Chapter 1625 - 99: Fox and Rat Game (9)_3

Chapter 1625: Chapter 99: Fox and Rat Game (9)_3

"Yes," the middle-aged officer replied, "because we’re fishing."

"You’ve told me the movements of your senior officers, aren’t you afraid I’ll know you’re going to war again?"

"That’s not really a concern, we’re not going to let you communicate with the outside world — at least not in the short term, and these are public messages, because we’re fishing."

"Alright, go ahead and reel the lines in," Siegfried had no wish to continue. He turned back to the bed, thrown himself down heavily, "I’ll wait for your good news."

This rude act infuriated the other rebel soldiers present. The one-legged young officer clutched his crutch, walking to the bedside, his wooden prosthetic leg thudding against the ground.

"Get up!" the young officer shouted angrily, "you’re speaking with Jeska!"

"Get lost," Siegfried didn’t even raise an eyelid. He turned to lie on his side, finding a more comfortable position, "Don’t make me break your good leg too."

The young officer was so enraged he raised his crutch to strike.

Siegfried was ready to fight back.

"Enough," the middle-aged officer halted the impending clash. He reached out, and the partially uniformed boy immediately held him.

The middle-aged officer came to the bedside, staring with his hollow eyes at the rising new star north of the Shade Mountain Range, saying, "My lord, I understand your anger, but you must also realize your situation cannot change temporarily. I only want to know, are you really willing to waste time in this little room?"

Siegfried, after all, was a courteous person. He sighed, sat up, glaring fiercely at the young officer, stood up, and said to the middle-aged officer, "I’m unwilling, but what can I do?"

"You can help us revise war history. Are you willing to let falsehoods become history while the truth is buried? Don’t you want future generations to know the stories of those who died? The Alliance is an unrelated third party, you can tell the story of the battle truthfully here with us."

Those words spoke to Siegfried’s heart, but outwardly, he still showed disdain, "There’s no need, the Emperor’s will is the truth."

"We can provide you with pen and paper."

"Even if you provide pen and paper, I won’t write."

"Not for you to write war history," the middle-aged officer said, "giving you pen and paper allows you to write letters."

"Write letters?" Siegfried was suddenly interested, "You mean to say, I can correspond?"

"No."

Siegfried was taken aback, then furious, "Then what do you mean by writing letters?"

"You can write whatever you want, but we’ll only deliver the letters to the recipients at an appropriate time."

"You mean you’ll open them to secretly read, right?"

"Yes, they will be reviewed," the middle-aged officer admitted openly, "if you don’t want us to read them, you can keep them yourself, and when you regain freedom, pass them to whomever you wish."

"Ha," Siegfried didn’t know what else to say.

"Anyway, if you cooperate, within my authority, I will try to accommodate your requests as much as possible."

"Any requests," Siegfried sneered, "but the decision to fulfill them lies with you."

"Yes," the middle-aged officer nodded, slightly relieved, "you’ve learned to respond quickly — and I hope, if possible, you can personally recount the entire Dalmatia battle to my students, from preparation to conclusion."

"You..." Siegfried felt his intelligence was insulted, "Are you kidding me? You let me teach your students about the Battle of Dalmatia? You... you are asking me to teach my enemies how to fight!"

"We’re not enemies yet," the middle-aged officer reminded, "you said it yourself."

"You know perfectly well whether we’re enemies or not!"

"So please don’t blame us for treating you this way either."

The boomerang hit back on himself, Siegfried no longer wanted to speak.

The middle-aged officer continued, "You will like my students, they’re not very clever, and not very learned, but each is a good guy, no one is more suitable than them to be your audience, you will like them."

Siegfried snorted lightly.

"More importantly," the middle-aged officer paused, "looked" at Siegfried, and in the dark hollow eyes of the other, Siegfried seemed to see two bright flames.

"These young fellows," the middle-aged officer smiled for the first time, "might be your biggest rivals in the next thirty years, they might spend a lifetime with you, and you with them. Don’t you want to see ahead of time how they measure up?"

"A lifetime? Blind old man, you know nothing about me," Siegfried thought miserably, "I’m nothing, just a mischief in adults’ eyes, my fiercest rebellion looks like a tantrum. My life is destined to be the strings of His Majesty’s puppet."

Thinking this, a strong sense of rebellion surged within Siegfried.

He suddenly wanted to cause chaos for the adult who controls everything, masters everything, and manipulates everything...

"Fine," he said slowly, "let me think about it."

The middle-aged officer thought his persuasion had succeeded, so he said no more, "Take your time, we’re leaving."

"Take care, I won’t see you off."

Supported by the service soldier, the middle-aged officer walked out.

The one-legged young officer followed behind, glaring at Siegfried.

Siegfried couldn’t be bothered.

When they reached the door, the middle-aged officer suddenly turned back, asking: "[Old language] There’s one more thing I’m curious about — Although the story of the Princess eloping with a smooth-talking bard seems like a fantasy, it’s not entirely incomprehensible, but why did it involve you? Why did you come along with them?"

Siegfried was speechless, he could only pretend to laugh dismissively.

"[Old language] The world changes so much," the middle-aged officer had his answer, shook his head lightly, and sighed, "[Old language] young people are really wild in their play."

"Blind old man!" The infuriated Siegfried lunged furiously to the door, only to be stopped by iron bars, shaking them violently as dust kept falling from the ceiling, "Come back! I’m going to give you a good lesson now!"

"[Old language] And also, make marks on the table in the future, don’t cut your arm, don’t worry, that table will be yours, it won’t be moved."

With that, the middle-aged officer turned and left.

Only the sound of someone yelling desperately could be heard.

"Come back! Come back here!"