Crecyda-7

Jorgen was not visiting Stromgarde for the first time, but the last time was a distant memory. Back then, he was too young to be curious about the history of this dilapidated castle. The memories left were merely grey fragments of bricks and the cold wind on the highland during a late night. Now, the current master of Stromgarde stood before him, addressing him with respect and nervousness, afraid of neglecting his guest. Jorgen understood that if Prince Galin knew the true purpose of his visit, his attitude would likely be different. According to the original plan, Mardias was supposed to accompany him, but Jorgen was relieved he didn't, as it would complicate matters with the prince even more.

Entering an unfamiliar place and immediately attracting the gaze of strangers mixed with reverence and fear, one couldn't conceal themselves. Some people enjoyed such a life, including Prince Galin, but Jorgen found it challenging to adapt. Once, Elin told him, "Do you miss those days of sneaking into a place, running to a tavern in the dead of night?" While the statement exaggerated the importance of drinking in Jorgen's daily life, he understood Elin's implication. Getting Elin to speak plainly was difficult and required a specific predicament. Jorgen wasn't sure if he was approaching that predicament. If so, it was a situation unrelated to personal safety.

For the past two years, he had stopped using a fixed assistant, changing them every two months. When selecting assistants, he no longer considered their intelligence or ability to think independently; now, he only needed them to follow orders. Real "investigators," aside from what was necessary for work, he rarely interacted with them. Elin was no exception— the phrase he said just now was from one of Elin's mission reports. Jorgen's response was, "You can go now." He no longer occasionally replaced Elin to pick up Elaine from school and had forgotten Shelley's birthday.

Now, he lived safer than ever. And stable.

After leaving the main house, Galin led Jorgen through narrow passages, passing several iron gates guarded by soldiers. Their location was close to an unrepaired outer wall, but the security around was strict.

"Prince Galin," Jorgen said, "Earlier, were you meeting an important guest?"

"Important? No, not really... In fact, I shouldn't have rushed to handle that matter, delaying your valuable time."

Although Prince Galin deliberately concealed it, Jorgen intuitively felt that the guest might be Crecyda.

Long before reaching Stromgarde, Jorgen had heard about her involvement in the events caused by the Western Plague. He knew this woman would do something, but didn't expect it to stir up such a dangerous storm. Two years ago, when he saw her outside the Redemption Light Hospital building, he could see her enthusiasm to feel and influence the surrounding world. In other words, her eyes were filled with a lively light— even though that enthusiasm carried a melancholic tone. Crecyda expressed a desire to meet Dalia, and Jorgen gave her three minutes. After leaving the ward, she should have left, but suddenly stopped to inquire about her husband.

"You should know something. He mentioned you many times before going to war, and even in his letters..."

These words took only a few seconds to say, but it seemed to cost her the courage of several days.

Jorgen knew who she was, and who she was looking for, but he couldn't answer anything. He should have treated her more calmly, but at that moment, he ordered the guards to take her away. Not because Jorgen disliked her, but because he instinctively felt that he couldn't let another regrettable incident interfere— a kind of rough but uncontrollable psychological self-defense. If it happened today, his choice would— inevitably be different.

Galin and Jorgen arrived at a military quarantine zone completely devoid of civilian traces. In front of a newly built inner city wall, they climbed a tower and looked down. Jorgen noticed that between this new wall and the old wall near it, there was only a narrow passage for four people to walk side by side. On the southernmost side of the passage was a simple hut, its door almost invisible behind overgrown plants. The northern side led to a more open area. Everything in front of him seemed like a prison— a narrow passage connecting cells and an exercise yard. Guards on the city wall were monitoring the movement on the passage, even though there was no one there at the moment.

"Your protective measures are quite thorough," Jorgen remarked.

"I think it's necessary. So far, the collaborator has not shown any intention or action to escape. It can be said that his performance in the past three years has been satisfactory. He passes through this passage every day to go to work and is not allowed to bring any materials back. Although this has caused some hindrance to the progress of the work, it is a necessary measure."

"Many guards can see all of this. Aren't you worried about rumors spreading?"

"That's absolutely impossible. They are the most trusted soldiers, with the best understanding of the overall situation. Besides, their daily lives are under strict restrictions. If anything does leak, I can immediately find out who's at fault and deal with it promptly."

"I understand."

"So, even from the perspective of MI7, are my measures satisfactory?"

"It's too early to conclude. The part I've seen so far looks fine... It's just quite an expenditure for managing one person."

"Is it? It's hard to say because once a problem arises, the damage caused..."

Galin's complaint in the latter part was not clear to Jorgen, as he saw the door of the southernmost hut open. Two guards stepped out, followed by a troll. Though still far away, Jorgen could see the shackles on his hands and feet.

"For three years, you've restricted him like this, and he hasn't shown any intention to escape," Jorgen remarked.

"Yes."

"It's not simple. For both you and him."

"Before we lured him to Stromgarde, he had been hiding in Booty Bay. I heard you were there at the same time. I wonder..."

"I've never seen him."

Jorgen furrowed his brow. He didn't know what the troll had in mind before and still didn't know.

Crecyda spent almost the entire day sitting on the mattress, moving only when the servant brought dinner. She knew there were guards outside, though they had changed shifts in between. Shortly after finishing dinner, around eleven o'clock, she realized something needed to be addressed. She walked to the door and lightly knocked. It took three knocks before the guard responded.

"Madam, what's the matter?"

"Well, there's no... in this room."

"No what, madam?"

"... Bathroom."

"Yes, there isn't one, madam."

Crecyda waited for the guard to open the door, but he remained silent. She knocked again, and this time, the guard opened the door. He seemed to be barely twenty, and realizing his own slowness, he looked at the ground and spoke to Crecyda, "The prince instructed me during the day. I'll take you... Please come this way."

They descended the stairs and walked down the corridor. Crecyda quickened her pace slightly, causing the guard to nervously grip her shoulder. As they passed the kitchen door, a woman carrying a tray suddenly hurried out and collided with Crecyda's shoulder. Crecyda staggered, and the tray, along with its contents, crashed to the floor, scattering food everywhere. Hot soup splashed onto Crecyda's heels, prompting her to instinctively kick her feet.

The woman looked at the mess on the floor and then at Crecyda, anger undisguised in her eyes. Crecyda felt a bit wronged; after all, who would expect someone to come out of the kitchen with a freshly prepared meal in the middle of the night?

"Sorry," Crecyda said.

"You..." The woman pinched the right side of her skirt, as if restraining any offensive gestures.

A guard stepped out of the kitchen and said to the woman, "What are you doing?"

"Ask me what I'm doing? Make sure you see who caused the trouble."

"Do it again. Don't worry about the floor; servants will clean it up."

"Do it again? I'll tell you some good news: the sauce is all gone."

"Then don't use it. Why bother with such high demands? Anyway, go back inside and don't cause trouble here. The lady in front of you is a distinguished guest of Prince Galin..."

The woman still stared at Crecyda and didn't glance at the guard behind her during the entire conversation. "Oh... have the guards escort me. Indeed, a distinguished guest."

"Enough, go back and redo it, Glocara."

The woman turned back to the kitchen, moving faster than when she rushed out. It was evident that her speed wasn't to show compliance with the order but to vent her dissatisfaction. Crecyda carefully stepped over the ruined food on the floor, suddenly feeling a strange sense of guilt.

Over ten minutes later, Crecyda returned to her room, reflecting on what had just happened. Despite enduring some undeserved anger from the other woman, Crecyda didn't dislike her. They shared a strange commonality: both restricted by guards while performing very ordinary tasks—cooking and convenience.

Apart from her, there were others in this mansion under Galin's confinement. In theory, this should be an unsettling realization, but Crecyda felt calmer than a few hours ago. It wasn't just sympathy; it was also witnessing how the other person dealt with those monitoring her.

It seemed she wasn't afraid. Maybe I should try to achieve that too. After all, I am currently afraid, and it's not doing me any good.

As the night wind from the Highlands once again battered the castle walls, Crecyda fell asleep amidst disjointed thoughts.