At night, the lights on the ship illuminated a small patch of water on the northern side of the port. The dark green waves passed through the soft, pale golden light, carrying the music and the sound of people dancing to the Shawl and to the shallow waters of the nearby islands.
It wouldn't be accurate to say that this ball was held purely to celebrate Dalia's rescue. Dalia had originally planned to host a dinner party at her home to thank Dean, but the deputy mayor of Menethil persuaded her to organize a broader celebration. The victims of the bandits weren't limited to Dalia; they had been lurking in the area for months, committing at least five kidnappings and three murders, causing panic among many locals. The deputy mayor saw this as an opportunity to reassure the people, but out of consideration for the families of the deceased, the event was not widely publicized, and the venue was limited to a medium-sized fishing boat that had served the Wharton family for many years.
The front deck was the place surrounded by lights and music; Dalia, standing there, was not dancing but talking with some of the town's elders. At this moment, Jorgen was standing at the stern. Some children, unrelated to the ball, ran onto the ship from the Shawl, took a few laps, and then ran back down. At first, Jorgen reminded them not to run around on the boat and not to disturb the guests, but after a while, he gave up. Strictly speaking, he may never have been a competent bodyguard.
He saw Dean walking toward him.
"I think you should at least go and get something to eat," Dean said. "After all, if it weren't for you, there wouldn't be this celebration."
"What are you doing at the stern? The deputy mayor loves talking to you. It's not just him; many people here are waiting to get to know you."
"Don't joke. I feel like some rare animal transported from the desert. The deputy mayor's speech of thanks was too much. The greatest blessing a devout believer in the Light can receive? I'm just here to do my job."
"It seems he doesn't know you don't believe in the Light."
"Actually, I often think about it. But from the time I can remember, my father made it clear that I could never approach any religion in my life."
"How did he make you understand that? With a stick?"
"Using a stick to educate a child is a ridiculous and weak concept to my father. He had his ways, but let's not talk about that."
Another child came aboard, squatted beside a barrel, curled up, looked at Jorgen and Dean not far away, stood up, and ran off the ship. A failed attempt at finding a new hiding spot for hide and seek.
"How long have you been her bodyguard?"
"About two years. But I've been here for almost four years."
"It's hard to imagine this as a place that needs a bodyguard. I looked up the records; the crimes in Menethil are mostly committed by a small number of outsiders. They don't intend to settle here; they just get off the ship, commit petty theft to save up for travel expenses, and then leave."
"That's right. Before she gave me this title, my work for the Wharton family wasn't much different."
"It sounds like she did it mainly to give you a more stable life."
"You could say that."
"Miss Wharton has a talent for quickly making people want to be her friend. Although she tries to respond to these requests, the amount of friendship and care a person can give is always limited. In the end, she can only choose to trust a very few people. I think you're the most important one among them."
Jorgen did not respond.
"Before you came to Menethil, what did you do?" Dean continued.
"Why do you want to know?"
"Because you just mentioned that you've lived here for four years. It's only natural to ask."
"I did other work in other places. Many fishermen here have ancestors who came from elsewhere. If you asked them the same question, you'd get a similar answer."
"This is something I've wanted to ask you for a long time, and now I've finally found an opportunity to make it sound less suspicious, but you still don't want to answer. I'll be straightforward. It takes a lot of real-world experience to have your ability to analyze clues and use weapons."
"Are you suspecting that I was a criminal in the past?"
"Criminal isn't the word I want to use. I'm not here to judge; I just want to know more. You know, many of my colleagues in Stormwind lack your strength, especially in terms of adaptability."
"I was an adventurer for a while. That's all."
"Fine. I can accept that answer."
"In that case, you have an obligation to answer a question of mine."
"Go ahead."
"Are you really an investigator for the Stormwind Guard?"
"You've all seen my credentials."
"I also saw the people who met with you and took away the criminals. The way they spoke to you didn't seem like they were just dealing with a colleague or superior. If you do indeed have another identity, then your purpose for coming here this time is apparently not just to hunt down those kidnappers."
"Well, Jorgen, I was originally hoping we'd get to know each other better, but now it's turned into mutual suspicion."
"It wasn't me who brought up the topic."
The band switched to a faster-paced tune. Dalia shook off two town officials and waved to them.
"You should go and keep her company. This ball was organized for you, after all, despite your pretense," Jorgen said.
"I should go. And I indeed look forward to dancing with her; there's no need to hide it. The previous topic isn't over, Jorgen. Perhaps soon, I will honestly answer your question, but that depends on your choice. The place where I work needs someone like you. Spending your life in this overly peaceful port... that could never be what you truly want."
Jorgen watched Dean return to the ball and take Dalia's hand.
In fact, Jorgen had many more reasons to doubt Dean's true identity, but there was no need to say them. From what Jorgen knew, the people of the Guard generally appeared rather rigid, placing great importance on procedural conduct. In contrast, Dean seemed more like someone who had accidentally wandered into Menethil and accidentally teamed up with him to rescue Dalia. To call him an adventurer didn't quite fit either; Dean didn't have that overly casual and often self-inflated demeanor. When they initially planned to rescue Dalia, Jorgen, being unfamiliar with Dean, had been distinctly wary of him, but soon found himself having to agree with Dean's arrangements. When facing off against the defiant bandits, Dean could have easily taken their lives but chose not to. This action added a subtle sense of authority to him.
Jorgen was still reluctant to accept Dean's final assertion. Whether or not to continue living in Menethil was not something others could impose on him. The sense of resistance was also due to the fact that Jorgen had indeed considered this before. The nomadic life he had once led—whether alone or with others—held no fond memories for him. To just stay in the relatively peaceful Menethil... he hadn't considered a better option. He didn't see himself as fundamentally different from the people of Menethil, who had lived off fishing for generations.
He was just living.
Having learned to kill was just an accident.
One day, he had to pick up a knife. Whether or not to kill was not something he had time to consider. Just as a fisherman does not consider the lives or feelings of the slippery creatures when pulling up the net.
He looked toward the center of the ball; Dean and Dalia were undoubtedly the focus of everyone. The lights and the band existed for the two of them. Any man who tried to dance with Dalia, no matter how much he encouraged himself, inevitably appeared awkward and clumsy—not just in terms of dance skills or appearance, but because they realized they were becoming an obstacle in the audience's view of Dalia. Dean was different. Just as he had suddenly appeared in Menethil as a savior, he appeared at the ball and at Dalia's side with the same confidence and control. Like her, he was someone who stood above.
Dalia looked genuinely happy. Of the two common smiles Jorgen knew of hers, one was not only sincere and natural but also irresistibly childlike—after all, she was only eighteen. The other was equally heartfelt but also expressed concern about the current situation, even a hidden worry. Now he saw a relatively unfamiliar smile on her face. It was hard for Jorgen to explain his feelings at that moment; he found himself seemingly hopelessly resisting the infectiousness of that smile.
"Jorgen."
At the sound of the voice, he saw Shelley board the ship and stand to his left. The light from the bow illuminated the outline of her face and left shoulder.
"What are you standing there for?" she said.
"I thought you weren't coming."
"I just finished today's work."
Based on their past interactions, Jorgen expected Shelley to start complaining, so he waited. But she said nothing, turning her head away. Jorgen walked up to her, reaching out his right hand to touch her face, wanting her to face him.
"What are you doing?" she said. "Do you have to make me say it out loud?"
"Let's dance, Shelley."
"That doesn't sound very enthusiastic. I know, you're a bodyguard, not a guest..."
I've never really been a competent bodyguard.
It didn't take much time for Jorgen to persuade Shelley to join him in the dance on this old deck. They both knew, secretly, that they would never be the kind of enviable dance partners that Dean and Dalia were not far away; that fact couldn't be changed, but it didn't matter. They were like the shimmering fish scales that had accompanied every sunrise and sunset in Southshore, the sand with the scent of the sea breeze, and the anchors that would eventually rust but remained strong. They chose, and were willing to be, such a pair.
At least for that year, they believed this in their hearts.