Compared to the surrounding temporary tents covered in mud and dust, the magnificent mansion before the three of them seemed completely out of place.
Flint said, "This is the best-preserved estate. It used to be a Count's mansion before the fall. Of course, it wouldn't look like this if it hadn't been extensively restored by craftsmen."
"Who funded the restoration?" Jorgen asked.
"Most of it came from donations received by the Church. I know what you're thinking, but for now, it's not our concern as members of the MI7, right? Besides, it will be used long-term and may become the central political building in future reconstruction of Andorhal."
"You have an interesting way of saying things, Flint. Just now, you said it's not our concern, and now you're defending it," Elin said.
"From a personal perspective, I believe the people living here deserve this treatment. He should be in the study on the second floor. Let me take you there."
The interior facilities almost made one forget that this house stood in what was, until recently, a plagued area. Jorgen could almost envision noble salons held here at night. However, it also had features distinct from noble mansions: designs and colors that incorporated the style of the Holy Light Church, complete with a small altar. As they ascended the spiral staircase to the second floor, they could see through the windows that there was a courtyard being constructed behind the house, with gardeners tilling the soil. The soil was obviously brought from elsewhere, displaying a healthy, fertile dark brown color. In fact, so far, no tree species had been found to grow successfully in the soil of the plagued land.
Rebuilding Andorhal? How do you rebuild a place where even the soil refuses life? Jorgen realized his thoughts were drifting too far. It wasn't his concern. Someone else would worry about those things.
They stopped in front of the study on the second floor, and Flint pushed open the door, saying, "Apologies for the interruption, Bishop Nehari. We have two individuals from the MI7 in Stormwind..."
"Your assistant has already informed me," the person inside the room interrupted, closing the book in their hand. They turned around and said, "So, one of you must be Agent Jorgen... Ah, it's you. And the other must be Agent Elin."
Bishop Nehari Chartost, though Jorgen had known he was only thirty-two, appeared younger than Jorgen had imagined. He wasn't dressed in bishop's robes, but rather resembled a holy knight. He had indeed been a distinguished holy knight but had forsaken that role to "serve the Holy Light more fully." With remarkable determination and charisma, he became the youngest bishop in Stormwind's history. He also defied the customs of the church by insisting on fighting on the front lines, earning him the nickname "the Bishop of the Battle Hammer." Due to these factors, his reputation among the younger generation of church members was second only to Benedictus. While the older generation of priests complained about his aggressiveness, lack of clerical decorum, and departure from church traditions, they were left speechless in the face of his illustrious achievements and widespread popularity.
And in this decisive battle, it was he who personally crushed the head of the summoner Arlaki with his warhammer, bringing his reputation to its peak. Jorgen had to admit that Flint was right: this man was deserving of enjoying this mansion.
"Flint has already shown them around the city. I'm curious to know your impressions," Nehari said, his gaze alternating between Jorgen and Elin, but it felt like genuine interest rather than scrutiny.
"Lack of order, chaotic planning, weak defense fortifications," Jorgen spoke up. "Although one shouldn't expect too much from a city reclaimed from the Scourge... but I can only speak the truth."
Nehari smiled. "And what do you think, Agent Elin?"
"Even if I were to speak, it wouldn't add much. Just one thing to add: who thought it was a good idea to have a poor nurse manage fifteen plague-infected individuals? That's a minor concern compared to the fact that the isolation house is so prominently located... Whoever arranged that, what did they think the house was for? A puppet theater?"
Flint interjected, "Both of you need to consider the practical circumstances here. Such harsh criticism is..."
Nehari interrupted Flint. "Your colleague is right, Flint. Since both of you are directly under the Shawl, I expect mature and honest opinions. Our work is indeed challenging but not meaningless. You can take a look at the books in this house."
"There's an astonishing number of them," Jorgen said.
"Yes. Among them are rare editions and manuscripts that even the Royal Library of Stormwind couldn't find. What's truly valuable is that they are books left behind in Andorhal, untouched by the Scourge's destruction. We painstakingly saved them, book by book, from the ruins. Rebuilding the city is no different; it requires careful construction, brick by brick."
"The city and your private library are different things," Jorgen remarked.
"I must clarify that Bishop Nehari has already declared that this library will become public property. Although you are directly under the Shawl, I have to say, Jorgen, your remarks are overstepping," Flint said.
Jorgen realized that Flint clearly hadn't understood the definition of being directly under the Shawl.
"No, no, that's not the case. As a holy servant, one must never let personal desires surpass the will of the Light. I accept all reasonable admonitions. By the way, although it's a bit late to ask, do you need to alleviate your travel fatigue first...?"
"Greetings will suffice, Bishop. We're here to see Jemar, the Bloodscar Crusader you captured. Where is he?"
Nehari placed the book back on the shelf and remained silent for a moment before speaking. "I'll take you there. But before that, I want to make one thing clear: we need to reach a consensus on how to deal with him. So, please don't agitate him too much and refrain from discussing any agreements with him on your own. Flint, attend to your own matters. I'll take these two."
Although Flint was reluctant, he turned and left. Nehari led the two along a path behind the house.
"We have him confined in a quarantined dungeon. It used to be the place where the Scourge kept human prisoners," Nehari said.
"I'm curious to know how he was captured," Jorgen said.
"He led a small squad of Bloodscar Crusaders and was the first to charge at Arlaki. Quite surprising, isn't it? Unfortunately, such bravery lacked prudence. In the end, he was the sole survivor. Fair to say, when facing the Scourge, the Bloodscar Crusaders are fiercer and more skilled in combat than anyone else. But I can't fathom why Jemar appeared at the center of the battlefield. Do you understand what I mean?"
"Of course. He was the guardian of the Bloodseer Demitria, who is said to have prophetic abilities. That's also why we came here."
Known for her prophetic abilities, the Bloodseer Demitria always traveled between Tyr's Hand and Stratholme with the protection of nine guardians. The presence of one of her guardians in the heart of the battle in Andorhal raises questions. Stormwind has been cautiously handling its relationship with the Bloodscar Crusade, and all political forces are reluctant to take individual risks and bear responsibility. There has been an unspoken agreement to jointly discuss and decide on this matter.
"At first, we recognized him by his attire and the tattoo on the back of his neck. He didn't admit it himself, but our forces stationed in the Eastern Plaguelands confirmed it: Demitria's side is now left with only eight guardians. Although we don't understand why she hasn't replenished the ranks, we can set that aside for now. The dungeon is just ahead, and remember what I said: don't agitate him, and refrain from any negotiations."
The dungeon door was guarded by four soldiers, slightly more than usual for just one prisoner. The three of them descended into the narrow, dark passage. Despite multiple cleanings and quarantines, the cracks in the walls and the peculiar marks left by Scourge instruments couldn't be erased. There was no need to erase them because soon enough, they would be replaced by human-designed instruments of punishment and shackles.
The lower level had eight cells, but only one held a prisoner. As Jorgen approached the iron bars, he saw the Bloodscar Crusader he was looking for sitting on the stone bed facing outward. Elbows resting on his thighs, hands clasped under his chin, he stared at them with an unwavering gaze, as if he were the one interrogating them.
"Jemar, these two are investigators from MI7, Jorgen and Elin. They wish to speak with you," Nehari said.
Jemar remained silent and motionless.
Elin whispered to Jorgen, "Look at his fingers."
"Noticed," Jorgen replied. Jemar had seven fingers without nails, clearly lost through torture. In addition, his exposed skin, such as his arms and collarbone, bore numerous burn and cut scars of considerable age.
"Who subjected you to such torture?" Jorgen asked.
Jemar still did not speak.
"He's always like this, extremely uncooperative," Nehari turned to Jemar. "You're relinquishing your right to speak up for yourself. Although our beliefs differ, as fellow followers of the Light, I hope we can have further communication."
"Bishop Nehari," Jorgen said, "could you please step aside for a moment and leave me and Elin here?"
"Well... and the reason is?"
"If he continues to be uncooperative, then the proceedings cannot proceed. MI7 operatives have their own methods, including procedures that should not be divulged. So, it's best if you step aside. Rest assured, we won't employ torture—there's no place left on this man's body for that."
"We had an agreement before coming here..."
"Rest assured, we won't agitate him excessively, nor will we take any unauthorized steps. Right now, all we need is to gather information."
"Very well," Nehari said. "I trust you. After you're done, please return to my residence."
After Nehari left, Elin stretched her limbs. "I feel much more at ease now that he's gone. It's not easy for someone to pass as half their actual age."
Jorgen said, "He's gone, Jemar. You can speak now, right?"
After a few seconds, Jemar spoke for the first time. "Why?"
"Even though you're keeping an eye on us, your attention has always been on him. I don't care what kind of trickery is going on between you two, but right now, I just want to say: we are from MI7, and we are not in league with him."
Jemar chuckled, a cough-like sound. "Compared to MI7, don't you think a member of the Bloodscar Crusade would be more inclined to befriend the Holy Light Cathedral?"
"Not at all. Because of how you treat your own. Look at the scars on your body. Prosecutor, interrogator, call it what you will within your ranks. These wounds are the price you pay to join the Bloodscar Crusade."
"Required procedures," Jemar said. "I come from a humble background. I must undergo tests."
"Tsk, you've taken the art of masochism to a whole new level," Elin said. "Listen, Jemar. If there's any organization in Stormwind that sees you as a person, it's MI7. When we interact with you, we won't use the smooth-talking rhetoric of the Holy Light Cathedral, or spout grand speeches about the common interests of humanity like the Stormwind nobles. We only care about intelligence. Frankly speaking, have you realized your situation?"
"I'm in a dungeon, wearing shackles. Do I need further explanation?"
"No, you're currently lying on the chopping block, with some people undecided whether to barbecue you or slow-cook you. But don't expect a good outcome. The bishop probably went to get the pepper, and he'll be back soon. The only ones who can help you now are MI7, of course, depending on your attitude."
"What can you do to help me?"
"I'll be blunt. You provide us with intelligence, and we guarantee your survival in this power struggle."
"You want me to become a lapdog for MI7?"
"No, no. The key question now is, do you want to continue living?"
Jemar lowered his hands, resting them on his knees, and leaned back, his upper body disappearing into the darkness of the cell's interior. He spoke:
"I am a loser. A condemned man."
The conversation came to an end. The two of them walked along the ground. In the hallway, Jorgen asked, "What do you think?"
Elin replied, "It's interesting, not your typical Bloodscar Crusader. Insulting his organization, no reaction. When asked if he wants to live, he gave an ambiguous answer. I can't quite see that fanatical fervor that refuses to compromise."
"So, do you think he believes your words?"
"No. He should know that I was just testing him, not really expecting MI7 to trade intelligence for his life. But even in such a situation, he maintained a vague stance. He wants what I said to be true."
"But without a significant amount of fanaticism, enduring the torture to become a Crusader is impossible."
"Who knows, maybe he suddenly had an awakening? Don't throw things at me to answer when you can't even figure them out yourself."
"Regardless, you at least brought up a point. Challenging Ar'ak in Andorhal as a lone soldier is suicidal, requiring terrifying fanaticism to accomplish. As a Crusader, if he doesn't possess that fervor, it means doing this goes against his will. Of course, it's also possible that he doesn't belong to that Bloodscar Crusader outfit at all."