Silhouette of Deception

Jorgen sat on a bench in the infirmary. Across from him, Mardias had his left eye closed, his head held high while the doctor stitched and bandaged the wound on his forehead. Light from the window illuminated the dust floating between the doctor's back and Mardias's disheveled hair.

"Finished," the doctor declared.

"Will it leave a scar?" Jorgen asked.

"I can't guarantee it. There might be some minor marks, but they should fade over the next few years."

"Get out. Close the door," Jorgen said.

The doctor didn't utter a word and left the room. Now it was just the two of them. Mardias, with his head level, stared at Jorgen. Because the wound was just above his left eyebrow, he still kept his left eye partially closed, which made him look unnatural.

"How does it feel?" Jorgen inquired.

"Not much."

"What do you think I'm asking about? Whether that tiny scratch hurts? I'm asking about your thoughts on defying orders and disrupting the plan, Mardias. Because of you, a simple task, which should have been perfectly safe, ended up this way. The difference between no casualties and one person lightly wounded is substantial, especially when the wounded person is you."

"It's just a scratch. Maybe I'm just too lucky. I suppose that's bad news for you?"

Jorgen disregarded Mardias's uninteresting retort. "There's no such thing as luck. Our operating principle is precise action for precise results. If your training were more rigorous and your reactions quicker, even if you disrupted the plan, you wouldn't get hurt. The fact that you weren't shot isn't luck. You didn't die, but it's not without some losses. It's a reflection of your abilities."

This morning, Jorgen received a report that someone was randomly shooting pedestrians from the rooftop of a building in the bustling city. Considering that Mardias had no practice with this type of situation, Jorgen decided to have him accompany him. When they arrived at the scene, Jorgen found an elderly dwarf who claimed that a human had swindled him out of all his savings and then disappeared without a trace. He demanded that Jorgen bring the man to him immediately, threatening to continue shooting innocent people until the entire ammo box by his side was empty, leaving one bullet to commit suicide. Once he learned that no one had been injured in the sporadic shooting, Jorgen realized that this was just another example of the dwarf's stubborn way of pursuing justice. If it were a human, some harsh measures might have been necessary, but Jorgen believed that this dwarf could be persuaded. After securing the surrounding area with his subordinates and contacting a sniper for precaution, Jorgen began negotiations, standing about twenty yards away from the dwarf.

"I just heard about that swindler. He's a scam artist we've been tracking. You'll get your money back. But if we let you hurt someone in the process and you end up in jail, what good will it do? Drop the gun," Jorgen said.

The dwarf sniffled and showed a disgusted expression, but gradually lowered the gun to the ground. It was at this point that Jorgen realized that Mardias, who had been standing by his side, had disappeared. During the negotiations, he had secretly entered the room directly below where the dwarf was stationed, then climbed up the building from the window outside, planning to subdue the dwarf. Perhaps when the dwarf said, "I've been in battles," he wasn't lying because, as Mardias's upper body was barely emerging, he sensed the movement and immediately picked up his gun, turned back, and pulled the trigger. Bullets hit the floor, and the flying debris struck Mardias in the forehead. Jorgen's initial reaction was to rush forward, and he could barely see the dwarf; he assumed Mardias had fallen off the building. When he reached the dwarf's side, Mardias had climbed back up, his left eye closed due to the blood soaking it.

"I hit a child," the dwarf said, "I actually hit a child."

"Shut up," Jorgen replied, only to realize that Mardias was trying to draw his dagger. Jorgen grabbed his hand and said, "Is embarrassing yourself not enough? Go sit to the side and wait for the medics."

From Mardias's current expression, Jorgen couldn't tell what made him angrier: getting shot during the operation or the words, "I actually hit a child."

Now, in the infirmary, as he watched the process of suturing the wound, Jorgen truly understood how dangerous the recent incident had been. It was not about death, but at least losing an eye was a real possibility, all stemming from a minor disturbance that ended without any casualties. He couldn't hide his frustration with Mardias's actions.

"Listen," Jorgen said, "he didn't actually hit anyone, at most, he disturbed public safety. Considering the response principles for different races, he'd only have to pay a fine and be detained for a few days, and he could leave afterward. But now, he'll probably spend several years in jail. During negotiations, I promised we wouldn't send him to prison. I've become a liar."

"Since when do we require providing genuine information on suspects?" Mardias retorted, but his reply remained weak. He strained to open his left eye, not avoiding Jorgen's gaze. Jorgen suddenly realized that perhaps Mardias's lackluster verbal skills and the direct choice of attack over negotiation both stemmed from his long-standing characteristics: he was not articulate. He had been like that since before he was nine, and now, at fourteen, it was still the same. When discussing the details of cooperating with informants, he always immediately presented his terms, without taking any time to understand the other's feelings. He didn't believe in or couldn't rely on the power of verbal communication, preferring action. It was a simple conclusion, but Jorgen only realized it today.

"Mardias."

"What?"

"Where did they send you these years?"

This was a question that shouldn't have been asked, one that could potentially lead to trouble. Mardias didn't respond, but Jorgen didn't expect an answer either. He continued, "I know you only spent three months in Ravenholt. In these five years, you must have been to many different places. Whenever you arrived, completed the training arrangements, and had to leave. And the whole journey had to remain confidential."

"What are you trying to say?"

"You've been so busy, with hardly any chance to speak. Few people have the right to speak to you. You might not even know what you've been through."

Mardias forcibly opened his left eye again, which then closed slightly. His back remained straight, his breathing rate slightly increased, and his right index finger, resting on his leg, trembled. Jorgen observed these actions and was sure he was right. He believed that the elder had made a mistake in this regard. The long years of confinement-style education had left Mardias with no opportunity to learn how to understand human emotions. In this regard, he was no genius. The elder knew better than anyone what qualities a leader of MI7 needed and had tried to install these qualities in his grandson as if they were detachable parts. However, he forgot that Mardias was first and foremost a person.

But Jorgen just sighed. He said, "You still have a lot to learn. It's true that we often play the role of deceivers, but it doesn't mean we have to refuse to trust anyone in every situation. That's all I'll say. Write the mission report in under an hour and hand it to me for review."

Jorgen stood up and left the room. He knew that his recent conclusions might have been too hasty, and understanding them wouldn't make the situation any better. He also realized that perhaps he was the elder's most loyal assembly worker. Seeing Mardias bleeding, the first thing that came to his mind was: it's better not to leave any scars on the face of the future leader of MI7.

He returned to his office. After a while, Elin entered.

"I heard the young master got hurt," he said.

"It's not too serious," Jorgen replied, suddenly remembering something. He flipped through his desk's schedule. "Why are you still here? Isn't today the day you're supposed to leave for Lakeshire?"

"I'm just about to go," Elin replied.

At that moment, Jorgen saw Elaine peering into the room with half her face through the door crack. As their eyes met, she quickly withdrew.

"What is she doing here?" Jorgen asked.

"I'm taking her with me."

"As far as I know, you're going to investigate a series of murders. Are you really taking your daughter along?"

"Lakeshire is very scenic, and it's a rare opportunity. Besides, you were the one who sent me the message that Dalia wants Elaine to see more of the world."

"Whatever, it's not my concern. But you'll have to cover her expenses."

Elin pulled out a chair and sat down on the opposite side of Jorgen's desk. "Lakeshire is truly beautiful. And it's relatively quiet."

Jorgen continued flipping through his documents without looking up. "There are Worgen nests around there. The eastern border is plagued by Orcish raids."

"It's limited to the border areas. Show me a border without any disturbances. Lakeshire has maintained the lowest crime rate among human towns. This recent string of murders is the first in twenty years. You should know this better than me."

"So?"

"Has Dalia ever considered moving?"

Jorgen looked up. Elin scratched his stubbled cheek and continued, "It seems you've never discussed it."

"She hasn't mentioned it."

"And you haven't thought about it?"

Jorgen remained silent.

"Alright, let's say you haven't thought about it. I'm not trying to meddle in your affairs, but Stormwind is no longer suitable for Dalia to live in, isn't that obvious?" Elin said.

"She hasn't done anything wrong; she doesn't need to run away somewhere else."

"It's really your style... Let go of these things and face reality. You know that in battle, you need to learn to retreat, but why can't you be flexible about this? Dalia staying in Stormwind probably means she won't be able to live as an ordinary woman for a decade or more. Stormwind is the base of the MI7, whereas Lakeshire, I assume, hasn't seen much of 'Lady Shawl.' I've inquired, there are some nice and affordable houses in Lakeshire. Of course, if she moves there now, you won't be able to see each other often, but... maybe in two or three years, the old man will have passed away, and you won't have the responsibility of teaching the young master at headquarters anymore. Who knows what the future holds? If I were you, once the young master takes charge, I'd resign. Leave the MI7 behind and live my own life."

Jorgen didn't know how to react for a moment. If he had thought about it on his own, all of this would seem like ludicrous plans that were out of reach. However, when Elin laid it out, it seemed as simple as booking a dinner reservation.

"Don't look at me with that incredulous expression; I'm not joking. People move, find the right place to settle, and if it doesn't work out, they move again. Everyone lives like that; you and Dalia can do it too. The houses over here can be sold for a good price, there will eventually be buyers. Of course, I'm not pushing you to do it right now, just consider it. When I go this time, I'll investigate the actual situation for you. How does that sound?"

"You... of course you can. Alright. I'll talk to her about it."

"That's it then," Elin leaned over the desk, patting Jorgen's shoulder. "Be more optimistic. I also hope that both of you can live peacefully. I'm off. If I find a suitable house, you'll have to reimburse Elaine's travel expenses."

After Elin left, Jorgen realized that he had almost stood up. He shifted his weight back onto the chair, exhaling a breath. He wasn't sure if he always overcomplicated things or if Elin oversimplified them. At least he understood that right now, he wished he could see things like Elin.

Jorgen had been to Lakeshire twice. As he pieced together memories in his mind, he felt that Elin's description was accurate: quiet, with beautiful scenery. He remembered the streets and the lake. Dalia hadn't been there, but in his mental image, he saw her standing by the lake, with him next to her. This image lingered until the sound of a knock on the door interrupted his thoughts.