Although the Patrol Camp is called a “camp,” over the dynasties it had been expanded into a sprawling government office.

Upon entering the main gate, there was first a rather large training ground. On one side, racks held weapons such as sabers, spears, swords, and halberds, with some bows hanging as well. On the other side of the training ground were targets and stables.

There were some weeds on the ground, clearly indicating that not many people practiced here.

Whether it was Olivia Miller’s imagination or not, as soon as he entered the Patrol Camp, he felt his vision turn a dark red.

It seemed as if the sand and dirt on the ground were stained with old blood—dark, aged, and somewhat oppressive.

Passing through the training ground, they entered a main hall.

The hall was crowded and noisy. In the center was a row of long tables, behind which old clerks sat, writing with brushes. In front of the tables, men in patrol uniforms lined up, each holding various thieves and robbers bound in all sorts of ways, as if waiting to be registered.

“Qinghe patrol Mary Miller, captured one chicken thief, record one minor merit…”

After such shouts, all kinds of pleas for mercy would ring out.

“I’ve been wronged, sir! That chicken flew into my arms on its own…”

It didn’t feel like catching thieves, but more like doing business at a market.

Olivia Miller looked around curiously, following William Grant and his nephew through the hall, winding their way through several turns. From time to time, someone would clasp their fists and call out, “Captain Grant.” After a while, they finally reached the cell area of the Patrol Camp.

William Grant had the jailer open an interrogation room and told Charles Grant to bring Olivia Miller inside to wait. Naturally, someone would go fetch the prisoner.

William Grant was a minor captain, and upon returning to the Patrol Camp, many matters came looking for him. So he instructed Charles Grant to look after the third young master of the Wang family, and went off to handle other business himself.

The room had a rather eerie atmosphere. Lily was a bit scared and clung tightly to Olivia Miller’s hand.

Olivia Miller gently patted the back of her hand and comforted her, “Lily, don’t be afraid.”

His voice was steady, which reassured Lily a little, though she didn’t notice that her young master was not as foolish as usual.

Before long, two jailers brought in a tall young man into the interrogation room.

The young man was tall and thin, his face covered in bruises, yet he still looked rather handsome. He was indeed dressed in black, but not the kind of nightwear one might imagine. Instead, it looked as if he had picked up a few pieces of black rags, roughly cut them, and thrown them on. At this moment, heavy shackles were fastened to his hands and feet, clanking as he walked, making him appear somewhat clumsy.

When Charles Grant saw the young man enter, he became rather excited and stood up to ask Olivia Miller, “Third Young Master, take a look for me— is this man the assassin Muzi?”

He was young and eager, wanting to capture the infamous serial killer of the capital. Moreover, this was the first criminal he had caught since becoming an officer, so he couldn’t help but be a little expectant.

Olivia Miller put on an act, scrutinized the man for a moment, then shook his head and said, “No, it’s not him.”

“How could it not be?” Charles Grant was taken aback.

Looking at this handsome young master before him, Charles Grant didn’t know just how “dim-witted” he really was, so he scratched his head and, unwilling to give up, asked again, “Is he the one who killed Luo Deyuan yesterday?”

“He’s not. The one from yesterday was different.” Olivia Miller was quite firm.

“How could he not be…” Charles Grant became rather disappointed, sighed, and muttered to himself, “So he’s just an ordinary murderer? This guy has some skills— it took me a lot of effort to catch him.”

Hearing that the tall, thin young man was skilled, Olivia Miller looked him over again, seemingly quite interested.

Then Charles Grant said to the tall, thin young man, “What’s your name? Why did you kill Manager Du? Confess early so I can report it.”

But the tall, thin young man just kept his mouth shut.

“Tch, brought back a mute.” Charles Grant said, sounding a bit annoyed.

A jailer leaned over and whispered in Charles Grant’s ear, “This guy hasn’t said a word in the cell either. If you ask me, he might really be the assassin Muzi. Besides, lots of people saw him kill—little Old Grant, you can report it however you want.”

He said the last part close to Charles Grant’s ear, in a low voice.

Although Olivia Miller didn’t catch exactly what was said, he could guess. He’d heard of people taking credit for others’ deeds, and such embellishments were hardly rare.

But Charles Grant simply shook his head and said, “If he is, he is. If he isn’t, he isn’t. I want to earn my merit fair and square.”

The jailer’s expression turned a bit awkward.

Olivia Miller thought to himself that Charles Grant was an honest man.

“It’s just that this guy won’t open his mouth— that’s a problem.” Charles Grant said again, annoyed.

The jailer tried to please him again, “If little Old Grant wants him to talk, I can use some torture on him later?”

Charles Grant hesitated for a moment, then warned the tall, thin young man, “You’d better think it over. If you still won’t talk, I’ll have them use torture.”

The tall, thin young man kept his lips shut, refusing to speak, but there seemed to be some hesitation in his eyes.

Because he looked honest, Olivia Miller gazed at him with his own “pure and innocent” eyes, encouraging him to speak.

“I killed the Du brothers. How many years will I get?”

Just as he was about to be taken away, the tall, thin young man finally spoke.