A Clash in the Twilight

Jorgen noticed that Pick was a frail and feeble dog. Its fur was dirty, its ribs were visible, and there was a large burn mark on its right flank. With proper care, it might have become a decent watchdog, but for now, Althea's grip was enough to immobilize it. Despite this, it maintained a fragile sense of aggression, occasional glimmers of intensity shining in its dim eyes.

"I want you two to leave immediately. Darkshire doesn't need you," Althea said.

"Miss, don't talk nonsense. These two are here to help us..." Delta began, but was interrupted.

"I wasn't talking to you, Delta. The town has been protected by the Night Watch that my father formed. Everyone has been doing fine. Why do they have to come and interfere now?"

Delta looked like he wanted to approach Althea and pull her away, but Dalia spoke first. "Let her voice her thoughts, Mr. Delta. If we were just here to put an end to her childish stone-throwing behavior, I wouldn't have come today."

"My idea is simple, and do I really need to repeat it? — Get out. Take those boxes of badges with you too. Don't try to label the Night Watch with your own methods."

"You know we can't comply with that," Dalia said.

"I know how much Elro listens to you. So, if you really insist on staying, there's nothing I can do, right? But this is just the current situation. I will become the Night Watch Commander, sooner or later. By then, your dogs of the MI7 will have a tough time. I'll rally the townspeople and remove all the unnecessary filth you leave behind."

Delta raised his right hand to his mouth, tapping his index knuckle against his teeth, his elbow trembling. In his position, the situation was extremely difficult now, and it seemed that Dalia had no intention of changing it. He dared not interrupt again, so he turned his beseeching eyes toward Jorgen. Jorgen didn't respond further either, and poor Delta, the town's secretary, could only continue staring dryly at everything before him, wondering if he should just avoid the situation altogether.

"Althea, do you want to declare war against the lawful governance of the kingdom?" Dalia said.

"Why should you come here to manage Darkshire? We've been self-sufficient all along, never asked a single copper from Stormwind, and still have to pay taxes to you. We have the Night Watch that my father established, and we've never feared the threats of beasts. Yet, your army is here to suppress us. When those bandits attacked the town a year ago, you bastards turned a blind eye. And then, when my father protected everyone with the Night Watch, you accused him of treason, pushing him to commit suicide... He was innocent, you know why? Not because he didn't violate your rules, but because Darkshire has nothing to do with Stormwind's regulations. People remember what you've done, don't think having Elro toadying around makes Darkshire welcome to you."

This child is too naive. Elro, you'd better reconsider your approach to her education. Jorgen understood that Althea was trying hard to appear tough, but the result was merely a paper cannon that had no use outside the theater. Her speech wasn't fluent, although she said it in one breath, she stumbled over quite a few syllables. Jorgen guessed that she had prepared for this speech beforehand.

"Do you realize you're declaring that you would commit treason?" Dalia said. The secretary trembled even more when he heard this statement, his cheeks turning pale.

"Treason? Can't you understand my words? Fine, let me put it more simply: the people of Darkshire can handle their own affairs. We can have no dealings with the Kingdom of Stormwind and survive on our own strength. If you insist on contaminating Darkshire, when I become the Night Watch Commander, I will lead everyone to cut off the dirty hands of Stormwind and the MI7. By then, you won't get anywhere near here. For Darkshire, for my father's honor, we won't fear shedding blood..."

Dalia took a step forward and slapped Althea's right cheek hard. This slap was heavy and sudden. Althea's grip on Pick loosened, and Pick hadn't expected its support to suddenly vanish. It fell to the ground almost back-first. It let out a low, muffled whimper, limbs flailing to prop itself up, barking at Althea twice.

"You won't fear shedding blood? What right do you have to say that?" Dalia continued. "You... you're still just a child. I've just seen your classroom, there are many children there, your age or even younger. They all live their lives in Darkshire. What gives you the right, in your childishness, to swear an oath to make them bleed when they grow up?"

Althea didn't say anything. She pressed her hand against the spot where she was slapped and then charged towards Dalia. Jorgen stepped forward and grabbed her wrist, about to pull her away, but he noticed that Althea was holding a makeshift dagger. He drew his own knife and brought it down to disarm her, then grabbed Althea's collar, pressing her back against the carriage, with the tip of the dagger aimed at her eye.

In those few seconds, Jorgen heard how Althea's heartbeat suddenly accelerated, and he saw how her aggressive gaze shattered instantaneously, like glass easily breaking on a stone. Now, her right hand trembled from the impact, her back firmly against the carriage, she leaned her head back as much as possible, her fearful eyes fixed on the J-shaped dagger less than an inch from her eye. A faint scratch appeared just under her left eye, though it was nothing more than a thin red line, and no blood had flowed. It was a wound caused by her own dropped knife.

While Jorgen had known Althea to be a hands-on girl, and it was expected for her to retaliate against Dalia, her action of drawing out a blade surprised him. It was beyond what could be tolerated. He also recognized that he was pointing a dagger at a fourteen-year-old girl for the first time. While Althea clearly had weapon training, and her attack was reasonably fast and accurate, Jorgen knew he didn't need to draw his weapon; there were much simpler ways, like twisting her wrist, tripping her, or numerous other methods. However, in that moment, he chose the most extreme way of responding.

He stared into Althea's eyes. Now, all that was left in her gaze, besides fear, was confusion - she probably had forgotten why she was being treated this way.

"Jorgen." It was Dalia's voice. He only heard it when she called the second time.

"Let her go," she said. "I was the one who struck first, and she has every reason to be angry."

"She drew a blade, and you didn't. That's the difference. Althea," Jorgen tightened his grip on the dagger, "you said you were willing to shed blood for Darkshire. But that's something you're supposed to do after becoming the Night Watch Commander. You're not prepared for bloodshed right now, unfortunately, no one will give you the time to prepare. Delta, did you see her draw the blade just now?"

Delta's wide eyes were veined with blood. Both corners of his mouth drooped, as though something heavy was pulling down on both sides of his face. "A blade? Yes, I saw, I saw," he said.

"You attacked a mission executor directly under the command of the Stormwind Council. That's a form of treason. I could kill you right now, and as long as Delta doesn't change his testimony, I wouldn't bear any responsibility. You keep saying that it's not about the law... what I can do to you right now can also be said to be not about the law. The only fact is, I could kill you right now, and your supposed Darkshire townsfolk who are willing to bleed with you can't do anything to me. Do you understand?"

Althea was not only trembling uncontrollably, but the sound of her labored breaths had turned into a hiss, as if the wind couldn't find its way out of a narrow crevice in a cliff. Breathing was difficult for her, and her heart seemed to be pounding outside her chest.

"Jorgen!" Dalia's voice rose, but she also didn't dare approach. "What are you doing...?"

"This is my job. The essence of guarding is to ensure that the person you're guarding remains unharmed, and any effective means can be employed for that purpose. Right now, she's temporarily disarmed, but I must ensure that such incidents don't happen again in the future."

I know what I'm doing. Jorgen understood that if Althea's malicious target hadn't been Dalia, he might not have reacted so fiercely. However, Dalia should be aware that she wouldn't be harmed by that slap because he was right there; now, she seemed to think he had gone too far. This suddenly reminded Jorgen of a night nearly a year ago in the Plaguelands: he had almost killed a person wearing the scarlet crusader robes due to the death of someone else. The uncontrollable rage he had experienced that night seemed to surge within him again.

He felt Althea's fear. Her trembling transferred to his hands. Her once wild eyes vanished in the dim daylight of Darkshire's forest. The scratch under her eye widened due to the tension of her facial skin, and it started to bleed, just as if a tear had fallen from her eye. Jorgen knew he had gone too far, but admitting it wouldn't help quell his internal anger. The last time he felt like this was because of a friend's accidental death; this time, it was merely a young girl facing Dalia's blade—

"There can't be a next time." Jorgen released his grip, kicking away the dropped knife. Althea seemed to snap back from a faint, gasping for air with great difficulty. She looked at Dalia, then down at the ground, unsure of what to do. The blood from her eye corner was close to dripping down her chin, and Dalia stepped forward, pulling out a handkerchief to gently wipe it away. Though her touch was gentle, each wipe seemed to prick Althea like a needle.

"Leave," Dalia said.

Jorgen took a step back, and only then did Althea dare to move. She lowered her head, leaning down to pick up Pick, her dog, from the ground, ready to leave. But this time, the mongrel dog jumped out of her arms and ran towards an old man in blue-purple robes who had just appeared not far away. The old man knocked the ground lightly with the slender stick in his right hand, and Pick obediently sat down.

"What... what's going on here?" He looked at the people before him one by one, his gaze cautious, as if he had realized that he had stumbled into a situation he shouldn't be involved in.

Jorgen recognized him as the old man who had followed Pick behind the carriage when they entered the town yesterday.

"None of your business here, Abercrombie." Dalia, who had finally caught her breath, said. "Take your filthy dog and leave."

"I'm just here to take Pick home."

"Yeah, so can't you just do that? Go, go."

"Right." Abercrombie nodded, drawing out the syllable. "Sorry for the interruption. I'm going home... going back now. Pick, come."

Pick didn't move, and Abercrombie gave it a few light smacks with his stick. "Running around with that girl all day, you've forgotten who's been feeding you?"

"Abby, don't hit it!" Althea finally managed to utter some words, though her voice was hoarse.

"Miss Althea, I don't want to hit it either. But where can you find a dog owner who doesn't hit his dog?" He tapped the ground again. "Let's go, Pick."

He turned and left, Pick following without looking back. Althea regained her strength to move, glanced around at everyone, quickly averted her gaze from Jorgen as it met his, and then walked briskly toward the direction of the estate.