Alluring Eyes

Nehari arranged for Jorgen and Elin to spend the night in another house, but it was far from the time to rest for them. As they walked out of the bishop's mansion, Jorgen saw Renner standing in front of a tent about ten meters away, looking at him.

"I need to talk to him," Jorgen said to Elin. "You can find something to do in the meantime."

"Do you know him? I've been suspecting that," Elin replied.

"Yes, I do. I'll tell you the details later."

"Alright," Elin said. "I'll go and check on Amy... for work reasons, of course."

After Elin finished speaking, she turned and took another path. Jorgen approached Renner, who solemnly extended his right hand. "It's truly wonderful to see you again, Jorgen."

"At the meeting just now, I wasn't sure if you remembered me," Jorgen shook his hand. "This time, you won't report my whereabouts to the Old Man, right?"

"No, of course not. Now that you're a direct agent, representing him, why would I need to go through the trouble of sending a scout back to Stormwind? The person to report to is right in front of me—just kidding. Soon after I met you, the Old Man's health started deteriorating day by day. Many like me, who are outside the MI7 structure, have broken free from his control. Perhaps it's because he's no longer capable of managing people like me, but of course, you should know that better than I do. Maybe I should prepare myself to work for you?"

"Don't joke," Jorgen replied, realizing that it might not be a joke. He was amazed at Renner's profound understanding of how MI7 operates. "I'm not ready to trust you yet."

"Ah, neither am I. We'll let time decide everything."

"What else do you know about Jemar?"

Renner remained silent for a moment. "Follow me."

The two of them walked through rows of tents. The candlelight within each small pyramid-shaped dwelling cast shadows on the thin fabric. These vague figures, along with the sounds emitted by their owners, allowed Jorgen to grasp the image and behavior of each soldier within the tents: some were polishing their long swords, some were whispering in despair, and others were disgruntled due to gambling outcomes. They were indeed different from the soldiers stationed in Stormwind, he thought.

The destination was a modest, inconspicuous mud hut on the edge of the tent cluster. Although it appeared hastily assembled within a few hours, the wooden door stood out with a mismatched large lock. Renner pulled out a key and opened the door. "Let's go inside," he said.

The room was pitch black, filled with the smell of blood and mildew. Renner lit an oil lamp on his left, and the flame slowly spread, illuminating several sets of Alliance military uniforms leaning against the wall, with pieces of armor piled beneath them. Each uniform was tattered, stained with blood, and bore piercing, scorching, and completely torn marks. If these uniforms had suffered such damage while being worn, one could only imagine the fate of their owners.

"What are these?" Jorgen asked.

"Jorgen, have you ever wondered how Jemar's Bloodscar Crusader squad managed to infiltrate the Alliance camp and reach Arlaki first?" Renner asked.

As Jorgen looked at the row of Alliance military uniforms before him, he understood Renner's purpose in bringing him here.

"They disguised themselves as Alliance soldiers."

"Yes. It was only when we were counting the bodies that we discovered they had worn Bloodscar Crusader tabards underneath. The crucial point is that these uniforms and armor are not counterfeits; they belong to our soldiers—soldiers who didn't die on the battlefield, but whose bodies have not been found."

"You mean Jemar's people attacked our own before launching an assault on the Scourge."

"That's right. Perhaps we can say that, considering strategic concerns, we must be cautious with a Bloodscar Crusader prisoner, especially one who played a significant role in defeating Arlaki. But the problem is that he engaged in severe hostile actions against us before that. Do you really think the owners of these uniforms are still alive?"

"So, we have every reason to execute Jemar."

"Even if we don't execute him, keeping a Bloodscar Crusader member who once massacred our personnel will undoubtedly face protests and discontent from our soldiers. Have you ever wondered why this hasn't leaked out?"

"Somebody ordered to suppress the news."

"It was Nehari's order. He even requested these uniforms to be buried, claiming that they were no longer pure after being used by the Bloodscar Crusader. But I insisted on keeping them because if we couldn't find the soldiers' bodies, something else had to be buried in their place. With my persistence, they were ultimately preserved, at the cost of promising Nehari that if the news spreads, he can hold me directly accountable. I can only obey his command and share this information with you, but I won't say any more. You can judge for yourself."

Nehari seemed to be doing his best to safeguard Jemar, making the Bloodscar Crusader member appear less harmful. The agreement and understanding expressed by Jorgen during the meeting also supported this point.

"Thank you," Jorgen said. "This is sensitive information that reveals something unfavorable to you after it reaches me. Why would you do this?"

"I was born a soldier, Jorgen. Since being transferred to the Western Plaguelands two years ago, I have witnessed soldiers fighting on this land where even drinking clean water is difficult. I have seen soldiers sleeping on this soil, partially exposed, only to wake up with incurable skin diseases during the day. I have seen abominations tearing our soldiers apart, using their half-bodied remains as weapons, bound by chains. Frankly, although I understand the need to consider the bigger picture, I truly wanted to execute Jemar with my own hands. Since I can't do that, I can at least entrust this matter to someone who can remain detached and impartial, someone who can view the intelligence with fairness. That's my perspective."

"I understand," Jorgen said. Even after three years, he still didn't truly know Renner, but it wasn't surprising to hear such words from the person who had risked his life to help him escape.

Another thought sprang to Jorgen's mind. After careful consideration, he decided to bring it up.

"You came to the Plaguelands two years ago?"

"Yes."

"Then... have you heard of... Bossia Wislanzo?"

"Bossia? Oh, I remember now. The archbishop's niece who was with you back then. Why do you ask? Did she come here?"

"She gave up her paladin status and became an ordinary soldier."

Renner furrowed his brow and looked at Jorgen. "I don't intend to pry or anything, just answering your question. The answer is she's not here. Regardless of whether she gave up her paladin status or not, as long as she still uses that name, she can't escape scrutiny. And as one of the commanders, I couldn't have missed a soldier with such a distinct background. Also, although it may sound odd to say this, I can responsibly tell you that her name doesn't appear on the list of fallen soldiers."

"Okay." Jorgen paused for a moment before continuing. "You've helped me a lot, Renner."

"I'm glad to," Renner replied.

After leaving the small shack, they went their separate ways. Jorgen understood that he hadn't expected a satisfactory answer from Renner regarding the matter he asked about. He was more like confirming that Renner was someone he could trust, as Renner had revealed a secret that could put him in danger. In return, Jorgen felt obligated to share something of his own with him. "Information equality" was necessary to build trust, just as he had taught Bossia three years ago.

Elin stood about ten meters away from the isolation house, observing the unapproachable longhouse. There were no visible windows on his side, and faint light seeped through the crack of the only door on the far left. In the darkness, what he saw reminded him of a massive, lifeless flesh worm. He speculated that the interior structure of the house was similar to a prison cell, with Amy residing in the independent room on the far left, and the compartments for the infected individuals lined up on the right.

The scene between Flint and Amy in the afternoon had piqued his interest, not solely because of its romantic implications, but more so because Flint, who was not particularly friendly toward him and Jorgen, had made such a potentially ridiculous move in front of them. Offering a small package to a woman, getting rejected, and then persistently pushing it into her arms? What was he thinking? It was something no member of MI7 would do in public, let alone Flint, a top-class agent known for his combat and arson skills. Elin believed it was worth investigating, or at least more suitable for him to investigate than Jorgen.

Should he knock on the door like that? He hadn't made up his mind yet. Flint had hurried into the house after dinner, faster than anyone else. Elin suspected he was inside.

After pondering for a moment, Elin circled around to the back of the house, still standing about ten meters away. Plague, the plague. Honestly, I don't understand that thing at all. But if I don't experience it firsthand, I'm afraid I'll never truly comprehend it. Finally, he spotted a window, presumably belonging to Amy's room, as he could see a small pot of green plants behind the window glass. Elin hadn't seen green in a long time, although the plant appeared yellowish under the indoor lighting and was pitch black against the backlight.

Elin approached a bit closer, shifting his gaze towards the side with the isolation compartments, continuing his search for a window. None, none, none... Ah! He found it! But at the same time, he was startled, taking an involuntary step back.

Rather than calling it a window, it was more like a hole carved out under the eaves, sealed with wooden planks. On the other side of the planks, he saw a pair of eyes. Dark, staring directly at him. Disheveled hair and the shadow of the planks obscured the face behind the eyes. At first, he thought it was an infected individual standing up inside the house, over two meters tall. But as he approached further, he realized it was the face of a slightly young girl. She must have used something to stand on, peering out through the only window.

An infected individual? Elin didn't see any scars or ulcers on her face. Besides being covered in mud, there was nothing particularly notable about her appearance. However, there was something elusive about those eyes, capturing Elin's attention. Perhaps it was vitality, mixed with curiosity. In any case, Elin had never imagined an infected person with such clear eyes. Why did this girl occupy the only isolated room with a window?

She didn't speak or make any other movements, just calmly looked at him. But those eyes puzzled Elin. How could someone infected with the plague, confined in a small room, uncertain of their remaining time, not show the slightest hint of fear in their pupils?

Elin turned back to the front of the house and knocked on the door. No response. He increased the force and knocked several more times.