The Unexpected Turn

Jorgen recalled the words from earlier in the morning when he met Farad: "You're Jorgen." At the time, he didn't think much of this statement – as the Chief Investigator, it was only natural that Farad knew his name. But now, everything was different. When looking back, there might have been other witnesses to the battle ten years ago. Considering how deeply Ravenholt's influence penetrated Hillsbrad, it was possible. Jorgen had also left his name in Southshore, and if Farad decided to investigate, it wouldn't be too difficult.

Jorgen struggled not to let his eyes wander away, for his primary duty was to focus on Farad, preventing any unexpected surprises during the conversation. But it was torment to keep his gaze fixed on him. The normal response would be to maintain his composure, as he had practiced so many times in different situations, but now he realized that everyone would perceive the underlying instability in his eyes.

Farad was a seasoned operator. He didn't look at Jorgen, with no hint of a hidden agenda in his expression. His gaze was plain, blinking every few seconds, waiting for the Elder's response. Jorgen believed that Farad must have noticed his unusual reaction. If Farad happened to glance in Jorgen's direction, everything would become evident. Ironically, Jorgen needed to think from Farad's perspective to calm down: if he were Farad, he wouldn't look at anyone else except the Elder. This would only arou suspicion.

"If I agree to this cooperation," the Elder stated, "you will tell me where Dean is now."

A simple trap: "where is Dean now?" Farad didn't take the bait. He spread his hands, nodding with a hint of ambivalence. Farad's cautious response gave Jorgen a glimmer of hope: maybe he was bluffing. All of this was just part of their negotiation strategy. This explanation didn't hold water since Farad couldn't possibly come to the Seven's headquarters just to mock the Elder. But Jorgen preferred to ignore this fact.

"That's correct, and I will also provide you with the name of the informant who concealed this information from you," Farad replied.

"Why do you think I need this name?"

"Apparently, you believe it's crucial to know Dean's whereabouts."

The Elder remained silent.

"That's how I see it," Farad continued. "This person, for whatever reason, hid from you, the rightful heir's location for years. How loyal can he really be to the Seven? If he could deceive you right in front of your eyes, and who knows if he has already done that, it's hard to say if it's beneficial for the Seven's development. He has proven himself to be quite resourceful. This is the first point."

"Go on."

"The second point is that this person, for whatever reason, sought to sever the father-son relationship. Of course, the victim also includes Lady Dalia, who suffered the anguish of her husband's disappearance for many years. I believe this person harbors a strong sense of hostility towards your family."

Though it had no bearing on the real situation, from a surface-level logic, this judgment indeed appeared unassailable. Jorgen couldn't ascertain whether Farad was genuinely analyzing the situation or using such a simplistic argument to conceal his true intentions. To someone unaware of the Elder's past deeds, the message conveyed by Farad was quite clear: the informant who had hidden information from the Seven was highly dangerous.

"I wonder," Farad went a step further, "what this person might be willing to do between Master Mardias and yourself."

"I understand your point," the Elder replied. His response didn't address Farad's two points.

Nobody knew how much Farad had learned, and whether he truly knew about Dean. Both the Elder and Jorgen could only speculate on this point. Farad had the upper hand.

Jorgen understood that there was a way to regain the upper hand, a simple yet dangerous one. A few seconds later, the Elder posed the same question that had been running through Jorgen's mind:

"What can prove to me that I can trust your words?"

"I have no physical evidence or witnesses," Farad stated and leaned back, appearing contemplative.

That's his vulnerability, Jorgen thought. If Farad was just bluffing, he wouldn't pass this test. If he genuinely knew about Dean, he couldn't provide any evidence. After all, Ravenholt Manor's main sphere of influence was limited to the Hillsbrad Foothills. As long as he hinted at any clues, the Elder could quickly handle the matter himself. He knew that ten years ago both Jorgen and Dalia were in Southshore, the closest point to the Hillsbrad Foothills. Farad's conditions would become meaningless, no matter what the answer was, Farad couldn't win.

But Jorgen was wrong.

"I know one thing," Farad said, "when Dean disappeared, he had three children with him."

Few in the room immediately grasped the significance of this statement, even Farad's servant wore a puzzled expression. But Jorgen understood, and he knew that the Elder understood as well. This response clearly indicated that Farad knew more than Jorgen had imagined, yet it offered no concrete leads.

Jorgen glanced at the side profile of the Elder. The wall refracted the pale yellow light onto his face, emphasizing the sunken eye sockets and the furrows in his cheeks as though they were part of an unfinished clay sculpture. The highlights in his eye sockets resembled grey-white specks, not dull but rather showing an inner tension. Farad's discussion of dangerous topics unquestionably had his full attention, compelling him to consider the way forward. Jorgen suddenly entertained what he felt was a somewhat absurd idea: maybe the Elder also didn't want to revisit events from over a decade ago. That was in the past, gone, and he had more pressing matters to attend to in his remaining years. But now, Farad's presence and words were pulling him back into a long-dead world.

"I will consider your proposal," the Elder stated. "Until then, please continue your stay in Stormwind."

"I've said it before, I won't set a deadline," Farad said. "I believe you will choose the right moment."

The final sentence carried a somewhat ironic undertone, hinting at the Elder's limited time, but few paid much attention. As everyone began to rise and prepare to leave, Jorgen found himself lost in thought, only realizing a moment later that he was responsible for escorting Farad and his group back. After leaving the room, he was about to walk in front of Farad, but one of the Elder's aides suddenly stopped him.

"Lord Shawl wishes to speak with you."

"But I should..."

"This matter will be handled by someone else."

Jorgen returned to the meeting room, finding the Elder still seated in his original position.

"Leave," he said. "Just leave me and Detective Jorgen."

No one resisted his command. The attendants filed out one by one. When Jorgen heard the door lock behind them, he found himself raising his right hand involuntarily toward the hilt of his dagger, and he was sure the Elder saw the motion. He lowered his hand and stood still.

There was no one else in the room. The Elder didn't speak immediately. This silence might have lasted five seconds, maybe ten. During this time, Jorgen had already considered one thing: if the Elder tried to inquire whether he knew about Dean and the three children, he would draw his blade and answer with all the force he could muster, without even entertaining thoughts of a dissembling response. The door that should remain forever closed could not be reopened. To do this, don't think of psychological preparation, just simplify it into a condition, a straightforward process to achieve the objective. Don't consider the consequences.

"I'd like to hear your thoughts," the Elder said, breaking the silence. "About this plan."

"The risks are high, and the potential benefits are unpredictable. If you decide to refuse, we should find a way to limit Farad's movements in Stormwind, preventing him from contacting more people."

"He sounds very confident."

"Because... it's quite apparent," Jorgen said, "he's using unrelated information to influence you."

Jorgen wasn't sure why he was saying this. It was essentially steering the conversation into a dangerous direction.

"Unrelated information," the Elder paused for a moment, then continued. "Dean. I last heard that name... when was it? I don't remember."

Jorgen remained silent. Perhaps he too was anticipating things taking a dangerous turn.

"When he was still around... you were friends, right?" the Elder asked.

"Yes. Dean was my best friend, and I believe he felt the same way about me."

"In that case, what are your thoughts on what Farad said?"

This was what Jorgen didn't want to hear but had been secretly waiting for. With the next breath he took, his right hand should have moved upwards to draw his dagger, and he should have charged forward. The Elder didn't even look in his direction. It should have been simple, yet, for some unknown reason, as the Elder continued to speak, Jorgen found that his right hand hadn't moved an inch.

"Your best friend used as a bargaining chip," the Elder quickly added as if not expecting an answer.

"I don't know," Jorgen said, "doesn't sit well. That's one way to put it."

The Elder raised his left hand and touched the side of his face lightly and immediately let it drop, as if someone giving up on a pen they'd been fidgeting with.

"That name has been gone for thirteen years. Thirteen years... a long time."

The Elder spoke slowly, his tone languid and obscure, as if each word was seeping into waterlogged soil. Jorgen had never heard the Elder speak like this. In his memory, the Elder's words were either the burning blade laid on the skin or the corrosive venom sinking into the flesh. But now, he seemed to be sinking into a soliloquy that wasn't resistant to listeners. His left hand lifted again, his index and middle fingers brushed lightly along his sparse eyebrow, then it dropped again.

"You can leave."

"Yes, Lord Shawl."

Jorgen exited the room. The Elder's aide glanced at him before going inside.

He stood by the stairs, perplexed at why he hadn't acted, or rather, more perplexed by the Elder's words. He should have been suspicious of me. I would have killed him if I had no other choice. That's how things should have unfolded. Jorgen was still unsure if the Elder was suspecting him, but that was no longer the only focus. Perhaps he wasn't the only one who wished to keep that door closed.