Now all Jorgen could do was watch.
No one could use daggers like Dean. With his incredible skills, he could turn daggers, such small weapons, into terrifying offensives like tidal waves. Those who fought against him would feel like a small boat with torn sails in a stormy sea, facing thunderclouds, gales and huge waves, helpless. If Jorgen had not seen it with his own eyes, he would not have believed that anyone's blade combat ability could match Dean's. But the facts before him forced him to admit that Jalo had at least equal strength to Dean.
Jalo wielded the curved knife skillfully, transferring the power of his exceptionally strong left arm to the blade, like a huge iceberg that no big wave could shake. Although in a defensive position, the ice ridges on the iceberg that portended disaster could cut off the throat of any reckless person at any time.
Jorgen understood that even if he was not nailed to the ground, this was a fight he could hardly participate in. His skills were just magic tricks in front of these two. Although he often practiced with Dean in the past, with wins and losses, Dean did not even exert half of his strength at that time. But now, Jorgen believed that Dean was mentally prepared to kill Jalo. He no longer needed to hold back.
Unfortunately, this was not a fair duel.
In the duel, Dean accurately captured all kinds of sounds: the collision of blades, the tearing of air, and the footsteps crushing the sand. These sounds could better indicate his battle. However, another sound completely unrelated to the battle occupied his brain: the sound of sand leaking out little by little. He seemed to see the tiny sand grains piling up little by little into hills; at the same time, the sandbag tied to the rope was shrinking; the taut rope loosened slowly, allowing the huge blade to slide down.
This allowed Dean to be the first to be hit. His dagger failed to completely stop Jalo's curved knife, leaving a four-inch scar on his left upper arm. Although it was a very light injury, it startled him. He lifted his left arm to look at it, as if he did not believe that the scar was part of his own body.
This was the first time Jorgen saw Dean wounded in battle. He obviously could have avoided this blow, Jorgen thought.
"What, don't you know you can bleed too? Young Master Shawl?"
In the face of Jalo's verbal provocation, Dean launched another offensive. Things started to change from then on. Because he was unable to devote himself wholeheartedly to the duel, he was injured, and this injury caused him to lose his composure. The sound of sand falling became louder and more irritating in his mind, causing him to unconsciously look towards Dalia several times, resulting in several more injuries.
"What are you doing, Dean!" Jorgen couldn't help shouting.
Dean retreated a few meters away from his opponent. He was much more tired than his opponent.
"This won't work." Dean said.
"It seems that the noble young master Shawl finally understands that he is just fooling around." Jalo waved his curved knife and sprinkled a row of blood stains on the ground. He looked back at the gallows and continued, "Don't worry. We have time...as long as we don't waste too much."
The blade hanging on the gallows had dropped several inches. As the rupture in the sandbag gradually expanded under the impact of the sand, the blade would drop faster and faster. Dalia and Shelley gave up struggling again, as they no longer had the extra strength to do meaningless things.
Jorgen could only try his best not to look at the gallows.
"Dean," he said, "concentrate and kill that bastard. That's the only thing you should do now."
"I still can't do it like you..." Dean said.
"What did you say?"
"... 'One target at a time.' It seems I can't accept your advice, Jorgen. I'm sorry."
Jorgen remembered the warning he gave Dean half an hour ago:
"You must make up your mind, Dean. For you, killing Jalo and saving Dalia are two goals, not one. You can only choose one goal at a time."
Dean couldn't do it. He intended to continue his way of doing things for over a decade.
Suddenly, a large handful of sand gushed out of the rupture in the sandbag, spilling out abruptly because the bottom had collapsed. The blade instantly dropped a large distance, and Jorgen seemed to hear the sound of it slicing through the air. He could no longer force himself not to look over there—the blade was almost reaching their heads.
If the situation did not change, they would die soon.
Seeing Dean flip one of the daggers in his left hand and pinch the blade with his fingers, Jorgen understood what Dean was going to do. He had no way or reason to stop him.
Dean's left hand suddenly lifted and threw the dagger out. At the same time, he rushed towards Jalo. Jalo knocked away the dagger flying towards his throat, guessing that Dean would make a suicidal attack on him, so he raised his hand to defend. As a result, Dean rushed past him. He ran to the front of the sandbag, grabbed the rope with his empty left hand and lifted the blade back to the top. Then he let the rope wrap around his left upper arm tightly and cut off the section connecting it to the sandbag.
Dean was going to accomplish two goals at once. Kill Jalo and save his wife. There was not enough time to cut open the several ropes wrapped around her, so this was the only way he could do it. He held onto the rope with his left hand, tying the lives of two women to his left hand, and placing his hope of survival on the dagger in his right hand.
"Are you insulting me?" Jalo suddenly roared, "Do you think your right hand alone can stop me?"
He rushed towards Dean. What happened next was instantaneous, but however many years later, Jorgen could clearly recall what happened in that instant.
Dean swung his blade at Jalo, but was avoided. Jalo flashed behind him. Unable to turn around with his left hand restrained, Dean could not resist Jalo's attack.
The curved knife was inserted into Dean's upper back, then slit down to his lower left waist. The intense pain caused Dean to lose control of his body. Jalo threw down the curved knife, quickly untied the rope originally wrapped around Dean's left hand, and twisted it around Dean's neck.
"Since you are so eager to exchange your life for theirs, I will grant your wish."
Jalo kicked hard at the wound on Dean's back. Dean's body tilted forward and the rope tightened violently.
Jorgen heard the sound of Dean's neck breaking.
Dean's head lowered, and the dagger fell from his hand. His hands hung down, and he was almost kneeling on the ground, with his knees still more than an inch from the ground. His body replaced the sandbag, pulling the blade to prevent it from falling.
Jorgen heard Dalia's unbearable cry. The voice under the bandage was even more intense, making Jorgen's heart tremble. For several seconds, his mind went blank. He saw Dean's lowered head, lifeless hands, and the fresh blood flowing from his back to the ground. Jorgen seemed to see that blood not only seeping into the soil, but also flowing into the ocean and soaking the sky.
Jalo picked up the curved knife and stared at Dean's body for a long time, then looked at Jorgen, Dalia and Shelley. "If you were not here, my revenge might have been more pleasant. Now I am not happy." He said.
"...What are you still standing there for," Jorgen said, "we haven't finished yet."
"I said before that Dean was the main dish and you were the dessert after the meal, it seems I was wrong. Now you and these two women are just the remaining stains on the tablecloth. Look at him like this! The young master of Military Intelligence Section 7, the darling of Stormwind City! In the end, strangled to death like a thief. This is the fate of you people."
"Do not insult him by using the Military Intelligence Section 7. He does not belong to the Military Intelligence Section 7. Only those of us who kill people without nightmares are."
"Enough. The fun of this matter ends here. Let me clean up the remaining stains like you... Oh, and a little Mardias to deal with. But I think I will probably keep him by my side. Anyway, you won't live to see that day. "
Jalo held the curved knife and walked towards Jorgen. His movements were slow. No hurry.
When the two were close enough, Jorgen raised his dagger, but was easily shot down by Jalo's curved knife waving like a whip. In the next second, Jalo had already flashed behind Jorgen, pointing the curved knife under his neck.
"Take a good look at the last scene in front of you."
The corpse of a friend, a former lover tied to a pillar—this was really an uncomfortable scene before death, Jorgen thought. But I don't intend to end it like this.
Before Jalo pulled the curved knife, a muffled burst suddenly erupted between him and Jorgen. He involuntarily took a few steps back and looked down at his abdomen, finding a charred imprint spreading on the surface of his clothes. He pressed his hand on that place, then took it off, covered in black blood.
Jalo looked up and saw a small hole in the center of Jorgen's back armor, emitting a pungent odor.
"Gun...? You actually hid behind your back..."
Jorgen withdrew his hand from behind his back, holding the sawed-off shotgun. This was the one that had been leaning against the blind old man's feet all the time, which Jorgen had taken away when he left. He never thought that his poor marksmanship combined with this ancient firearm could hit Jalo, but at point-blank range it was different. He had been waiting for Jalo's only chance to get close to his back. After all, for Jalo, cutting throats from behind was still his favorite way to kill.
Without saying much, he fired a second shot. This shot went into Jalo's heart. Jalo spread his arms and fell heavily on his back. It seemed that he said something before he died, but Jorgen didn't hear it clearly. The fresh blood flowing from the two bullet holes in him soaked his curved knife in a blur of red.
Jorgen suddenly felt a sense of physical exhaustion. Or some invisible pressure had squeezed his brain dry.
"I'm sorry, Dean. I shouldn't have rushed up at first. But I should have grabbed the rope later. And I should have told you about this plan first...What have I done? One target at a time is just bullshit. Nothing matters if you can't live... "
He looked at Shelley and Dalia. Then he looked at his right leg, which was still nailed.
"Wait for me, I'll come save you soon. Soon...Soon. Wait for me."
Jorgen knew Dean's back wound was still bleeding, which would also reduce the weight. Even if this was not enough to drop the blade, the wild wolves in the forest would come here sooner or later following the smell of blood. He had to rescue them immediately, then things would really be over. To do this, he first had to mobilize his right leg.
He tried to pull the spearhead nailed to the ground. It was nailed too deep, and his powerless hands couldn't pull it out directly. But there was another way.
He took the shotgun and fired at the ground. The soil scattered, and the front end of the spear came loose, but the vibration transmitted to the wound in Jorgen's right leg caused him to immediately fall to the ground, almost biting his own teeth off.
But it wasn't over yet. He couldn't crawl over with the spear, he had to take it out. But the barbs above made it impossible for him to pull out directly, so he aimed at the end protruding from his thigh and fired another shot.
He finally screamed in pain, biting his lips and breaking them. He lay on his back, his abdomen rising and falling violently with difficult breathing. The scene in front of him began to blur. He looked at the gallows, then at the spear—not broken, just twisted into a strange shape and scorched black.
"Wait for me....I'm coming to save you soon. Dean, wait for me to untie that thing from your neck... .Shelley, wait a little longer, it will be fine soon..."
Whether these words were actually spoken or just left in his mind, Jorgen did not know. There was no past or future left in his mind, only this moment. He found a hard stone and used it to smash the section of the spear that was almost broken. Every smash brought unspeakable pain, and every smash made him lose consciousness for several seconds. When he smashed it for the fifth time, he finally lost consciousness.
In the last moment before closing his eyes, Jorgen seemed to see pale smoke drift across the night sky. It curled and twisted, winding its way to the end of the mountains and the distant coast.