Mysterious Night

After receiving the report from the guards, Elin hurriedly ascended from the dungeon to the surface and saw Nehari and Jorgen just returning.

"So you're back so soon? I guess the Bloodscar Crusader didn't throw you a farewell feast," Elin remarked. "Well then, Bishop Nehari, how did the negotiations go?"

"You can ask Investigator Jorgen. Right now, I must meet with Jemar alone immediately."

"Alone?"

"Bishop Nehari, please wait a moment. Let Elin and me arrange the security measures," Jorgen said, giving a subtle signal.

"Hurry up," Nehari urged.

"Just a moment," Elin raised his index finger towards Nehari, then turned and walked down the stairs with Jorgen. On the steps, he asked, "How did it go? You seem a bit upset, Jorgen."

Jorgen recounted what happened at the negotiation table.

"That doesn't sound like a negotiation," Elin said. "It seems no matter what the Bloodscar Crusader says, Nehari just nods along."

"It's not just that. He also obstructed me from finding out the reason for Jemar's attack on Arlaki. This whole trip was a waste," Jorgen complained.

"But his reasons for doing so are all legitimate, 'for the smooth reconstruction of Andorhal,' aren't they?" Elin replied.

"I don't care how noble his reasons may sound. I know one thing: he's hiding something from us. Whatever it is, it's making him eager to see Jemar and the Bloodscar Crusader reengage, so he's willing to accept their unreasonable demands."

"Maybe it's not that complicated. Perhaps he just wanted to end the negotiations quickly so he could roll around in his plush feather bed in his luxurious mansion... Just kidding, didn't mean to provoke you, relax a bit. Come on, let me show you something nice I bought at the adventurer's camp."

Elin pulled out a small book with a blue cover and handed it to Jorgen. "Read the title," he said.

Jorgen took it and looked at the spine, which read: "Legendary Spy - Storms of Booty Bay" by author Keng.

"What is this?"

"Didn't the commotion you caused in Booty Bay with that incident involving Silversnap generate a lot of rumors? Well, someone wrote this novel about it, and I hear it's quite popular among young adventurers. It's already on its third edition. Of course, there's a lot of artistic creativity in the specific facts... Don't throw it away, keep it for some entertainment later. But for now, let's focus on our task."

Seeing Jemar again surprised Elin. Compared to their last meeting, where Jemar appeared emaciated and pale, he now seemed to have recovered quite a bit. His back was straight, muscles had regained definition, and his gaze held a cautious aggressiveness.

"You've taken good care of him," Jorgen remarked.

"As long as he's willing to take the first bite of food, it'll be easy, because this guy is like a machine. He eats several portions of food, then crazily exercises with his bare hands until sweat drenches a large area of the ground. It's a miracle that he hasn't pulled a muscle so far. This is definitely not the right way to restore his health; it's more like forcing his muscles to recall their combat state as quickly as possible."

"Jemar," Jorgen raised his voice, "Nehari plans to meet with you alone. Since you look fine, we'll have to strengthen security measures, I'm afraid."

"I only need to be able to talk," Jorgen replied.

"Very well... We'll use a metal mask with a breathing hole."

"To be honest, if I had just met this guy, I would have thought using a metal mask was an overreaction. But now I don't think so," Elin said to Jorgen while packing up in the torture chamber. "Wouldn't it be safer to just break one of his arms?"

With the help of two guards, they firmly shackled Jemar in the corner with manacles, chains, and iron hooks. Jemar didn't show any resistance and even raised his hands to allow the guards to loop a chain around his ribs. Before putting on the metal mask, Jorgen said:

"Jemar, I've met your mistress, Demitria. She doesn't seem too eager to see you return, while on our side, the Archbishop can't wait to get rid of you. Your future doesn't look very bright. What do you think? Still not planning to tell me who you're keeping secrets for?"

Jemar's throat moved slightly. "I'm... a wild card."

Jorgen didn't understand the meaning of this statement, and he didn't want to delve deeper because he had exhausted all the methods he knew of to force someone to reveal secrets. This mission was not going well, and he was experiencing a sense of frustration that he hadn't felt in a long time. Now, all he could do was wait for new developments. He put the metal mask on Jemar and tightened the bolts on the side.

After stepping out of the iron bars, he looked back. Jemar, imprisoned in a bizarre contraption of metal, resembled a bronze-colored monster lurking in the dark corner for countless days and nights. The metal mask made his breathing resonate heavily within the cell.

Jorgen and Elin returned to the surface. Nehari nodded at the two and then entered the dungeon. After waiting for nearly an hour, Nehari came out.

"Both of you," he said, "our conversation went very smoothly. I informed Jemar of the negotiation's outcome, and he was very cooperative, willing to return to the side of the Crusaders through the planned steps."

"That's all you talked about?" Jorgen asked.

"Yes, what else could there be?"

As if anyone would believe that. Jorgen continued, "So, when do you think we should set out? Of course, there are also arrangements for the accompanying personnel..."

"I think there's no need to rush. The Bloodscar Crusader has given us a twenty-day deadline. After all, the journey from here to the Sorrow Hill is not an easy one, and Jemar's current physical condition might not withstand such a trek. So, I believe we should give him some time to recuperate."

"Recuperate? He's already recuperated quite well," Elin said. "Otherwise, we wouldn't have wrapped him in layers before letting him meet with you."

"I want him to look like a well-treated soldier, not a captive who has suffered torture and been ravaged by disease," Nehari replied.

"Nehari, you need to understand this: since we arrived here, no one has tortured him. No one," Elin said firmly.

"I apologize. Perhaps I misspoke, but I believe you can understand my point. This dungeon, filled with the wailing of countless victims of the Scourge, is not a suitable place for recuperation," Nehari replied.

"What do you suggest we do then?" Jorgen asked.

"I have an unused small guest room on the ground floor of my residence. He can stay there temporarily. Of course, I will have guards watch over him day and night," Nehari proposed.

"This is absurd," Elin interjected. "You had Jemar bound to protect your own safety, and now you want to stay in the same room with him?"

"Not only will there be guards watching over him day and night, but the windows will also be sealed, and the door reinforced and locked. I naturally prioritize my safety above all else, and you can rest assured about that," Nehari explained.

Elin looked at Jorgen, but Jorgen remained silent. He knew that saying anything would be futile. As an investigator with the power of pardon, Nehari's unusual actions were beyond his jurisdiction.

"I understand that this decision may spark controversy," Nehari continued, "so instead of providing him with other accommodations, having him stay in my residence will attract less attention. I ask for your cooperation in keeping this decision confidential and not revealing it to anyone else."

As Nehari spoke, he maintained a soothing tone, as if the decision he mentioned was a result of mutual consensus among the three of them, rather than his personal dictation. In Jorgen's eyes, it was a blatant provocation. Nehari was steadily proceeding with his plans, providing reasonable justifications for his actions, without a shred of concern that the two MI7 agents might hinder him. He called for guards to untie Jemar, leaving only the handcuffs on his wrists, and discreetly led him to his residence.

"It's frustrating not being able to intervene when someone is blatantly up to something right in front of us," Elin said.

"Clearly, he struck some kind of deal with Jorgen in the dungeon. Unfortunately, we have no way of knowing what it was," Jorgen replied.

"Bringing Jemar to his own residence isn't for a leisurely vacation, right? Nehari must have some special reason for doing so."

"Perhaps it's because of something special," Jorgen said. In his mind, he recalled the navy-blue wooden box on the silver pedestal. It was merely an association, as he couldn't find any connection between Arlaki's ashes and Nehari's unusual actions.

There was indeed no longer any room for interference in the affairs of the "Hammer-wielding Bishop." That night, Jorgen returned to his lodging and lay down on his bed. His brain felt exhausted. In fact, ever since arriving in the Plaguelands, he had noticed that the process of his body growing weary had accelerated. The muddy-colored mist floating above the soldiers' heads, the ash-like powder scattered from decaying leaves, combined with the premonition of achieving nothing on this mission, made him think for the first time in a long while: I could use a few days of rest. How did the people who permanently reside in this place adapt to all this? How much time did it take for them to adjust? Normally, after a day's work, he could fall asleep immediately, but in the Plaguelands, he often found his eyes dry and his ears ringing after closing his eyes, forcing him to open them again.

Jorgen took out the roughly bound novel Elin had given him - "Jorgen's Case File: Tales of Booty Bay." After some internal struggle, he opened the pages. The first sentence read:

"The rain was pouring down heavily. John wiped the mud off his right eyelid and opened his eyes. His vision cleared for just a moment, then raindrops accumulated on his eyelashes and soaked into his eye sockets..."

John... an intelligent choice of name. Jorgen skimmed through the novel, using his rapid reading skills to quickly grasp the main storyline: it was indeed based on the publicly circulated version of the Booty Bay incident. He soon noticed the "artistic creativity" that Elin had mentioned. On page ten, John encountered an orc gladiator with a large sword, and they immediately brandished their weapons, eventually tearing down half of a sailor's house. On page fifty, John escaped the pursuit of over fifty goblins in an arena. Pages one hundred twenty to one hundred twenty-five described a romantic night shared between John and a beautiful noblewoman he unexpectedly rescued. In the last thirty pages, John slew a conniving goblin who controlled gambling operations, along with his troll bodyguard, and became blood brothers with the orc gladiator. However, the noblewoman died in John's arms while taking a fatal bullet meant for the goblin.

Jorgen pondered the word "legend" in the title. He couldn't recall where he had heard the phrase: "When fact meets legend, legends are born." This author was crafting his story - a legend existing only in imagination. Despite the absurdity and humor, Jorgen unexpectedly felt a sense of relaxation. Finally, he fell asleep.

However, his tranquil sleep was short-lived. Around two in the morning, Jorgen abruptly woke up. The novel he had left on his abdomen before falling asleep slipped away. The forgotten candle had burned out, leaving the room in uncomfortable darkness and stifling heat. There was no sound loud enough to wake him, but he did hear some clamor - chaotic footsteps and shouting.

He got up from the bed, left the room, and saw the western sky ablaze with red. It was in the direction of the isolation wards.