Dean had a striking charisma which Jorgen noticed the first time they met. He was like a key figure in an epic heroic painting, naturally attracting the eyes of all, regardless of gender or age. However, Jorgen soon learned of the peculiar contradiction between Dean's outward charm and his inner self.
Seeing Dean again after years apart, an old friend, a mentor of sorts—Jorgen had to suppress the part of ordinary human emotions within him. If not embroiled in a murder case, he might have heartily invited Dean out for a few drinks to catch up. He needed to find out as soon as possible why this man was here.
"Long time no see. The last time we sparred, you gave me quite a bit of trouble with that move. Have you been too leisurely? Or have I improved a bit?"
"I guess both, Jorgen."
Dean put his twin daggers back into their sheaths. He was dressed all in black, presumably for easy stealth, but the wide-brimmed hat looked strangely conspicuous. He was thirty-two this year, but did not look much older than Jorgen.
"As expected, the person who has been picking up letters from Falcido every three months and keeping in touch is you. Unfortunately, I couldn't tell my colleagues this conclusion in advance."
"Is that so? How did you know?"
"Isn't it obvious." Jorgen said. "The fake address on the envelope was '17 Seashell Street'. Now you show up, isn't it to protect your seashell girl?"
"You're right, it is...quite obvious. Just my luck that you're investigating this case, making me look like an idiot selling the most clichéd riddles."
Dean tilted his head back and exhaled with a smile. "Seashell Girl" was his pet name for Dalia, and there was no one else in the world who would call her that.
"You seem smarter, old friend." Dean said.
"If I'm not mistaken, the murder case I'm currently investigating wasn't done by you. Give me an answer."
"No. I haven't killed anyone."
"Good. That makes my job much easier. I would like to catch up with you, but...we have more important things to discuss. Things are so messy I don't even know where to start."
Dean noticed Shelley's portrait on the table by Jorgen's bed.
"By the way, how are things between you and Shelley? Though I followed you just now, I couldn't hear what you were talking about, what a pity."
"No, not talking about this, Dean. I'll give you many topics to choose from, but this is excluded. We have no time."
Jorgen understood in his heart that this was perhaps the most bizarre old friends reunion scene in the world. No small talk, no hugging, no handshaking. But he knew that Dean did not suddenly appear to catch up. They were both facing an extremely urgent situation, the importance of which needed no emphasis, only immediate action.
When Dalia was kidnapped four years ago, that was how they did it. No time to emphasize the importance of things; they only wanted the result after the event was resolved. The innate understanding of this way of doing things was one of the important reasons why Dean brought Jorgen to Military Intelligence Section 7.
"First question. Why do you keep in touch with Falcido?"
"I needed to know how Dalia's life was after I left. I really miss her...Falcido only needed to give me some simple words like 'good' or 'not good', sometimes also talk about her itinerary. And...how my son is doing. "
"Now that Dalia has come to Southshore, there is no need for you to pick up the letters."
"You're right. And I don't want to cause more trouble, I know you're already onto that letter."
"Why don't you go see her? I'm sure that would be the easiest thing in the world for you. All these years, whenever Dalia asked me if I knew where you were, I couldn't look her in the eye. And Mardias, don't you want to see the son you've never met?"
"No, not now. The situation is very complicated and dangerous now, Jorgen, and your investigation hasn't gone that deep yet. Some things you just can't investigate are the key to the current problem. I really need your help, so I'm going to tell you everything, old friend. This is about why I left Military Intelligence Section 7, why I left Dalia..."
It was clear from Dean's expression, this was going to be a difficult conversation. Jorgen had long known that Dean was a man born into the wrong family. He possessed unmatched combat skills, but lacked the most critical thing to prevent him from becoming the true heir to the Shawl family. When the two rescued Dalia years ago, although most of the action plan was devised by Dean, it was he himself who ultimately hindered the swift completion of the rescue.
He couldn't kill. When sensing that his dagger was about to take a life, his fingers would disobey him, and his heart would suffer intense torment, in his own words "like someone trying to bind my heart with iron wire."
"I wouldn't call you weak," Jorgen told Dean at the time, "you're just...not well suited."
Dean did not accept Jorgen's view. As the biological son of Panthonia Shawl, yet unable to even kill, "weak" was as polite as it could be. And this weakness was not limited to this one thing.
"I know I can't change, in fact I refuse to change. The time after I met you and Dalia, I was really happy, able to temporarily forget about this trouble. But that's impossible. I promised Dalia countless times that I would make her happy—but that was just self-deception. As long as I'm Panthonia's son, that day will never come."
Eventually, the day came when Dean had to make a decision. He paid the price for his own weakness.
What Dean said next was something Jorgen had not considered at all. He absorbed every word Dean said, gradually forming a complete puzzle in his mind.
Although Dean had always concealed his problems, disguising anything from Panthonia was futile. He had pinned the future of Military Intelligence Section 7 on his yet unborn grandson, preparing to raise Mardias in an even more severe way than he had raised Dean. He was over sixty now, he couldn't afford to make another mistake.
He carefully selected three infants to accompany Mardias as he grew up, to undergo the harshest training together and naturally become friends. When they reached the proper age, Panthonia would arrange an opportunity for Mardias to prove his strength - assassinating these friends who grew up together one by one.
"He called this the 'Hunting Ceremony'. These babies were all talented young officers and healthy noblewomen's illegitimate children," Dean had to pause, "he bought them off with a little gold. Of course, no one dared refuse such a deal."
Dean did not want this to happen to his son. To grow up in the Shawl family meant being drawn into a whirlpool of murder and conspiracy from birth. He wanted to rebel, more than once wanted to assassinate his own father to stop it all—but he couldn't.
"Even if I really killed him, then what? His confidants would eventually discover the truth and know that I didn't have the ability to run Military Intelligence Section 7. Then what could I do, kill all these people too? I couldn't, Jorgen.
"Dalia didn't know any of this. Whenever she had me put my hand on her belly, imagining what kind of person our son would become...I had to struggle to conceal my nearly collapsing heart. As the due date approached day by day, my fear deepened day by day. It was like facing a deep pit full of venomous insects, and you had to step in—taking your wife and child with you."
In the end, Dean chose a self-deceiving solution. He took those babies and fled Stormwind City.
"Every time I think of this decision, I can only laugh at myself, and each laugh turns into disgust and curse—I disgust myself, curse my lineage. Dalia, my seashell girl, and our child—in my eyes, they were one, the only thing that gave me hope. But I left so irresponsibly, deceiving myself that it was to protect them."
Enter Military Intelligence Section 7, don't hope for anything. The phrase surfaced in Jorgen's mind again.
"How are those babies now?"
"They are all fostered in a place I consider very safe. At least for now."
"You took them away, won't the old man just pick a new batch?"
"The parents of these illegitimate children were all personally selected by him. Long before I met Dalia, he had tracked and investigated couples all over the kingdom for years, and eventually selected three pairs, forcing them to have children whether they were in love or not. In this sense, he was a perfectionist and would not settle for those 'rejected men and women' in his mind. Besides, old age did not allow him the time to do so again."
Jorgen frowned, looking into Dean's eyes. In Menethil Harbor, Dean seemed generous, warm and naturally charming, and it was precisely these qualities that quickly attracted Dalia. But in fact, he was an overly frank, overly fragile man. All these years, he had been struggling under the old man's thumb, eventually choosing to flee.
"Don't blame yourself too much, Dean. We should now..."
"No, I haven't finished yet. Let me tell you what really makes me suffer."
Dean closed his eyes, his right palm covering his mouth for a long time, as if preparing for a difficult psychological process. A few seconds later, he lowered his hand and said:
"Do you know where Panthonia's idea of the 'Hunting Ceremony' came from in the first place? Me. When I was fourteen, he found out that a childhood companion I grew up with was actually a descendant of one of his political enemies, and had me kill the boy. The utter lunatic thought this was a good way to test the heir, and decided to apply it aggressively to Mardias. And that child, you can imagine, I did not kill him, but took his arm back to make up for it. His name was Jalo Camille, now alive and has become Syndicate's top assassin, constantly seeking revenge against me. I believe he is the man you are looking for. So the current situation is entirely of my own making."