The Forbidden Care

"Mr. Jorgen, I'm done."

Mardias' voice brought Jorgen's thoughts back to the present. While waiting for Mardias to complete the intelligence summary training, he gazed at the bushes swaying in the wind outside the window and thought of Bossia's gray-green eyes.

He came to the round table in the center of the hall from the window. Mardias sat on the north side, looking at the four files in front of him. According to Jorgen's request, he classified these files with different credibility. When Jorgen checked the results, he found that Mardias' left index finger was tapping boredly on the cuff of his right sleeve, which was a bit like a child his age.

The training materials in his hands were all adapted from actual cases by Jorgen. "Not bad, although there are still places that need to be considered comprehensively." He put down the files and said to Mardias. He knew that adults who had been formally trained for one year at MI7 secret schools might not have such results.

"Do you want me to do it again?"

"No need."

"But you said there are places that need to be considered comprehensively."

"That part is within the tolerance range. When handling cases, there are often more than one meaning behind a clue. If the accuracy of credibility is pursued too much, this point may be ignored."

"I will be able to distinguish them clearly. Please let me do it again."

"I said no, it's no," Jorgen put the files under the table. "The progress does not allow it either. Now proceed to the next..."

At this point, Jorgen felt that the bodyguard behind Mardias gave him a warning look, but Jorgen ignored him. These people understood "protecting Young Master Mardias' normal class" as "letting the lecturer obey Mardias". Whenever he came here, there were always four bodyguards standing in the empty hall, which reminded Jorgen of himself taking separate tests at school.

From the beginning, Jorgen knew that Mardias was a real genius. He had to write and design a lot of handouts and materials for forty hours a week to meet the progress of this special student. On the one hand, he was relieved that Dean and Dalia could have such a child, on the other hand, he felt uneasy. He often stared at Mardias intently, afraid that he would miss some special signs, and these little signs would indicate that Mardias became another Panthonia Shawl; although for a nine-year-old boy, everything was too early.

"Mr. Jorgen, did you see my mother yesterday when you went hunting?"

Hearing this, Jorgen opened his eyes wide and involuntarily leaned forward.

"Ah, of course. I saw her."

This was the first time he heard Mardias ask about Dalia during class. If he told Dalia about this, he didn't know how happy she would be.

"Is my mother okay?"

"She looked fine," Jorgen hesitated for a moment, "Do you want to see her sooner?"

Mardias nodded.

"Young Master Mardias, you are still in class," the lead bodyguard interrupted, "Mr. Jorgen, please pay attention to your responsibilities."

"What's wrong with this child wanting to talk about his mother?" After saying this, Jorgen realized that he had lost his composure. He calmed down as soon as possible, and then said, "Okay, that's enough. Mardias, concentrate."

A nine-year-old child, undergoing rigorous mental and physical training every day, could only meet his mother for two hours on Sunday afternoon a week, Jorgen believed that the old man arranged this not only to cultivate a qualified successor, but also to erase sympathy and compassion for the weak from Mardias' heart. However, since Mardias still missed his mother and thirsted for human emotions, there was still hope. He was still a child.

After the end of the course that day, Jorgen left the hall and went into the corridor. The lead bodyguard stopped him.

"Mr. Jorgen, please stay. I have something to talk to you about." The bodyguard pointed to the small room next door.

After Jorgen went in first, he heard the bodyguard close the door behind him. There was a small reception room here, with a spare tea set on the table in the middle.

"I don't want to say this, but you behaved too worrying today, Jorgen."

"You should remember that Mr. Shawl gave me complete autonomy."

"That's right, but only in teaching. This does not mean that you can talk to the young master as you please. Mr. Shawl instructed..."

"Shut up. Then get out of my sight."

"What did you say?"

"Don't pretend you didn't hear it, you spineless dog."

"It seems you don't know," the bodyguard drew out a dagger in each hand, "Mr. Shawl also gave me the freedom to warn you. Don't worry, I won't let the injury be so serious that you can't come to teach the young master."

Jorgen was unarmed. Whenever he entered this mansion, he would be searched at the door. Even so, he still deliberately provoked the bodyguard, as if only such impulsive and irrational behavior could make him feel different from the old man.

The bodyguard was a skilled fighter. Although he did not intend to kill Jorgen and limited his movements, Jorgen barely avoided his first blow. The second knife following his right hand immediately left a five-inch cut on his left arm. He lowered his body, trying to use the table to create obstacles, but the opponent bodyguard immediately smashed the side of the table fiercely with the end of the dagger handle, overturning it to the ground, and then stabbed Jorgen's unguarded right shoulder with a knife. He lifted the dagger up, but did not pull it out. Jorgen immediately felt a burst of pain.

"Maybe you don't know, I received training from Dean six years ago," the bodyguard said, "Not many people can have such experience."

The mention of Dean's name further aroused Jorgen's anger. Regardless of the pain in his right shoulder, he pinched the end joint of the other's little finger and pushed it violently in the opposite direction. Under this sudden stimulation, the bodyguard's knees softened and fell to the ground. Jorgen immediately pulled out the dagger and slammed the end of the handle against the other's chin and nasal bone. When the bodyguard regained consciousness, he saw the dagger pointed at his neck.

"We fought side by side with him, with death hanging over each other's heads. So don't mention this name in front of me. And when I talk to his son, don't interrupt." Do you understand? "

The lower half of the faceguard's face was a mess of bloodstains. He barely opened his mouth.

"You will...regret it."

"Never. Someone will regret it sooner or later, but that person is not me."

Jorgen threw away the weapon and left the reception room. After retrieving his dagger from the dumbfounded gatekeeper, he walked out of the mansion and felt a gust of cold wind blow up. This mansion specially built for Mardias was located halfway up the mountain, surrounded by dense woods, and difficult to spot from the foot of the mountain. He looked back at the mansion he had entered hundreds of times, feeling that it was more like a huge cage than ever before.

In order not to let anyone find the mansion, the mountain road was also designed convolutedly. Jorgen's right shoulder was still bleeding, and the injury was more serious than expected. He simply bandaged it with a corner of his clothes.

He began to feel dizzy. Not only because of the injury, but also because of the anger accumulated in his chest. This uncontrolled anger that could find no outlet was creating dangerous illusions in his mind. He seemed to feel countless pairs of eyes staring at his back, and countless mouths shamefully mocking him.

——Is my mother okay?

Just such a sentence. This is enough to tug at his heart and let him know that Dean, Dalia and his own life were not completely under the control of the old man. Just for this sentence, revealing a little hope, he had to stain half of his body with blood flowing from his right shoulder. For the first time in this forest, he got lost and entered the route leading invaders astray. Traps to catch the fallen were distributed around, the trunks were painted with poisonous mixtures emitting smells that could confuse the senses. And he smelled this smell.

Gradually, Jorgen sank into illusion. He no longer wanted to go down the mountain, just wanted to wander around, so that at some point he would find the old man who came to see Mardias. He would stab the dagger at the old man with all his anger, regardless of any consequences. While gazing at the imagined target and reaching for the dagger at his waist, he lost consciousness.

He had a dream. A river glittering with gold was divided into two tributaries by a woman standing in the middle. He stood on the shore, calling out the woman's name, but he could no longer remember how to pronounce that name. The woman turned her head, she had a pair of gray green eyes. She struggled to say something to him, but it was completely inaudible, because the river began to flow upstream, flooding the shore with a huge roar.

When he woke up, Jorgen's surroundings were almost pitch black, with only two candlelights emitting a faint yellow light. He realized that he was lying on a cold stone bed, staring at the ceiling more than five meters high. He thought he had been locked in the dungeon by the old man, until two priests walked up to him.

"You're awake, Mr. Jorgen."

Jorgen sat up, feeling dizzy. He pressed his forehead for a long time before speaking.

"Where am I?"

The two priests looked at each other, and one of them hesitated and said, "The basement of the Holy Light Cathedral."

Jorgen moved his right shoulder, and the piercing pain reminded him that he was injured. On closer inspection, not only his right shoulder, but all the large and small injuries on his body had been carefully treated.

"If you are willing to bandage the patients, why not provide a bed to keep body temperature?" he said, "The cold injury hurts again."

"We're very sorry. In the Holy Light Cathedral, for those who do not believe in the Holy Light, we can only provide such a resting place."

"Forget it. I just didn't expect that the first time I entered the Holy Light Cathedral would be such an experience like an underground waterway." Still, let's talk about more important things. Since I don't remember passing out at the foot of the mountain was a matter against doctrine," Jorgen said, "how did I end up here?"

"We were ordered to pick you up, but found you collapsed on the hillside."

"Ordered by whom?"

"Archbishop Benedictus." He has something to discuss with you."