RNP Chapter 104: The Mask
Chapter 104: The Mask
Chapter 105: The Mask
The hallway was dark, with only a few emergency lights still on, emitting a pale white light.
Both room doors were open. Karp glanced around casually; they were all empty except for some scattered documents, overturned tables and chairs, and a few handcuffs hanging on the wall.
He went upstairs, and at the end of the second-floor corridor was a half-open metal door, with light shining through the crack.
Garp walked over, didn't knock, and kicked the door open with a bang.
This is a simple office with a metal table, two chairs, a filing cabinet, and a nautical chart hanging on the wall.
Behind the table sat a man dressed in a naval officer's coat and wearing a military cap, with a pure white mask without any patterns or holes covering his face.
Hearing the door being kicked open, the person looked up. The mask covered the entire face, with no openings even for the eyes, but Garp could feel the other person's gaze on him.
"Just you?"
Garp walked into the room, glanced at the naval uniform on the masked man, and closed the door behind him.
The masked person nodded.
"say."
The other party remained silent.
Garp walked to the table, placed his hands on it, leaned forward, and stared at the white mask: "What, you know you're ashamed to show your face after doing something so despicable?"
The masked man tightened his fingers on the table, but quickly relaxed them again.
Garp straightened up, stretched out his large hand, and tapped the mask with the knuckle of his index finger, making a dull knocking sound: "Take it off."
The masked man shook his head.
"I'll let you pick it!"
Garp grabbed the edge of the mask and ripped it open—
The masked man did not resist; he even tilted his head slightly to make it easier for Garp to move.
But just as the mask was about to be torn off, Garp's hand stopped.
Time seemed to freeze for a few seconds.
In the end, Garp let go.
"#." Garp's curse was low, sounding like he was cursing, but also like he was sighing.
Garp took two steps back and plopped down in the chair opposite him. He stared at the masked man for a long time, so long that the firelight outside the window shifted its brightness.
"Why do such bastard things?" Karp asked.
The masked man remained silent.
"Boom!"
Karp slammed his fist on the table, denting the metal surface: "Did the Marshal order you to do this? Or were you one of those guys with bubbles on their heads?"
Is there a difference?
"have!"
Garp stood up, his chair tipping over with a thud as he did so: "The Fleet Admiral has a duty to protect his soldiers! The Navy should never be executioners!"
"Precisely because the Navy is not the executioner, it is our job to do it."
The masked man's voice was infuriatingly calm: "It would have been worse if the Navy hadn't done it."
Garp froze, staring at the white mask, and suddenly felt a wave of nausea.
It wasn't physical nausea, but something deeper, like something you'd always firmly believed in had rotted away and was emitting a foul stench.
"So you're going to do it yourself?"
Karp stared blankly at the other person, not knowing what expression or tone to use to question him: "So you just sat here and watched people being driven into small rooms to be poisoned and thrown into the sea to drown?"
Then tell yourself, "Is this saving more people?"
The masked man fell silent again.
"say!"
Karp slammed his fist on the table again, this time completely deforming it: "I'll teach you a lesson you bastard for saying!"
The other party remained silent.
Garp stood there, panting heavily, the firelight from outside shining through the gaps in the iron plates sealing the window, casting flickering shadows on his face.
After a long silence, Garp raised his fist, and a surge of powerful aura exploded forth!
He looked at that damned white mask: "Fist Bone—"
'
The masked man remained seated, facing the raging, domineering aura head-on, showing no intention of resisting or escaping.
"conflict!"
"Boom!!!"
The loud rumbling sound made the people on the dock turn their heads to look.
The only building on the entire island that was still intact had completely collapsed.
The evacuation operation on the island continued into the afternoon.
By the time the sun began to set, the dock was empty. The last group of people boarded a medium-sized ship, the sails were raised, and it slowly sailed away from the berth.
Karp stood on the outermost pier of the dock, watching the ships full of people disappear into the distant horizon.
Behind him stood about a hundred people, including his former subordinates and newly recruited "newcomers".
"Have they all been sent away?"
Zefa walked over, holding a list in his hand.
"Hmm," Garp responded, "In total—how much is gone?"
"We pulled more than 6,700 people out of the sea, and on the island we found dozens of ash heaps, each three or four stories high."
Zefa also looked at the ships on the distant sea, and changed the subject somewhat helplessly: "We've already sent away the ordinary soldiers who didn't resist, a total of more than 2,800 people."
"Where are those ungrateful wretches?"
"Those who could still breathe were tied up and thrown into the ruins over there."
Zefa pointed to a half-collapsed building on the east side of the island: "There were two hundred and fifty-seven people in total."
Garp nodded without saying anything.
Zephyr glanced at him, then looked towards the center of the island: "You saw him?"
"I saw him."
""
"Then?"
"Then I came out."
Zephyr waited for a while and, realizing that Garp didn't intend to continue, didn't ask any more questions.
He turned around and began directing the remaining people to do the final cleanup work, loading usable supplies onto the ship, destroying documents that could not be taken, and checking for any survivors who had been missed.
Garp stood there quietly, watching the distant red sun slowly set. Several people came to him for instructions, but he waved them off, telling them to listen to Zephyr.
As dusk fell and all the ships prepared to leave the port, Zephyr walked over and patted Garp on the shoulder.
"We should go, or the patrol fleet will be here."
Garp grunted in agreement, turned and walked toward his dog-headed warship. After a few steps, he stopped and looked back toward the center of the island.
The burning buildings were almost completely destroyed, leaving only charred skeletons. The black smoke had thinned and was dispersed by the sea breeze.
Zefa followed his gaze and stopped in his tracks.
Neither of them spoke.
After a while, Zephyr spoke up: "Should we call out?"
"What good will it do to call out?" Garp retorted.
"He can—"
"What can he do?"
Garp interrupted Zephyr: "He can come with us? He can join your new navy? He can apologize to the families of the dead, saying he had no choice?"
Zefa remained silent.
Garp turned back and continued walking towards the warship, this time without stopping.
His silhouette stretched long in the setting sun, his steps heavy, each one firm, as if he wanted to crush something completely under his feet.
Zefa stood still, glanced at the center of the island again, sighed, and followed.