Chapter 93: The Terror
Earlier At The Continental Hotel
Jack stood at the center of attention. His hand held two blue-black gold coins, both taken from the lifeless body of a judge. The judge's demise was courtesy of Winston.
Jack's sharp eyes scrutinized the coins, comparing them meticulously. He couldn't detect any differences in their numbers or intricate details. Eager to uncover the implications of his findings, he turned to Winston, his excitement palpable.
"Winston, my friend," Jack began, a mischievous glimmer in his eyes, "I think I've stumbled upon a colossal loophole in the High Table's management."
Winston leaned in, intrigued by Jack's revelation. "Tell me more," he encouraged.
A sly smile crept across Jack's face as he unveiled the flaw. "These blue-black gold coins, the very ones the judges use for identification, bear no special markings whatsoever."
Winston's eyes widened with realization. "You mean to say," he whispered, his voice filled with anticipation, "that with the right demeanor, flawless appearance, and a well-placed hood, you could potentially impersonate a judge?"
Jack nodded, his excitement growing. "Precisely, my dear Winston! If I can master their demeanor and present myself as a judge, I could attempt to deceive the High Table as one of their own!"
Winston's optimism radiated through his words. "No one has ever dared to impersonate a judge before. The scarcity of these gold coins made it nearly impossible. But you, Jack, possess both the means and the audacity to make it work."
A sense of thrill coursed through Jack's veins as he considered the possibilities. To infiltrate the enemy's lair, under the guise of a judge, was an exhilarating prospect. Yet, Winston's warning rang true in his mind.
"But Winston, what about the risks? You mentioned the Hawkeye organization, and their ability to expose me within half an hour," Jack pointed out, his determination unshaken.
Winston's gaze turned serious as he spoke, "Indeed, my friend, this method will grant you access, but it won't guarantee a successful exit. The Hawkeye will surely unmask your disguise within a short span of time."
Jack's resolve solidified. "I understand the perils, Winston, but I prefer to face my enemies head-on rather than fall victim to indiscriminate firepower. If I must make a decision within their midst, I'd rather be there, blending with the shadows, than facing a barrage from afar."
A mischievous grin danced on Winston's lips as he chuckled.
....
The Present
"Of course, Mr. Judge," the front desk attendant replied, his voice filled with awe as he accepted the gleaming gold coin. He held it up to the light, scrutinizing every intricate detail, confirming its authenticity against the judge's exclusive gold coin etched in his memory. Satisfied, he rose from his seat and gestured towards the hallway. "Please, follow me."
Jack calmly pocketed the gold coin, maintaining an air of indifference towards the others in the room. It was as if the group of people didn't exist to him. He strode forward, leading the way with the front desk attendant trailing behind, oblivious to the curiosity and speculation that surrounded them.
As Jack stepped into the elevator, the doors slid shut, separating him from the prying eyes of the would-be assassins in the hall. A collective sigh of relief escaped their lips, and they began to engage in hushed discussions, their excitement palpable.
"What do you think the judge is here for?" one assassin pondered aloud, his voice filled with anticipation.
"Did you notice? He didn't spare us a single glance. It's like he thinks we're beneath him!" another assassin chimed in, feeling slighted by the judge's apparent indifference.
"Beneath him? No, no, no. It's not just that. He's outright ignoring us! It's as if we don't even exist," a third assassin retorted, emphasizing their insignificance in the judge's eyes.
"I hope he continues to ignore us. You know, the judge doesn't make appearances without reason. He must be here to announce a trial! May his lord have mercy on us, regardless of our suspicions that he might be a Templar..." the discussion continued, rife with both trepidation and excitement.
The mention of the Templars sent a shiver down their spines, and a hushed silence fell upon the hall. However, it didn't take long for the tension to dissipate, giving way to the anticipation of a grand event.
"Do you think the Templars will show up?" someone whispered, their voice tinged with both fear and fascination.
"2.2 billion! Just thinking about it makes my blood boil with excitement!" another assassin exclaimed, unable to contain their thrill at the sheer magnitude of the impending trial.
"Excitement? Ha! Are you not afraid of withering away like a lifeless flower?" a cynical voice interjected, mocking the overzealous assassin's exuberance.
"Well, maybe it's just a flutter in the heart..." someone murmured, their tone betraying a hint of nervousness beneath the bravado.
In a rare moment of candor, even among hardened killers, several silent assassins exchanged subtle glances, their eyes conveying a silent understanding. With a barely perceptible movement, they rose from their seats, slipping away from the crowd, their departure unnoticed.
Unbeknownst to the others, these assassins were members of the elusive Hawkeye organization, masters of stealth and subtlety. With their departure, a new thread of intrigue wove itself into the unfolding narrative, leaving the hall abuzz with speculation, unaware of the danger that quietly lurked in their midst.
....
"Come in, Mr. Judge," the receptionist greeted Jack with a respectful bow, motioning for him to enter the conference room.
Jack stepped into the room, expecting a typical conference setting, but to his surprise, it resembled a magnificent showroom adorned with an array of antique utensils.
A distinguished white-haired man stood with his hands behind his back, engrossed in examining a pair of exquisite utensils displayed on the wall. Sensing Jack's presence, the receptionist approached the man and announced, "Mr. Judge has arrived."
The man waved dismissively, gesturing for the receptionist to leave. "You may go now, but remember to close the door," he said with an air of authority.
Perplexed by the man's peculiar behavior, the receptionist hesitated for a moment before complying, leaving Jack alone with the enigmatic figure.
Leaning against a transparent table, the man tapped his fingers on the glass, drawing Jack's attention.
"Every mainland hotel has a room like this, designated for receiving distinguished guests and... those who might harbor ill intentions," he began, his voice carrying a hint of intrigue.
"You see, with a transparent table like this, both parties can negotiate without worrying about hidden firearms beneath its surface." He paused, awaiting Jack's response.
Jack tilted his head, intrigued by the man's words. Curiosity led him to approach the other side of the table, locking eyes with the man.
"So, Mr. Judge," the man stared directly into Jack's eyes, his gaze unwavering, "thirty years ago, I assumed ownership of the Continental Hotel in Rome, and now, three decades later, you've come here... Are you here to pass judgment on me?"
Jack listened attentively to the man's words, observing his growing agitation. The situation struck him as rather absurd.
Initially, Jack had assumed the man's earlier behavior stemmed from his suspicion that Jack was an imposter. However, it appeared that the man's anxiety was solely due to the arrival of the judge.
If there was no cause for concern, why would he feel the need to explain himself so fervently?
Nonetheless, Jack saw an opportunity for an interesting course of action.
He knew that his true identity as the judge would eventually be exposed. As soon as he stepped foot into the Continental Hotel, Rome's renowned Hawkeye organization would likely start digging into his background. It wouldn't be long before they discovered his true identity and reported it to the High Table.
This was precisely why no one would dare impersonate the judge. The efficiency of the Hawkeye organization ensured that anyone attempting to give orders at the Continental Hotel or any other establishment would swiftly be unmasked.
Yet, Jack had purposely sought entry into the Continental Hotel to establish contact with its owner, as it would facilitate his next move.
And now, as Jack observed the furious and frightened hotel owner before him, a new idea formed in his mind.
In an instant, Galactus, the owner of the Roman Continental Hotel, widened his eyes in disbelief.
Before him, Jack's face transformed, revealing a mischievous smile—a smile befitting the devil.
However, that was not the most chilling part.
From Galactus's perspective, the judge raised his hand, gripped his own face, and began to pull. The scene resembled a horror movie unfolding in real life, and before Galactus could fully comprehend what was happening, Jack removed the lifelike headgear, exposing his true face underneath.
As Galactus beheld Jack's face, his heart skipped a beat. It wasn't due to ugliness or terror that struck Galactus; on the contrary, Jack possessed a world-class handsome visage. However, Galactus's panic stemmed from the familiarity he felt upon seeing this face—the face that had appeared in numerous documents, associated with a particular individual.
"Jack the Templar!"
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