Unleashing Justice on Mardias

The next day, Jorgen received a mission to track down two fugitives in the Westfall. Their crime involved infiltrating as informants, gaining the trust of a detective, killing him, and stealing classified information about the Seven's intelligence network. The elderly supervisor emphasized the mission's goal: ensuring the information remained confidential, even if it meant executing the suspects without interrogation if necessary.

Dealing with Dalia's emotional turmoil from the previous day, Jorgen struggled to leave. This urgent task served as both a crucial assignment and another practical combat training under Mardias. Despite his desire to bid farewell to Lindy and Ivanov, time constraints forced him to rely on his assistant, Aved, to inform Dalia.

This round trip took quite a few days. Just as they hit the road, Jorgen told himself that if Dalia decided to head to Lakeshire first, their separation might be prolonged. This self-consolation seemed too obvious in its naivety, and Jorgen attempted it only once before giving up. The key to his current agitation wasn't the temporary parting from Dalia. Perhaps when he returned, Dalia had reconsidered and accepted Lindy's offer of work. Or, worst-case scenario, she became an inmate of the prosecutor's office— a dreadful thought but not an implausible one. In any case, Jorgen felt he needed to be there. The added complication was their quarry, a skilled fugitive, had laid false trails, causing Jorgen's team of four to waste considerable time. This deepened his anxiety. He realized that emotional instability led to mistakes in judgment, which, in turn, fueled his restlessness.

They tracked the fugitives to the coastline. One night, during a brief rest, Jorgen stood on the beach, observing the distant sails on the sea. They resembled musical notes silently advancing on a navy-blue score, dictating the rhythm of the tide. At that moment, Jorgen recognized the universality of the emotions he was going through, a common concern shared by fishermen at sea for years and soldiers on the front lines. Most people worldwide learned to cope with this concern from a young age, but Jorgen, at thirty-five, discovered it for the first time. When interrogating people, the desire to return home quickly signaled their surrender. Today, Jorgen truly understood why this desire served as a sign of capitulation.

These thoughts gradually calmed him. The next day, they cornered the fugitives in the abandoned Gold Coast mine. Throughout the operation, Mardias adhered strictly to Jorgen's instructions, exhibiting no apparent faults. Since the incident where he almost lost an eye, Mardias had become more disciplined. Whether it was due to the elderly man's teachings or Mardias' own learning, Jorgen didn't care as long as it spared him one less worry. During this time, Jorgen attempted to view Mardias as an ordinary intern detective rather than her son, simplifying matters.

After a chase, they finally subdued the two fugitives in the mine, tying them up with a digital distance between them. Jorgen pointed his knife at one, while Mardias pressed the other. Two detectives guarded from behind.

The prisoners, twin brothers, had exploited their twin status, wasting the team's time. The information seemed not to be on them, and they were tough nuts to crack. As the mission approached its end, the suppressed frustration resurfaced for Jorgen. The solution was imminent; he'd soon return to Stormwind. Anxious to complete the task, Jorgen opted for a direct and effective approach.

"It seems neither of you is willing to speak first," he produced a copper coin. "Heads it's you, tails it's you," he gestured to the one Mardias was pressuring. "Let the coin decide who speaks. The chosen one has three seconds to decide whether to tell the truth. Any truthful statement, whether it's 'I don't know,' 'I know,' or 'only he knows,' doesn't matter to me, as long as it's the truth. If you don't speak within three seconds, we kill the other one, and then we kill you."

Jorgen had used this method only once before, understanding it wasn't yet the time to resort to it. However, he couldn't wait any longer. Returning with both prisoners might involve a lengthy and arduous interrogation, and he clearly couldn't return to Dalia before the mission was truly completed.

He tossed the coin with his left hand, covering it with four fingers, and then extended it in front of the prisoner he was watching, revealing the outcome.

"Heads."

The prisoner jerked his head up, staring into Jorgen's eyes, a pleading look revealing his proximity to a breakdown.

Jorgen began the countdown. Three seconds passed, during which the prisoner took more than ten rapid breaths.

"Looks like you have nothing to say," Jorgen turned slightly toward Mardias. "Proceed."

Since Jorgen introduced this method, Mardias hadn't moved an inch. He cautiously pressed his knife against the other prisoner's neck, maintaining a precise one-centimeter distance between the blade and the skin. However, after Jorgen issued the order, three seconds passed, and Mardias didn't do anything, maintaining a sculpted pose.

Jorgen frowned, glancing at Mardias. He noticed Mardias' index finger beneath the knife handle slightly loosening and tightening, causing the blade to tremble as it touched the prisoner's skin. The prisoner held his breath, his head and neck rigid, but the knife retracted a bit, the finger loosened again, tightened. Mardias's breathing became heavier, his eyes involuntarily shifting towards Jorgen, but he quickly averted his gaze. The third opening and closing of the finger.

He couldn't bring himself to act.

"Mardias," Jorgen warned him, but it was a mistake. The prisoner Mardias had been pressuring suddenly stood up, ramming his shoulder into Mardias' abdomen. Though Mardias fell—considering the weight difference, he was nearly twice as heavy—the resistance was futile. The other two detectives at the back seized him again.

"Kill him," Jorgen ordered the two detectives. However, at that moment, the other prisoner finally spoke.

"The thing is with me," he said, "don't harm my brother."

"The first statement is questionable, but the second one should be the truth," Jorgen said. "It's a good start; at least I can distinguish between you now. So, the brother, do you have anything to say?"

"No, my brother is deceiving you. The item is buried outside, and I can lead you to it."

"Enough of that. Don't do anything meaningless. Those things aren't worth both of us dying for."

"What do you intend to do with that information?" Jorgen asked.

"We just want to sell it, I swear. We haven't even found a buyer yet. It doesn't matter who we sell it to."

"So, where is it now?"

"I've torn it into pieces and eaten it. The contents are all in my head. But only I remember; my brother can't read. It's true. Kill me, cut open my stomach, and you'll find it. Just, I beg you, don't harm him."

Jorgen, frustrated, warned Mardias, who struggled with indecision. The suspect, seizing the opportunity, attempted an escape. Despite Mardias falling, the other two officers swiftly apprehended the fugitive. Now, with the execution looming, the second suspect finally spoke.

"The stuff is with me," he said, "don't harm my brother."

"The first statement is hard to verify, but the second should be the truth," Jorgen remarked. "At least now I can distinguish between you two. So, little brother, do you have anything to say?"

"No, my brother was deceiving you. The stuff is buried outside; I can lead you to it."

"That's enough. No more meaningless talk. Those things aren't worth both of us dying for."

"What do you intend to do with that information?" Jorgen asked.

"Just planning to sell it, I swear. We haven't even found a buyer yet. It doesn't matter who we sell it to."

"So, where is it now?"

"I've already shredded and eaten it; the details are all in my head. But only I remember, my brother can't read. It's the truth. Kill me if you must, cut open my stomach, and you'll find it. Just, please, spare him..."

Jorgen stood by a large rock, watching as Mardias single-handedly dragged two heavy corpses into the sea, while the other two detectives helplessly stood by. This was his punishment for Mardias. After finishing, Mardias rinsed his hands in the seawater, returned to Jorgen, and stared into his eyes.

"Do you have any questions?" Jorgen asked.

Mardias remained silent.

"Not only did you disobey orders, but you also gave the prisoners a chance to escape."

Jorgen knew he was speaking mere formalities, unrelated to the core issue. Mardias still stayed silent, and Jorgen couldn't summon any anger. After about fifteen seconds, Jorgen approached him and said, "You've never killed anyone. In these five years, perhaps you've undergone various training, but you've never killed."

Mardias took a deep breath, tried to look away, but Jorgen slapped him.

"Look at me," he said. "Answer my question: Have you ever killed anyone?"

"No," Mardias shook his head almost imperceptibly. He tried to make his expression appear stiff, as if indifferent to the current conversation.

In the end, he was still a child. He could easily beat an opponent into a pulp in the arena without blinking an eye; he could torment a child with extrajudicial punishment; he could recklessly attack a short, old man with a gun. But he couldn't decisively take a life. He was the heir to Military Intelligence Section Seven, an heir who hadn't learned to kill. There were no objective factors to consider here; the only thing that mattered was whether he could wield that crucial knife. Observing the bout on the observation tower, he had conflicting feelings as he discovered the similarity between Mardias and his father; and now, another one. Jorgen didn't know how to handle this fact.

Suddenly, Jorgen felt like bitter laughter. The sound of the waves rolling nearby seemed to mock him. Dean, Dalia. I'm going to teach your son how to kill.