Jorgen arrived at the dungeon where Jemar sat just like the last time they met, resembling a rough cast-iron statue on the stone bed, only much thinner.
"I heard you're on a hunger strike, not even drinking water. Why? If you want to commit suicide, you should know more efficient methods."
Before Jemar could speak, his throat emitted a raspy, parched sound, like tearing fabric. "I want to see... Bishop Nehari."
"I can inform him on your behalf."
"Alone. No one else around."
Jorgen didn't rush to respond. He brought a chair from the nearby cell and sat down, gazing into Jemar's eyes.
"What are you doing?"
"That's a question I should be asking. Jemar, what are you up to? Your actions make it hard for me to believe you're truly a member of the Bloodscar Crusader sent to defeat Arlaki. You employ tactics of disguising as our forces and fight bravely, perhaps too bravely, to the point where you lose all your ability to confront real Arakilis. Arakilis is not like the Forsaken, ghouls, or abominations, something you can defeat solely with brute force. So, tell me what your purpose is. Otherwise, you're leading yourself down a dead-end path by demanding to meet Nehari alone."
Jemar leaned back slightly, still silent.
"Silence. That's what you're good at. I know what you're not good at, Jemar. You're not good at lying, at making up excuses to defend yourself, so you resort to silence for everything. Quite a foolish approach, I must say. Here's something I'm thinking: you admitted that the scars on your body are necessary for joining the Bloodscar Crusader, right?"
"Yes, I feel the utmost glory for the branding on my body..."
"Enough, Jemar. You can't even pretend to sound fanatical. When you pronounce 'utmost glory,' it's like someone is whipping you. Better keep silent; it might reveal less. From what I know, the Bloodscar Crusader doesn't subject all new members to torture to 'test their faith.' Those enduring such torment fall into two categories: one, they come from families with a history of the plague. Two, they have shown sympathy towards the infected. Three," Jorgen paused and continued, "they come from areas heavily affected by the Scourge. Among them, those most likely to arouse suspicion and endure the harshest torture are the ones from the third category, as they can't prove they remained untainted amidst the Scourge's encirclement. Essentially, the prosecutors treat them as potential cultists of the curse. Jemar, which category do you belong to?"
Jorgen scrutinized the man who had endured countless sufferings. The unclean air invading the dungeon, days without water or food, had sunken his once stout chest, and his cheeks bore irregular black spots. His blood-red Bloodscar Crusader robe had faded and molded, looking like it had been buried in the depths of a forgotten cabinet for decades. Yet, his eyes bore no trace of despair. Jorgen was intrigued by what kept this man from collapsing. Most Crusaders in similar situations would use zealous fervor to mask their inner vulnerability, but not Jemar. He wouldn't lie or conceal his emotions; the only thing he could do was stay silent. Silence meant freedom.
Unfortunately, with silence alone, one couldn't withstand all the suffering. "I know you won't answer," Jorgen said. "It's fine, as I'm thinking about something else. An interesting association I can share with you. Bishop Nehari was born into a shoemaker family in Andorhal. Though it's difficult to determine whether he left before or after the Scourge invasion, it's clear that this background laid the first brick for him to become a paladin. If he had chosen the Bloodscar faith instead of the Church of the Holy Light, how different would it be? Same background, but would it bring him boasting capital or suspicion and torture? That's enough, Jemar. I'm tired of talking to myself. Reflect on yourself more; in such circumstances, there's nothing else for you to do but contemplate."
Jorgen stood up, ready to turn away when Jemar spoke again, "I want to meet Nehari alone."
"I'll pass on your request. But don't expect too much. If he agrees, before you talk to him, we'll tie you to the corner, leaving only your mouth free, unable to make any move. Speaking might also be dangerous; I've seen prisoners hide a blade under their tongues for a month, then kill an annoying jailer... So, let's add a metal mask too. In fact, I'm looking forward to your meeting, so eat something before that; don't die too early."
"I won't die."
This statement caught Jorgen's attention. Jemar slightly raised his head and emphasized once again, "I won't die." It was a powerful declaration, as if his long silence was to muster the strength to say these words.
Jorgen returned to the ground. Although Jemar was one of the most unique prisoners he had ever encountered, he attributed it mostly to the lack of information he had. Based on the available intelligence, Jemar's motives could include defection from the Bloodscar Crusader or taking some action against Nehari. Was it an assassination? Not necessarily. But whatever he wanted to say to Nehari, security measures were necessary.
When Elin returned to the isolation room, he brought a large bamboo basket covered with white cloth. Amy asked him curiously, "What's in there?"
"Here, I'll return this to you first." Elin took out the patient records he borrowed last time from his leather armor and handed them to Amy.
Amy accepted the documents and asked, "Did you write down their names as we agreed?"
"Of course! I even managed to turn their names into a rhyming song. You can quiz me later. But right now, the more important thing is these..." He uncovered the white cloth on the bamboo basket, revealing a variety of hot meals emitting tempting aromas. "The smell is so enticing. You have no idea how much I suffered on the way here with these."
"Who are these for? I don't understand..."
"According to my personal wishes, I would have preferred that only the two of us enjoy these, but that would go against my intention. I thought those... patients, at least deserve to eat some outside food, get some nutrition. They can't always swallow that thin gruel resembling pigeon droppings, right? Sorry, my metaphor might not be scholarly, but it's quite vivid. Take a look at these; they won't cause any adverse reactions, will they?"
"No, they won't, but... where did you get all these?"
"I bribed Nehari's head chef," Elin said, feeling no need to explain how he concocted a story about a commander's banquet to the chef. "Don't worry, Amy, it's just part of our political games, doesn't compromise the Holy Light beliefs or anything. Now, it's up to you to either help me distribute these delicacies to the patients, or watch me finish them all in an hour. Look, I even brought napkins."
"Alright, alright." Still a bit unsure of the situation, Amy opened the iron gate and together with Elin, distributed the food that far exceeded the standard rations for frontline soldiers.
"It smells so good," a patient from one of the cells said. "Miss Amy, who's treating us?"
"Oh, it's the military..." Amy was cut off midway by Elin's voice. "I'm Elin Tyas," he said, "You should know my name, as I know yours. Sometimes, I copy letters, sometimes I tend to the horses, sometimes I'm a poet, but now I'm just a visitor who brought you these delicacies to share."
Elin's voice sounded like that of a theatrical opening speech. What surprised Amy was that as he distributed food to each patient, he accurately mentioned their names even before they spoke, and with those who could still talk, he engaged in conversation. He knew more than just their names. "Jonathan, your wife sent you a letter. How about writing me a small note so I can pick it up for you and deliver it here?" "Goslin, I asked the chef to remove the bones from the meat. I heard there's a dentist at the adventurer's camp, so don't worry too much..."
The patients responded to him one after another. Since Amy started managing this isolation ward, she had never seen so much vitality here.
Finally, Elin sat in front of the room of a fourteen-year-old girl and said, "Coersta Dipsadong, are you not sleeping? Last time I saw you, you were quite an impressive little sleeping beauty. Come and take your special meal... I had the chef add rosewater to enhance the flavor. It's something nobody else has."
As the girl took the meal through the small window, Elin smiled at her. She seemed a bit uneasy with such an expression and lowered her head in confusion.
"Coersta, how does it taste?"
"I don't know, Mr. Elin."
Amy stood behind Elin and whispered to him, "Her tongue has lost its sense of taste."
"Oh," Elin paused for a moment before saying, "No problem. True delicacies are felt with the heart, felt with the heart! Too many people don't understand this, but Coersta little sister, I believe you."
He heard her vague response from the opposite side of the iron door.
"Coersta, I want to ask you something. Talking while eating is good for chewing slowly, which aids digestion, so you can answer calmly. We heard that when we found you, you were alone in the basement. Why were you there?"
Amy felt uneasy about this question, but to her surprise, the girl replied in a low voice.
"I don't remember."
"Don't remember?"
"I don't remember anything that happened before that... except my own name. Where I was born, who my parents are, my age—I don't know anything. They say it's amnesia."
"Amnesia? Don't let it scare you; it's nothing. I often have amnesia. When I was eighteen, I met a girl named Sally, and then I forgot everyone I had met before her. One day, you'll feel the same way when you meet a really handsome boy, like me fifteen years ago..."
Amy returned to her room, flipping through the patients' files. She didn't even know that Jonathan had a wife or that Goslin had lost nearly half of his teeth. She felt at ease, leaving Elin there chattering away all by himself.
About ten minutes later, Elin stood at her door, with his empty bamboo basket slung over his left arm. "I'm leaving, Amy."
Amy stood up. "Elin, I don't know how to... I should say, may the Holy Light bless you for your good deeds, but I think you probably don't like that kind of talk. So... thank you."
"Good deeds? What good deeds, where? I don't see any. All I see is people enjoying their food, and I've even kept a piece of cheese for myself, see? But hearing you say that makes me feel pretty good. Coersta, that little girl, loves to talk; it's her age. You can spend more time with her, she needs a capable sister to teach her about compassion and womanhood..."
"Elin." Amy suddenly furrowed her brow slightly, biting her lower lip, as if hesitating to speak.
"What's wrong?" Elin put down the bamboo basket.
"Can you find a way... to get Coersta out of here?"
"Me? I'm an outsider, Amy. This kind of thing... I'm not entirely sure whom you need to be accountable to, is it Bishop Nehari?"
She nodded.
"If it's really necessary, I can give him some advice, but you have to tell me why you have this thought. If it's just because of her age... it's best not to get your hopes up too much."
"I know that, but... Elin, have you heard of plague immunity?"
"I only know that it's said that very devout paladins and priests can avoid plague infection."
"Just said, no one can confirm it. Among these fifteen people, there are two paladins and a priest, believe me, they are extremely devout. But those with plague immunity are different. They can truly resist infection, although no one knows why, and the authorities don't acknowledge their existence... They even think such people might be cursed cultists, but in reality, even cultists can be infected."
"Are you saying Coersta belongs to this group of people?"
"Besides losing her sense of taste, her body is completely healthy. At least from what I can tell, there's no sign of infection... Keeping her here is too pitiful. No plague has ever hidden in someone's body for this long. And the others, everyone except her... their conditions are deteriorating. I can't do anything..."
Her voice gradually weakened.
"Alright, Amy. I understand what you mean. I will talk to Nehari about this, but right now, don't cry in front of me. It's dangerous because if you need to cry, it should be in front of Flint, not me. Got it?"
"I know." She lowered her head and pressed her right eye corner with her fingertip.
"I'm leaving."
"Goodbye. And may the Holy Light protect you."
Elin left the room. What am I doing? Jorgen warned me a few days ago not to get too emotional... Oh well. He glanced back at the ward, hoping that the next time he comes, the patients will still want the steaks, fried eggs, and cheese he brought, rather than the blood and flesh of the living.