces of those in the boiler room darken. The equally exhausted muscular man somehow found a spoon.

He approached the foul-mouthed man, grabbed his hair, forcing him to look up.

At the spoon’s narrowest edge, he pressed it against the man’s eye corner.

“Wanting to die isn’t easy.”

“Tell me—where did you get your invitation? What was your purpose for boarding?”

The foul-mouthed man twitched, as if trying to laugh, spitting blood foam at his mouth’s corner.

The muscular man pressed the spoon harder, gouging out an eyeball.

To avoid killing him immediately, he had a doctor cut the nerves and muscles first, then removed the eye.

It looked like a small ball in his hand.

“You like to laugh?” he asked, prying open the man’s mouth and shoving the eyeball inside. “Laugh for me again!”

Staring at him, he suddenly said, “You’re Marilo.”

He stopped the doctor treating the man’s wounds.

“Don’t bother with him. Cut off his head and preserve it. Send it immediately for identification!”

This realization came because the bastard refused to talk to the end—such firm faith was impossible.

If not faith, then only fear remained.

He feared everyone connected to him would die, so he endured pain and fear without saying a word.

Isn’t this exactly what often happens in Marilo?

Some resist, some beg, and many die every day.

The doctor shrugged, decisively grabbed the surgical knife, and cut the foul-mouthed man’s main artery. Blood instantly splattered all over his face.

At noon, Lynch and Penny sat in the top-floor restaurant eating.

After long rest, the girl’s strength and spirit had recovered. She spoke in words Lynch couldn’t understand.

Lynch noticed some unusual changes around them.

“Are you listening to me?”

Lynch glanced at her. The girl wanted to speak but stopped, choked by his simple, ordinary look.

Sometimes Lynch’s small, unintentional gestures caused great pressure, especially when his expression grew serious.

Affected, Penny looked around, but wasn’t observant enough to notice anything unusual.

“What’s wrong? Did something happen?” she asked nervously. Lynch’s expression frightened her.

Lynch shook his head. “Nothing, just feels like there are too many waiters today.”

Normally, if no one needs them, waiters rarely appear around guests.

They might hide in corners, watching all guests, appearing only when needed to offer eager service.

But today was different. Even without trays, bottles, or tasks, waiters moved frequently wherever guests appeared.This doesn’t fit the image of high-end luxury service. How could so many low-class people be wandering around in a truly upscale setting?

It might sound offensive, but it’s the truth.

Those gentlemen would rather handle things themselves than frequently brush past those waiters.

Something must have happened.

Combining this with the morning apology from the female manager, Lynch was certain it wasn’t just a matter of someone sneaking onto the ship—something far more serious was happening.

More people had infiltrated the ship, and with them came unknown intentions.

Lynch was a cautious man. His fearlessness was born from accepting certain death; if he could avoid dying, he would value his life.

This series of events made him immediately realize the situation was bad and killed his appetite. He stood up.

That simple move instantly drew the attention of seven or eight waiters, who glanced at him, then smiled and looked down.

Penny sensed the tension, stood up, and followed Lynch toward the telegraph room.

Lynch needed to call in reinforcements.

The atmosphere on the ship grew heavy and serious. As Lynch and others sensed, more than one person had infiltrated the cruise.

Their identities varied—some waiters, some guests, some crew members…

Hijacking a luxury cruise with a few speedboats, a dozen men, and some guns was impossible. Without inside help, they wouldn’t even get on board.

There was no practical way to climb the smooth hull of a moving ship—movies wouldn’t dare depict that without ropes or equipment.

Therefore, many people had to infiltrate the ship beforehand.

After the foul-mouthed man was exposed, these infiltrators were alarmed. Fortunately, the idiot hadn’t confessed yet, adding urgency.

“We can’t wait any longer. The crew has started batch rechecks of IDs. We’re at risk of exposure…”

The empty lower cabins became a perfect meeting place. With thousands of rooms, no one knew who was in which room or when.

A girl with lake-blue eyes looked serious. “My side is the same. They’re rechecking our data. I’m worried something will go wrong.”

As one of Marilo’s largest military factions’ commercial arms in the Federation, their employees included many Marilo natives.

All under the warlord’s control, they knew the roots well.

One person’s mistake meant the whole family was killed, so no one dared cross any red lines.

Many said their service was warm and thorough; even if insulted, they would smile, apologize, and beg forgiveness.

Not because they were truly lowly, but because they feared complaints. They feared their company losing key clients due to them and risking their families’ lives.

Some infiltrators’ identities were real, others fake.

Those with real identities didn’t worry about checks, but those with false ones would be discovered within three to five days.

By then, whether they could contact family or friends didn’t matter; escape was impossible.

“Actions must be taken early, or all hope is lost.”

“But the ship is too close to the Federation—three hours to shore at most. Without leaving Federation waters, we’re trapped!”

A crew member said, “I’m on duty the night after tomorrow. I’ll try to steer the ship off course. They won’t let us stop, but a whole night is enough to leave Federation waters completely.”

“Worth a try…”

“I agree…”

“Me too. I’m on duty in the telegraph room today; I’ll send the messages…”