Jorgen followed the wild boar's footprints deep into the northern part of the forest, until he approached the outer edge of the hunting ground. Along the way, he met a guard with an iron cage at his feet. The guard insisted that what came out of this cage was a hunting wild boar. Looking at the size of the cage, Jorgen believed his words. He then continued north.
The wild boar's footprints had long been broken, and Jorgen began to believe it was just an accident. If someone really wanted to harm Dalia, this method would be too unreliable and unthreatening. At least the old man would never do anything so childish. Of course, it was too early to make any judgments before clarifying Travis's position.
When Jorgen was about to turn back, he came near Stonewell Lake. A sound caught his attention. In the chorus of the lake water washing smooth stones, there was a chanting voice. The sound was extremely subtle, shattered by the splashing of the water, but did not stop echoing.
Jorgen turned his horse towards the direction of the chanting. By the lake, he saw a young woman in a shiny silver armor, riding a neatly dressed warhorse, her golden red hair hanging over her cloak, which was woven with shield-shaped symbols.
She was singing. No lyrics, just melodies chanted with improvised pronunciations. A subtle voice like morning dew flowed from her mouth, sounding not because she didn't want to sing out loud, but because the inherent fragility of this melody didn't want to obscure everything around it, just like particles flowing with the air.
Seeing the woman's outfit, Jorgen knew he should leave immediately to avoid unnecessary trouble. But the singing prevented him from doing so immediately. When the woman stopped singing and turned to face him, their eyes met, and it was too late for him to blame himself for being too careless. She was very young, her gray-green eyes revealing fading innocence.
"Who's over there?" she said.
"Like you, someone responsible for guarding the hunt," Jorgen said. "Are you alright leaving your team and coming to this place?"
"You should also be someone who left the team."
"Actually, I was doing some necessary searches, and...I think the team you belong to is more opposed to leaving the team."
"Do you know me?"
"No. But I can see that you are a Paladin of the Holy Light Cathedral."
"Don't tell me you've been watching me all the time."
"No, I haven't."
As a member of the Holy Light Cathedral, no matter how young she was, having a condescending tone was understandable. Their daily work was to maintain the sanctity of the church's image, not actually fighting on the battlefield. Although the Grand Cathedral and Military Intelligence Section 7 did not have a clear political status difference, agents like Jorgen were already accustomed to the arrogance of the guards.
However, the young woman in front of her did not have an ingrained arrogance in her bones. Jorgen could feel this from her singing just now.
"So, you heard something." She said.
"Yes."
"What do you think of this song? I mean itself, not my singing."
"I don't understand much about this. Not bad, I guess. But it seems it's not finished yet. You didn't stop because you found I was there, but it just ended abruptly."
"Is that so? You can tell it's not finished? That's not bad for a third-rate nobleman like you."
Third-rate nobleman? Good, it seems that this hunting outfit really gave people the impression, Jorgen thought. He had already decided that the next time the royal tailor begged him "to gain artistic recognition", he would not wear the clothes he designed.
"Nobleman? No. My name is Jorgen. I am an investigator of Military Intelligence Section 7."
The girl frowned.
"So you are Mardias's...? Excuse me. I think we shouldn't have talked at first. I'm going back to my team now. Please leave here too."
"I think so too."
"Also," she said, "I hope you will not tell anyone what you saw just now."
When she said this, she looked very serious, as if she was convinced that her words had a deterrent effect. Needless to say, even an ordinary street thug, let alone an investigator of Military Intelligence Section 7, would understand that this sentence actually exposed her weakness. Jorgen really wanted to say to her, "What do you have to ensure that I will obey you?" But he still decided not to trouble the little girl. "No problem," he said, "I won't tell anyone."
"I hope you can abide by this oath."
"Is that it? I thought you would say 'May the Holy Light protect you'. Isn't that the necessary procedure to make an oath effective?"
"For those who only indulge in vulgar darkness, the Holy Light has no mercy."
"Alright then."
Jorgen did not intend to further arouse her religious enthusiasm and did not say anything else. He left the lake; a young girl singing by the river did not seem to be anything worth pursuing. Behind him, the female Paladin entered the forest from another road.
On the way back, Jorgen did not find more clues about the wild boar that had attacked. By the time the horn sounded to end the hunt, he just met up with Military Intelligence Section 7 team. A messenger came up to him and said:
"Lord Shawl wants to see you. Go to the front of the team quickly."
The team was slowly moving towards the designated dining spot. In the middle of the team, someone was carrying a wooden pole tied with a wild boar, dripping blood along the way. Panthonia Shawl rode at the front. His beard was all white, his back was still broad, his cheeks were deeply sunken, and his gray eyeballs were wrapped in rotten bark-like eyelids. Those protruding bony hands, like birds of prey, were hard to look at directly. No one wanted to know what had happened under those hands over the decades.
"Lord Shawl." When he got close to him, Jorgen said.
The old man did not stop. The team was still moving. Jorgen followed about one foot behind his right shoulder.
"Jorgen."
"Here."
"Travis said you protected Dalia from a mad wild boar."
"Yes."
"You are very brave. And have good judgment."
"Thank you, Lord Shawl."
The old man did not speak for a while. Jorgen just followed.
"Jorgen, what job did I arrange for you?" After walking about ten meters, the old man spoke again.
"Now I am the intelligence instructor for Young Master Mardias."
"Then do you remember what you should do. I hope you also know what you should not do. Do you know, Jorgen?"
"I know, Lord Shawl."
"Then why did you do Travis's job for him?"
"I was just forced by circumstances."
"We don't discuss circumstances, just discuss our own business. Do you understand what I mean?"
"I promise this will not happen again, Lord Shawl."
"Do you promise?"
"Yes."
"I will not punish you this time. You can step back."
"Yes..."
"One more thing. Do you think Travis should be trusted?"
Jorgen, who had already slowed down and distanced himself from the old man, could not see his expression at the moment. But he understood that even face to face, it would be difficult for him to capture anything helpful for judgment from the old man's eyes. Probing intentions from tones was even more impossible. Now, he could only answer: "I think so, Lord Shawl."
There was no response. But Jorgen knew the conversation was over.
Talking with the old man was the most nerve-wracking thing in the world. The more perceptive people could feel this more. Words that should have been used for communication became a tightening net in his hands. The occasional gaps found were often just traps. The last question just now, Jorgen had to answer, but answering it meant admitting that there were different positions within Military Intelligence Section 7.
The old man's days were numbered. The body maintained by a large amount of mixed drugs had reached its limit, and no one believed he could live for another five years. As the deadline approached, the gradual decline in deterrence was inevitable. This was the fulcrum for all those with different positions.
However, Jorgen understood that the key factor determining many people's positions was not their own strength, but their reliance on the expectation of the old man's decline, which further proved the penetrating power of the fear created by the old man.
Just then, another team met up with Military Intelligence Section 7 team. There could be nothing more polarized than these two teams: on the one hand was the gloomy Military Intelligence Section 7, shrouded in black mist, on the other was the dazzling Holy Light Cathedral, not stained with a speck of dust under their feet. The two team columns stopped respectively.
The leader of the Cathedral Guards was Archbishop Benedictus. He was much younger than the old man, but also over fifty years old. His peaceful and calm face revealed undeniable self-confidence. His famous golden archbishop's robe was said to have taken ten royal tailors a week to make. Two extremely tall and burly holy knights guarded the left and right, looking like two movable gold and mithril towers.
"Lord Shawl, I'm very happy to meet you and your team that makes the whole Stormwind proud." Benedictus spoke first.
"Your words are too generous, Archbishop Benedictus. How was the hunt?" the old man said.
"With my limited energy, to pay attention to such entertainment for young people is really beyond my ability. Besides, the scene of innocent blood gushing from wild beasts is enough to make my heart tremble and I have to hide my eyes. I am really ashamed."
"That's too bad."
"How about you? I believe you must have enjoyed such entertainment!"
"Not more exciting than a small gamble."
"Oh, gambling and hunting are not things I can adapt to. I really hope King Wrynn does not indulge in these things. The people of Stormwind also need gentler and more beneficial entertainment..."
In order not to continue listening to this spine-chilling preaching, Jorgen was about to quickly retreat to the back of the team. But when he turned, he saw the girl he had met before in the ranks of the Cathedral Guard.
What surprised Jorgen was her position in the team, just after the archbishop's assistant. And she was the only Paladin who did not wear a helmet. Unless extremely high military rank, otherwise this would be regarded as disrespectful. But no matter how you look at it, she doesn't even look like someone with real combat experience.
She noticed Jorgen looking at her, their eyes met for a moment, and then she looked away immediately. Jorgen could see that she was uneasy because of their accidental meeting just now, afraid that he would not keep his mouth shut as promised. Now, Jorgen began to be interested in what song she was singing.