Survive

"So, Renner," Elin said, "do you think Jorgen is genuinely infatuated with that girl named Bossia?"

"The phrasing isn't quite right; wherever she is now, she's already twenty-four years old," Renner replied.

"But he remembers her as she was three years ago. Three years can change a person significantly."

"Based on his impression from three years ago, apart from her immaturity as a paladin, I haven't noticed anything particularly special about her... Elin, I'd be happy to talk about Jorgen, but could you get off my desk first?"

Elin moved away from the desk he had been sitting on for the past five minutes. An hour ago, Nehari and Jorgen's group had already departed.

"Also," Renner continued, "you're his partner. Wouldn't it be more convenient to ask him directly about these matters? You won't get much from me."

"Never mind, you know what kind of person he is. His life lacks an essential phase: being part of a group of youngsters earnestly discussing love, giving advice to each other, or teasing one another. It's impossible for him to add that stage now. As a member of the MI7, he's always facing at least ninety-nine questions, but he still likes to add one more to himself."

"So, his hundredth question is about Miss Bossia. Elin, your words seem to hold some hostility towards her. Normally, we wouldn't refer to a woman a friend misses as a 'question.'"

"Hostility? No, no, no, I have no knowledge of her, and I'm just curious about these matters."

"Elin, let me ask you this. If you were to find out Bossia Wislanzo's whereabouts right now, would you immediately tell Jorgen?"

"I wouldn't," he answered without hesitation.

"But I would. Whether she's alive or deceased, whether she retains her original appearance or is unrecognizable, whether Jorgen still has feelings for her or doesn't recognize him at all, I would tell him immediately. Because I know Jorgen is tormented by this matter, and I can see it in his eyes when he asks if I've seen Bossia. As a person who considers him a friend, I want him to be free from this torment as soon as possible. But you wouldn't do the same, and that's why you're a member of the MI7 while I'm not. You would track her, investigate her, fearing that their reunion would cause an irrational impact on Jorgen."

He reached this conclusion with his usual smile, showing no other emotions, as if he was casually discussing the taste of a dish, something of little significance.

"Now I understand why Jorgen is willing to trust you. It's better to let you see through than to keep secrets. Are you really not an old man's pawn placed near us? Ha, just kidding. What's this?" He picked up a decorative paperweight from the desk, intricately carved with floral patterns.

"It was made by my wife."

"It seems like the hundredth question hasn't been troubling you. Alright, I should be on my way too."

"Wait a moment. As you can see, I've been quite busy today, and our conversation took up quite a bit of my time. Don't you think you should compensate me somehow?"

Renner's words held no hint of dissatisfaction or hostility. He said it as if he was simply asking an old friend for a favor.

"How would I compensate you?"

"Our soldiers often purchase or trade items with adventurers on a voluntary basis, of course, there are some prohibited items that we need to prevent from circulating. So, every day around this time, I usually go to the edge of the adventurer's camp to supervise. Today, you can do it for me, how about that?"

"Sure, I can do that. However, my definition of prohibited items might be different from yours."

"No problem, just follow your own rules then."

After leaving the room, Elin felt surprised by Renner's straightforwardness in pointing out his views on "Bossia" directly. At least Renner had seen her in person, but for Elin, she was merely a name. He had already investigated all the files related to Bossia's case three years ago and unsurprisingly found nothing useful. Even when he reviewed her records from the first 21 years of her life at the Cathedral, they were unremarkable. Though he wouldn't say it in front of Jorgen, Elin felt uneasy about Jorgen's strong attachment to a mysteriously disappeared name.

As Renner said, "As a person who considers him a friend, I hope he can free himself from torment as soon as possible." Elin couldn't help but share the same sentiment. However, as a direct agent of the Military Intelligence MI7, he must maintain caution in his actions. He didn't believe Jorgen's approach to this matter was cautious. Should I correct him? But as soon as he realized that his thought process was leaning towards an elderly approach rather than his own, Elin quickly pushed the matter out of his mind.

Walking along the edge of the adventurer's camp, Elin was skeptical that he would find any prohibited item transactions, suspecting that Renner had merely found an excuse to send him away. Most of the trades were for food not available in the camp. Some devout soldiers were looking for small religious items. Others purchased small gadgets to pass the time in their tents, like playing cards or chessboards. A gnome was peddling a tiny dragonling, only the size of a fist, and many soldiers crowded around to see if it would bite when they poked their fingers into the cage. Buying it was out of the question. Someone bought a carving knife and started carving a piece of wood they found on the ground. Cigarettes... Should I stop the cigarette trades? Never mind, the amount was too little. Let the soldiers occasionally inhale some bitter smoke; after all, they had already endured too much malaria and foul odors entering their throats and nostrils. Spirits! Oh, there's a bottle, and this is something that needs to be addressed. Renner, watch me!... Oh, my mistake, it's just a bottle of sauce. A fight broke out, and it seemed evenly matched as two men rolled on the ground, covered in dust. Trying to stop them would be like a male nanny disciplining children, so it's better to leave them be. Sorry, Renner, it seems I can't help you with anything.

Elin even grabbed a deck of playing cards for himself and was about to end this so-called inspection when he suddenly noticed a familiar figure. It was Windi Featherwing, occupying a small corner, constantly looking around. In front of her were two rows of small mud balls, each with a green sprout protruding from it. As soon as she saw Elin, she took the initiative to speak, "Mr. Elin, the first time I've seen you here."

It felt a bit awkward to have such a warmly greeted person whom he had once chased after, so Elin chose to counter the awkwardness with an even warmer attitude. "Hey! Miss Windi!" He waved and said, "Long time no see! Well, actually not that long... So, what are you selling here?"

"Grass seeds."

"Grass seeds? No wonder business is slow. We're soldiers here, not gardeners. Besides, we're in the Plaguelands, nothing grows in this land. It's like trying to sell ice cream at the top of Fire Plume Ridge where magma spews."

"These are not ordinary grass seeds," Windi enunciated each word clearly, afraid that Elin might not understand, "they are natural growth from the Plaguelands."

"Is that so?" Elin crouched down to take a look and then stood back up. "Be honest with your business, Windi. These are just ordinary wild grass."

"They may not look extraordinary, but growing in the Plaguelands and still maintaining their green color is truly remarkable. Moreover, these grasses can slowly improve the soil quality. Perhaps, after a hundred or two hundred years, the Plaguelands may turn green again because of them."

"Really? How do you know?"

"To be honest, my research is still ongoing, so it's a bit premature to draw such a conclusion. That's why I want to disperse these grass seeds to as many areas of the Plaguelands as possible and observe regularly. As you already know, I took soil samples before, that was also for this research."

"In that case, you're doing it wrong, Windi. If it's for research and not for making money, why not distribute them for free?"

"But... my indoor cultivation project also needs funds to maintain. Mr. Elin, would you like to buy one? It's only one silver coin, and you can plant it anywhere you like. Watch it grow and bring a touch of green to this scarred land. Mother Earth will surely be grateful to you."

"I'd love to help, but besides feeding my own stomach, I've never been able to keep anything else alive." Looking at these tiny wild grasses, he suddenly remembered something. "Windi, you said they grew naturally?"

"Yes. Their structure is unique, allowing them to absorb the remaining nutrients from the decaying soil as much as possible. When I moved some grass seeds to fertile soil samples, they didn't survive as easily."

Elin used his right index finger to scratch his chin, lost in thought. He thought of Coersta Dipsadong. She also survived in the most severely corroded areas of the plague, and no one could explain why. But at least these grass seeds could absorb sunlight in open places, while she could only lie in that small, foul-smelling isolation room, looking at the outside world through a window that required something to stand on to barely reach.

"Windi, I'm leaving. Keep up the good work."

"Thank you, Mr. Elin. You're the only one today who asked about these grass seeds."

The heartfelt gratitude from the druid made Elin feel uneasy. Since coming to the Plaguelands, he had seen too many things that weighed heavily on his mind. There should only be death and fear here. What on earth had happened?

At this moment, Elin thought it would be great if he could place a bet to pass the time.

In the afternoon, accompanied by two guards, he arrived at Jemar's cell. Jemar was so famished that he could barely sit up straight. His eyelids had turned purplish-black, and he leaned his right shoulder against the wall, with his hands hanging weakly on his knees.

Elin looked at the guards and pointed at Jemar, intentionally raising his tone, "Are you kidding me? I asked you to take me to the cell of that Bloodscar Crusader member, not the morgue, you idiot."

These words triggered a response from Jemar. He half-lifted his eyelids, opened his mouth, and his tongue involuntarily licked the center of his teeth, revealing his intense thirst.

"Open the door, let me in."

"But, Lord Elin..." The jailer hesitated.

"Enough talk. He can't even move an inch right now. You're indirectly insulting the combat capabilities of a member of the Seventh Dawn, aren't you? Aren't you? Now open the door for me."

Reluctantly, the jailer opened the iron gate. Elin stepped inside and placed the food tray he held in his right hand in front of Jemar, who was sitting on the stone bed. The tray contained a cup of water, a small piece of chicken breast, and a bowl of oatmeal sprinkled with breadcrumbs.

"I want to see... Nehari," Jemar's voice sounded as if every sound had been crushed in a mortar.

"Nehari went to visit your master, but if you have something to say to him, speak up now, and I'll make sure to carve it on your tombstone so he can see it when he returns. How does that sound? Or do you plan to eat these things, prolong your life, and regain enough strength to strangle him when he comes back?"

Jemar remained unresponsive.

"Jochev must have said this to you: 'You don't understand your situation.' Now it's my turn to say it, and I'll teach you what your situation is as a member of the Bloodscar Crusader, not as a person."

Elin took out the deck of cards he bought from the adventurer earlier that day. "This gnome asked for twelve copper coins, and I managed to get it for nine. A great deal, isn't it? It's a specially designed limited edition deck of cards, worth at least twenty gold coins to an expert's eye. Look closely, I know the Crusaders don't usually appreciate the beauty of cards like this. Its uniqueness lies in..."

He held the thirteen cards from Ace to King in his hand and sequentially displayed them to Jemar.

"So, the card designs represent significant organizations in Azeroth. Aces are the Holy Light Cathedral, Kings are the Explorers' League, Queens are the Cenarion Circle, and then you have the Argent Dawn for 6, the Thorium Brotherhood for 10, and so on. I can't figure out why the MI7 is represented by the 4 while the Syndicate is a 3. Anyway, these cards cover most of the important factions in Azeroth. Have you noticed the Bloodscar Crusader? No, right? Does that mean the Bloodscar Crusader is considered insignificant by the designer?" Jemar showed some interest, slightly raising his head.

"I'll tell you, the Bloodscar Crusader is here." Elin pulled out the last card from the deck. "It's the Fool's card. There are many interpretations as to why the designer did this, but the most common one is that he obviously had no idea where to place the Bloodscar Crusader in his mind, so he designed it as the Fool's card, which is not used in any regular card games. I can tell you that it's most commonly used in a children's game where players draw cards to match pairs, and the one who ends up with the single Fool's card loses. That's the position of the Crusade – an outcast card that no one wants. But let me tell you, in card games, there's a variation where the one holding the Fool's card can turn the tables and win. So, Jemar, how will you choose? Will you starve to death as an unwanted Fool's card, or will you become a Fool's card with enough power to control your own destiny? It's up to you."

He pressed the card under the food tray and stood up. Jemar tried to open his eyes, struggling to maintain a glimmer of fragile light, looking at him. Elin didn't say anything more. He walked out of the cell and told the guard following behind, "Go back in two hours to collect the tray and give him a little more food."

The original plan was different. Elin intended to deceive Jemar to drink some water under the pretext of "you should at least be able to speak to the Bishop," and then mix medicine into the water. After he lost consciousness, Elin would feed him liquid food. Why do it this way? He thought of Coersta sleeping peacefully under the moonlight and the overlooked grass species in Windi's palm. Perhaps Jemar, too, was destined to struggle for survival in an unnoticed and treacherous environment. Elin had this feeling.