The Assassin's Mercy

Elin woke up after hearing the noise. The first thing he did was to look up at Dalia's room. He was lying on the sofa in the lobby at the time. Although the Red Salmon Inn arranged guards around the clock, he still couldn't sleep peacefully in his original room. However, he was so sleepy that he fell asleep.

Elin felt a lot of things: Dalia's room door was still closed tightly and quiet. No problem. As consciousness gradually awakened, the noise also expanded, apparently there were more than one person arguing. A maid woke up and leaned against the servant's room door, looking at him anxiously. There was a glass half full of wine on the table, trembling in it. Elin got up and went out the door.

As soon as he got outside, he couldn't help shouting, "What the hell is this?"

The inn was surrounded by a group of wounded soldiers. They were armed and confronted the guards. Their eye sockets were deep and their clothes were tattered. In the dark of night, they were like a pile of not quite complete cannibals, emanating a bizarre fanatical aura. Some muttered vaguely, while others shouted loudly:

"Get out! Good food and laziness, only let us Stormwind nobles who live and die!"

"The Duchess, is there a Duchess Fouria here? You'd better come out yourself, otherwise the situation will become ugly."

"We've had enough. Sell your lives for you, but get nothing in return!"

Elin immediately understood. These guys had been complaining that Southshore had swallowed up Stormwind's fictitious supplies, attacked the town hall a few days ago, and now they were looking for new outlets. There were probably more than 30 people in front of them, but once there was a conflict, perhaps more wounded soldiers would participate.

"Who revealed the guests at this inn?" Elin asked the leading guard.

"No, no one said. They just appeared suddenly."

Suddenly? No. Elin could see that this was premeditated. They were instigated and came here fully armed. Their number was twice that of the guards, and they had better weapons. Elin didn't want the two sides to fight, but he could feel the suffocating tension in the air. He alone could not control the situation.

"Steady them and don't conflict," Elin ordered the guards, then immediately turned back into the house. His purpose was only to protect Dalia and Mardias. He planned to take them out of the relatively hidden exit, and if that didn't work, lock them in the basement first, then wait for reinforcements to arrive. Now it was late at night, and he believed Jorgen and Hennessy would be alarmed immediately and rush over with their men.

But he was wrong. He later found out that the main force of the security team was trapped elsewhere at the same time and had no strength to come to the rescue.

He hurried back into the inn, gestured to the maid "go back to the house and hide", and immediately went up the stairs. When he had only taken a few steps, the situation got out of control. Loud clashes of weapons and the sound of breaking glass burst out at the same time. He looked back and saw that the guard he had just questioned had his head grabbed and smashed into the thick bronze door lock. On the north side of the house, another guard crashed through the window from outside. The intruders shouted wildly savage and obscene slogans that would not be heard on the battlefield, trying to squeeze in from various entrances. The guards tried their best to stop them, unable to intercept them with weapons, and used huge furniture to temporarily block the raging torrent.

Sweat dripped from Elin's temples. At least these guys didn't come in with torches, otherwise our people wouldn't be able to hold out for a minute, he thought, beginning to estimate how many he could take down. This process lasted only a few seconds, because he remembered that ensuring Dalia and Mardias' safety was the most important thing.

He quickly went up to the second floor, and the moment he stepped into the corridor, the moonlight just hit his back on the wall in front. He saw his shadow overlapping with an even bigger shadow. His heart suddenly tightened, realizing there was someone behind him. A person with no sound when he appeared raised his arm behind him.

Elin drew out his dagger and swung back. The blow was fast, although he only intended to deter the opponent, while pulling away. After a sharp clash, his dagger flew out, fell down the stairs, and stuck in the floorboard. He saw nothing, as if the dagger had never been in his hand. Before he could turn around, fate had already been decided.

The figure disappeared instantly before his eyes. "He's going to Dalia's room, I have to stop him," Elin thought, but couldn't move his feet. It wasn't just his dagger that suffered. Two long and deep knife marks went from chest to abdomen, but he couldn't remember how he had been hit. He watched his blood splash onto the floorboards in front of him, the sound of the liquid contacting the wooden floorboards seeming to mock his helplessness.

He collapsed, unable to move. His eyes stared at a corner of the hall, unable to turn his neck, not knowing what had happened in Dalia's room, only hearing her screams. He couldn't hear the fierce fighting sounds of soldiers on both sides downstairs.

As the pain intensified, his thoughts began to become confused. Thirty percent of Military Intelligence Section 7 agents died on missions, but in the agent population this figure dropped to seven percent - could this mean I was a lucky one? His brain flashed to his hometown ranch, then a strong dizziness came over him, and the ranch scene suddenly turned blood red. He knew his eyelids kept blinking, his eyes slightly rolled up, but he couldn't control them. His nose was congested with blood and very uncomfortable.

After several brief losses of consciousness, he had no idea how long time had passed. The only thing he wanted was that the dying process was so long and painful. The noise downstairs gradually diminished, he didn't know at all. He heard footsteps approaching him and thought: Okay, the guy knows I'm not dead yet, he's coming to finish me off. He must have killed Dalia already. My mission failed.

He didn't expect to hear this voice again.

"Your injury is very serious, Elin. Hold on."

"Jorgen...?"

"What creature are you? Elin. Haven't died from this blood loss yet. I brought people, bandage and treat you right away. It will be fine."

"There was a bastard who ambushed me...who's behind you..."

"He's with us. Don't talk anymore."

"Dalia's room...go quickly..."

Jorgen and Dean behind him exchanged glances, and Dean immediately rushed over to Dalia's room.

After that conversation, Jorgen persuaded Dean that the top priority was to see Dalia, tell her everything, and protect her directly. For Dean, this was not an easy thing to do. The key reason he did not first contact Dalia was because he did not know how to face her.

"Foudaire and Ryan were killed by Jalo." Half an hour ago in Jorgen's room, Dean said. "This is a warning that he can harm Dalia at any time. Also, Ryan was likely trading intelligence with Jalo. This was all to lure me out. For revenge, he will stop at nothing."

"In that case, we have no time to dawdle. Go see her now, Dean. Say everything. There's nothing to hide anymore, if you really feel sorry for her, now is the only chance to make amends."

At the time, Jorgen felt Dean's eyes looked painful and suppressed. He had made up his mind to face the weak part of his personality. Once he met Dalia and told her everything, the bond between them would change from complete longing and worry to something easily broken. But to protect her, it was the only choice.

They rushed to the Red Salmon Inn and encountered the unexpected chaos, quickly and unhesitatingly joined the battle. The intruders were not concentrated, and with Dean's skill and the cover of the guards, he defeated them one by one, which was really as easy as anything. He didn't kill anyone, just knocked them out with hilt strikes or cut their legs. Once injured, these instigated intruders quickly lost their will to fight, as if anger leaked from their wounds. The remaining few uninjured ones soon fled.

At first, Jorgen thought the body lying on the second floor was a corpse, but unexpectedly it was still breathing Elin. While admiring his vitality, he also felt uneasy. Such cruel and ruthless wounds could not have been inflicted by those vainly struggling wounded soldiers.

He handed Elin over to guards capable of medical care and rushed into Dalia's room. Dean, who came in first, was almost breathless kneeling on the ground.

There was no trace of Dalia in the room. On the wall, there was a line of large characters written in blood:

I have waited too long

This was clearly a declaration of war.

"He's been here. Taken her away"

Dean's voice was trembling.

"Take it easy, Dean. Calm down. At least we know this blood isn't Dalia's. Jalo didn't hurt her." Jorgen said.

"How do you know?"

"The owner of the blood is here," Jorgen walked over to the blood-written wall and squatted down before the last stroke, picking up a skull. He took some time to remember who it belonged to: Dulm. Henry's "butler" and arms dealer accountant.

If the blood characters on the wall were a declaration of war against Dean, then this skull was a declaration of war against Jorgen. As Cindy's top assassin, Jalo cleaned up the over greedy arms dealer, and now it was finally Dulm's turn, his right-hand man.

However, Jorgen remembered that after interrogation, Dulm should still be imprisoned, but now appeared here as a dead man.

Did he also visit the prison without us noticing and chop off Dulm's head? This bastard is so meticulous, Jorgen thought. He said, "Now we should go find Hennessy for help," but turned around immediately, and froze instantly.

He saw Mardias Shawl appear at the door, staring bewildered at the two men in front of him and the blood characters on the wall.

Jalo did not take him away. This should have been the easiest thing to do, but Jalo did not do so.

Dean slowly stood up. Because of the assassin's mercy and teasing, he saw his son for the first time, the son he held infinite apologies and regret for.