"Change into these."
Jorgen held out a pile of clothes in his right hand. Bossia hesitated for a moment, then took them over and said, "These are all men's clothes."
"I don't care if you look like a man or a woman in them, just make sure you won't trip over when running. And this," Jorgen handed Bossia a large bundle of cloth, "Use it to wrap up all your armor."
"Is this really necessary?"
"We have already discussed this. Hurry up and change." I'll wait here, don't go too far away."
Bossia hugged all this stuff in her arms, then went to the nearby grassland, looked around to find shelter, until she saw a tree wide enough for two people. She looked back at Jorgen to make sure he wasn't looking this way, then ran behind the big tree.
After leaving Goldshire Town, Jorgen once thought of returning to Stormwind City. The Archbishop's task for him was to clear Bossia's charges, not to find out how Neil died. Now he could be sure that Tortoro killed Neil under the influence of the old man, although he still did not know why, but this was enough. He only needed to tell the Archbishop the fact that Tortoro was interrogated by the old man, and the Archbishop could openly question the legitimacy of the old man arresting Bossia with this point, bring in the living witness Ena, and then use his own political influence to maneuver indefinitely. The final outcome would be inconclusive.
But Jorgen could not be satisfied with this. He wanted to know why the old man used such a complicated yet cautious means to harm a civilian singer who posed no real threat, while framing a Paladin who even lacked combat experience. The so-called debt owed by Tortoro may not even exist.Whether this was to cover up something, or another plan to seize power, or both, the old man's behavior showed that he was afraid he might fail and was desperately trying to avoid it. This showed that he also had the same weaknesses as ordinary people: fear. Jorgen wanted to grasp the old man's fear.
The starting point of this fear was Neil Jessie. He must gain a better understanding of what happened to this man, which was consistent with Bossia's purpose.
Yesterday night, when they camped not far outside Goldshire Town, Bossia said, "I want to go to Moonbrook Town."
"Why?"
"After he left me, he lived there for a year in a life I don't understand. Something must have happened then."
"You already know. His supporters caused riots there, and he himself was engaged to another woman."
"That's not 'knowing', just 'aware of'. And don't you think that woman Katie Uwell is very suspicious? She was his fiancee, but as soon as Neil died, she left so quickly."
"She may have been threatened or felt danger."
"Why are you defending her?"
"I'm not defending her, I'm just analyzing. Because no matter how you look at it, she looks forced to leave. Moreover, you now know what the old man is capable of."
"Just say if you're willing to go or not."
"You were so scared just a while ago, and now that you're temporarily safe, your attitude has changed so quickly? —Don't look at me like that, just kidding. Your joy and anger are too obvious and detrimental to action. Moonbrook Town, of course I'll go, I had this plan all along. "
"Okay then."
"To go to the Westfall, you must pass through the checkpoint at Westbrook Garrison."
"I know this."
"You can't just go over like this."
"Didn't I just come out of Stormwind City?"
"The real gates of Stormwind City are around Elwynn Forest. Checkpoints like Westbrook Garrison inspect travelers very strictly. Hoping to sneak through in a cloak is simply impossible. Tomorrow I'll go back to town to find you some suitable clothes, change all your armor. Also, I'll have to get the horse I left at the inn back, and get another one for you."
"Is this really necessary?"
"What we have to do is not just cross the border, but cross the Westfall all the way south to Moonbrook Town. To think of concealing your identity all the way dressed in that armor - it's impossible."
Bossia thought silently for a while and said, "Well then, do as you say."
After that, the two were silent for a long time, watching the fire in the middle, until Bossia yawned.
"Go to sleep if you're tired. We have a long way to go tomorrow."
"What about you?"
"I'm not tired yet."
"I've heard that people from the MI7 never sleep when someone is watching, because it makes you feel unsafe."
"That legend of yours is no longer popular, I've heard better stories. In fact, every time the people of the MI7 sleep, they dig a hole in the mud, bury themselves in it, and cover it with leaves above, because that's really safe."
"You people are strange."
"We're just not afraid to be called strange."
Bossia spread her cloak on the ground and lay down, closing her eyes. After a while she turned over, with her back to the campfire and Jorgen.
"You said earlier that my joy and anger were too obvious and detrimental to action."
"Simple truth. It affects your judgment, and lets your opponent get a grasp of your intentions in advance. In short, it causes all kinds of trouble. "
"Shouldn't it be like this in front of companions too?"
"It doesn't matter in front of companions, but you need to adapt now."
"For example, you can't show hatred for someone in front of them and let them know you don't like them?"
"This is the greatest taboo. The people you hate are often your enemies, so you can't show it in advance. But there is one exception."
"Exception?"
"When you're about to kill your enemy the next second."
"Then ... if you love someone, you can't express it either?"
Jorgen was silent for a moment.
"Usually not."
"How tiring it is to live like that."
"Instead of thinking about these irrelevant things, you might as well go to sleep quickly."
"...Good night."
The sound of Bossia walking through the bushes brought Jorgen's thoughts back to the present. She stood before him, holding a large bundle full of armor in her right hand.
Jorgen looked her over. "Still fits. This will do."
"I feel like a huntress, except without a bow on my back."
"Huntress? No. You're a little too unlike that."
"What's unlike that?"
Jorgen was about to say "Your hair is too long and too beautiful", but still held back. He believed that after a period of travel, her hair would be dyed with enough dust, so he changed his mouth and said, "It doesn't matter. Now we have to deal with the stuff in this big bundle."
"You don't want me to throw it away, do you?"
"Only temporary. If we can safely come back here, these things will still be needed. Now it's time for it to learn from our MI7 people and go to sleep in the hole."
Jorgen looked for a soft patch of mud nearby and began digging holes. With only a dagger and no other tools, he could only dig out a rectangular shallow pit and arrange the pieces of armor in it one by one.
"The shape of this pit ..." Bossia said.
"What's wrong with the shape?"
"It looks like a grave."
"There are no graves this shallow in the world. And when the time comes to take it out again, it will be more convenient this way."
"Burying it in the wild like this ... is it okay?"
"Accidents always happen. But now you can only pray that no one finds it."
He spread out the bundle cloth on the neatly arranged armor parts, intending to seal it with mud and leaves, but remembered something.
"There's one more thing you didn't give me."
"What?"
Bossia realized Jorgen was looking at the short sword on her waist.
"This won't work."
"If it were an ordinary long sword it might be fine. But there's gold and gems on that sword of yours. Crossing the border like this, they'll think you murdered a merchant to get it. Quick, give it to me."
Bossia unbuckled her long sword and handed it to Jorgen. Jorgen put it in the pit and covered everything with the bundle cloth, then began kicking the dug out mud back in.
"What if something happens? I still need a weapon, don't I?"
"Use this, my spare dagger."
He took out the dagger from his leather armor and threw it to Bossia. Bossia caught it and drew it out of its sheath, examining it.
"Is this really your spare dagger?"
"Why not?"
Bossia flipped the dagger, letting the sunlight slide over the blade surface. "There's a carved 'J' letter at the very bottom. Isn't that the initial of your name?"
"So what."
"A commemorative weapon would have such a name mark, wouldn't it?"
"Because it's a memento, it's a spare." A year ago I happened to save a weaponsmith, and he made me this dagger as a gift."
"Really sharp. Quite handy." Bossia tried waving it a few times.
"Do you know how to use it?"
"Just because I haven't participated in actual combat doesn't mean I don't have weapons training."
"You saying that reassures me a lot."
Jorgen knew in his heart that the dagger was much better crafted than his usual dagger. But the J dagger had not hurt anyone yet, and the blade had not been stained with a drop of blood. Holding such a clean weapon in his hand, he always felt a lack of realism.
Bossia and Jorgen together covered up the things under the bundle cloth. When she was about to leave, she squatted next to the place where the armor was buried for a long time, staring at the mud. Buried beneath it was not just her armor, but the only thing she had been able to trust wholeheartedly for a long time. When facing the cold eyes of the guards, when Neil left her, when trapped in the suffocating dungeon, only this armor accompanied her. She put her hand on the mud, letting the grass and gravel prick her palm, and said in her heart, "I'll be back soon", then stood up and said to Jorgen, "Okay, let's go."
They mounted their horses and rode along the highway, away from the increasingly lively Goldshire Town due to the opening of the circus. The lively townspeople talking about the circus would not know that nearby, a mother and daughter had been driven mad; just as Jorgen and Bossia did not know that as they buried the armor and Bossia said "like a grave", Ena was burying her own mother in a real grave. In this world, everyone is too busy.
Jorgen soon found that he did not need to slow down to take care of Bossia. Bossia's riding skills were quite good, and she was galloping with all her might. Bossia, that's good, Jorgen thought. At the moment they could only hurry on their way, with no time to consider when they could return to the place where the armor was buried, or whether the two of them could return together.