The original City Hall of Andorhal suffered no devastating destruction. After being quarantined and undergoing simple repairs, it became a place for storing various documents. After releasing Windi Featherwing, Jorgen requested Renner to accompany him to the main archives in the City Hall.
"What are you looking for?" Renner asked.
"The original records of the former residents of Andorhal. Such as local histories and family genealogies. Without the consent of any commanding officer here, the administrators won't allow me to enter."
Renner pondered for a moment. "Jorgen, I can take you there. But first, answer me one question: Who is this related to?"
"If I say it's related to Bishop Nehari, what would you think?" Jorgen replied.
"I'm in a difficult position. I want to help you, but no matter what, he is my highest commanding officer in this place. Regarding personal information about Nehari, if it's without his consent..."
"That's exactly why I came to you, because it's impossible to obtain anything directly from him. Perhaps you don't know, as one of the bishops of the Holy Light Cathedral, he has the authority to grant immunity to the MI7. It's a reciprocal arrangement, on the condition that the Cathedral refrains from religious condemnation and judgment of the high-ranking members of MI7. That night, you mentioned that you were born a soldier and expressed your dissatisfaction for those soldiers who are still missing and have no bodies to be mourned. Therefore, you hoped to entrust this matter to someone who can impartially handle intelligence. Now is the time for you to fulfill those words. Have you ever heard that Bishop Nehari Charlostu is a descendant of Andorhal?"
"To be honest, it's the first time I've heard of it," Renner admitted.
"It's not a secret among the priests of the Holy Light Cathedral, so there's no harm in telling you."
"You certainly don't beat around the bush, Jorgen. But I know that's just who you are... Well, I'll take you there." Renner stood up from his chair. "But don't take anything with you from there."
Jorgen didn't want to appear too pushy in front of Renner, but he had no other choice. As Ellyn had said, this place was a land of plague, and if anything were to happen, there would be various unpredictable factors that would exacerbate the situation. The bishop had already sent a messenger to notify the Bloodscar Crusader, and the situation would surely change after he returned with the message. Jorgen had to do as much as possible before that happened.
Renner led him to a large room in the eastern corner of the City Hall, resembling a library. Most of the things here remained as they were before the Scourge attack, as if after all these years of turmoil, they were frozen in time, preserving the impressions they held in the eyes of their original owners. The most noticeable change was that the smell of disinfectant almost completely masked the scent of the wooden bookshelves and aged pages.
"This place houses all the official records that can still be identified," Renner said. "You want to find information related to Nehari from the family records and local chronicles, right? We can search separately."
"No need, Renner. I can handle it on my own."
"Don't trust me, huh?"
"It's because I have received professional training in this field, and you haven't. You might overlook something useful. You can go about your own work... or choose to stay here."
"...I'll stay here. If you need any help, just call me at the entrance. I can stay until around four in the afternoon."
"Thank you."
As Jorgen watched Renner walk towards the door, he thought to himself: Have I told him too much? If it weren't for what happened three years ago... No, I can't dwell on "ifs" because they hold no meaning. The only thing that matters is to focus on the task at hand.
The records were organized by type and alphabetically, and while everything was orderly, the volume was much larger than Jorgen had imagined. Sometimes he wondered why the Scourge had left behind so much human historical data. Perhaps it was as war spoils, evidence that those once living things now only remained as fading characters on yellowed pages.
In the family records, he didn't find anything noteworthy. These genealogies were mostly written by hired hands for the nobility, filled with grandiloquent language, but precise in recording important family events. There was no mention of Nehari or the surname "Charlostu." According to Nehari's own account from his youth, he came from a devout cobbler's family in Andorhal, and this background provided significant leverage for his becoming a paladin. However, since becoming a bishop, he no longer needed to rely on this to proclaim his devotion to the Holy Light.
If Nehari truly came from a cobbler's family, it was unlikely that relevant information could be found in the family records or local chronicles, as those were reserved for influential families. Whether cobblers, miners, private innkeepers, or hired farmers, they were just small components in the statistics of births and deaths. Jorgen had to find another breakthrough. Nehari claimed to come from one of the most devout families in Andorhal, with close ties to the local church, being a generous benefactor and tireless volunteer. Perhaps there would be something he needed in the priest's notes at the church.
Jorgen wasn't disappointed. One priest had recorded an astonishing number of notes during several decades of service, leaving behind over three thousand pages. Jorgen estimated Nehari's year of birth and searched for the corresponding pages, then began flipping through them. The first sentence he found was:
"Mr. Midos Charlostu, the cobbler, has been donating half of his income to the church for the past three months. His generous contributions have gained praise among the priests..."
He quickened his pace, and after nearly a hundred pages, he came across this sentence:
"Today, I had the honor of conducting the baptism and naming ceremony for Mr. Midos's son. After consulting the holy scriptures of the Holy Light throughout the night, I chose the name 'Nehari,' which represents 'a saint who spreads the glory of the Holy Light in the world'..."
Another hundred pages passed:
"Today, Mr. Midos brought me joyful news: his wife..."
Jorgen flipped to the next page and discovered it was missing. It wasn't a case of decay or deterioration but a deliberate tear. Someone had torn it away. Carefully, if the pages weren't spread open, the remaining scraps wouldn't be visible. In the following hundred pages, there was no further mention of the Charlostu family. There was no need to check any further, he thought.
Jorgen approached the doorway where Renner stood with his hands behind his back, gazing out the window at the soldiers marching in formation.
"Renner."
"Did you find what you were looking for?"
"Are there visitor records kept here?"
"According to the procedure, yes."
"I want to know when Nehari last visited."
"We'll have to check with the administrator... Follow me."
In the administrator's logbook, Nehari's name appeared one month before Jorgen and Elin arrived in Andorhal, which was the second day after the reopening of the archives. He had made three consecutive visits within a week.
"Hey, right eye, right eye! Right eye counts as 150 points."
"Sir Elin, which right eye are you referring to?"
"You fool, it only has one eye on the right side. The other one that looks like an eye is a burst tumor."
"Oh, let me show you... Ah, I almost got it."
"Then you missed your chance to surpass me. Next one. Let's see... the second elbow on the left side. That one only counts for eighty points."
On the eastern edge of Alliance territory, Elin directed two guards to take turns shooting arrows at a nearby abomination for amusement. The abomination's brain tissue had been destroyed, rendering it immobile, but its body stood upright, swaying slightly from side to side like a bloated, grotesque scarecrow. It had been pierced by approximately fifteen arrows, and the hook on its right forelimb dragged on the ground.
No one knew when it had appeared there. When the guards discovered it, they nearly sounded the alarm, mistaking it for an enemy attack. How many people had it killed? It no longer mattered, as it was just an object—a soldier could boast of killing enemies, leaving behind tales for their descendants or feeling remorse, but not for abominations.
"Sir Elin, how many points do I have?"
"Let me think... Nine hundred points. And as for you, seven hundred and forty points. It's alright, you'll have another chance..."
"What are you doing?" Flint's roar came from behind. He approached swiftly, and the soldier who was about to draw his bow lowered it. Flint glared at Elin, then walked past them toward the swaying abomination.
"Hey, it's dangerous to get so close," Elin said.
Flint ignored him and drew his blade. Unlike the dagger commonly used by investigators, his weapon was a short sword. Sensing the presence of humans, the abomination reacted, raising its right hand and weakly swinging its hook. Flint didn't bother to dodge, instead striking directly at the joint where the hook connected to the abomination's wrist, causing the iron chain and hook to fall to the ground. His second strike targeted the abomination's knee, causing it to lose balance and collapse. Flint then severed its head with another swift stroke. The abomination emitted a strange hissing sound from its throat before its massive body fell completely still. Flint wiped the green fluid from his blade onto the bark of a nearby tree, sheathed it, and returned to face the guards, delivering a heavy slap to one of them.
"Is it you who made them do such a pointless thing?" He stared directly at Elin.
"Pointless? No, I just thought they were bored standing guard, so I gave them some entertainment, a post-meal exercise of sorts."
"I can't believe a direct agent would engage in such reckless behavior."
"Believe what you want. It's my break time, and I'm not interested in taking a nap."
"I don't care who you are, but don't let me see this happen again."
"Oh, carrying a lot of resentment, are we, Flint? Just hope you don't bring that expression when you meet Amy."
Flint had originally intended to turn and leave, but those words made him pause.
"What do you mean by that?" he asked.
"Just colleague concern. I happened to hear that you once proposed to her, so I thought it's only natural to try and present your best self in front of her. Don't judge these poor lads, I didn't hear it from them. Long-distance relationships can be quite dangerous, especially when the woman has to be around plague-infected individuals all day."
"You..."
"Calm down, Flint. As a direct agent, I can tell you that staying calm is of utmost importance, even though I'm not very good at it myself... Anyway, take care of Amy. I mean it."
This seemingly out-of-place advice at the end seemed to defuse Flint's emotions. He looked at Elin with eyes transitioning from anger to confusion.
"What are you really here for?"
"This has nothing to do with what I'm doing. I'm just observing at all times. Keep your eyes open, if you really care about Amy. Understand?"
Flint didn't respond and turned to leave. Elin himself didn't know why he had warned Flint. Ever since the events of last night, that ominous premonition had been lingering. And Flint's anxious and nervous expression whenever Amy was mentioned had affected Elin. When did I start caring about other people's love lives?
He turned around and said to the two guards, "Alright, he's gone. Let's continue with the second round. The first target is the palm of that big fellow lying there."