A Glimpse of the Shark

Jorgen never drank in the early morning, but today he made an exception. Perhaps it was because he went to sleep after getting drenched in the rain last night, and felt very cold when he got up this morning. Some alcohol could warm up the body and mask the smell of fish being gutted outside the window of Sailor's Inn. He raised the glass and lowered his head slightly. A leaf residue fell.

He was too careless last night. The dagger was revealed too early, startling the fraudster Idoli. The persuasion process was too impatient. Plus the not so flexible right leg. In the past two years, everything has changed. The old man aged rapidly and rarely appeared in public; Dalia became more and more secluded; Mardias was sent to a place far beyond Jorgen's power. Jorgen understood that he was changing too. How much this change affected his life was unclear. He could only work hard to squeeze these changes out.

For any agent of Military Intelligence Agency, Booty Bay is a good place to accumulate work pressure, because almost everyone except them comes here to relax. This pleasure mood plays a subtle balancing role, preventing any force from completely turning Booty Bay into a paradise for all kinds of criminals. The founders of here, the rich gnomes, are more willing to use their wealth to guide the rules of the game rather than manage here.

The recent gladiatorial arena fighting competition held in Gurubashi is one of the guiding methods. But at present, it is not the focus of Jorgen's attention.

"Sir, would you like some fresh shark liver? Just gutted." A female Goblin waiter walked over to Jorgen.

"No."

"Sir, you eat so little."

"I'd rather fill my stomach with something other than shark liver."

"But you've been eating so little these days."

Gnomes were keenly sensitive to consumption habits. Jorgen found that she was looking at him with suspicious eyes, although there was still a smile on her lips and the huge shell earrings on her drooping ears emitted a dim light. A single guest who lived for a week, kept consumption to a minimum, hardly participated in any entertainment activities, and had no visitors. This was not conducive to hiding identities.

"I'm saving money to watch the finals of the competition. I came here just for this."

"A ticket to the finals doesn't cost much, does it?"

"The finals are not just a ticket. There are other things that come with it."

"Then what else is there?"

"What do you think?"

"Ah, I don't know. You see how busy I am all day."

"This, this." Jorgen made a gesture of throwing dice.

"Oh, have fun then."

The waiter left. Jorgen didn't know if this lie was enough to dispel her doubts. She might soon notify the innkeeper of her suspicions about this guest. Last night's failure made Jorgen not very confident in himself at present. If he was to pretend to be a participant in the underground gambling dens of the arena, he felt that he might lack a sloppy, neurotic feeling.

Today he planned to intensify his investigation into Ioldoli's whereabouts in Booty Bay after breakfast. But something disrupted his plan.

Three young men appeared at the door of Sailor's Inn. After observing for a while to make sure there were no meaner characters inside, they strode in. Such people were mostly sitting in the lower cabins, coming from all over to Booty Bay, aiming to become members of professional gangs of pickpockets or casino bodyguards. In order to be valued by real "insiders", they were always carefully showing a certain arrogance and arrogance, but dare not be too ostentatious.

Jorgen sucked the last sip of wine and was about to leave, but the three thugs stood in front of his table.

"What's the matter?" He looked up.

The leading thug twitchily sniffed his nose, and his right index and middle fingers kept tapping on the table. To attract attention, these people would pick on those who seemed to have no backing. If that was the case, it would be easy to solve, just teach them a lesson in a dark corner. But the situation was different now. Because he sat down and said to Jorgen, "I think I've seen you before."

Jorgen stared at the other party.

"I don't know you."

"You're from Stormwind, aren't you? I've seen you before, I must have seen you before." He turned his head to the thinner follower and said, "It was that time, when the security bureau came to the Canal District to arrest people, you and I ate a lot of bitterness."

"I remember, I remember that." Banjay said.

"This guy was right there," the leading thug pointed at Jorgen, "standing in the back, signaling his men. It must have been you."

Jorgen recalled that three months ago he did command the crackdown on the Canal District gang meeting.

"You work for Stormwind, specializing in arresting people, right?"

The thug deliberately raised his voice. At several other tables, guests looked over.

"Working for Stormwind to arrest people? Little brother, what do you take me for?"

"Don't come up with this. I know it's you. You even fired wildly at us, hitting several brothers."

Nonsense, I never carry guns, Jorgen thought. But that didn't matter. What mattered was that this trouble-making thug was determined to find trouble with him. The little thugs wanted to get rid of the "working for Stormwind" in front of them to enhance their reputation on the road. Whether or not they got the wrong person, there was no loss to them; because they believed that if the other party was really a Stormwind secret agent or the like, he would never dare expose his identity here.

This is why no member of Military Intelligence Agency is willing to take the initiative to perform tasks in Booty Bay. Here, you are always on the defensive. In contrast, it is easy for criminals to escape pursuit, as long as they can board the Goblin ships that Stormwind has no right to search.

The two followers stood on either side of Jorgen.

"Why don't you say anything? Guilty conscience?" The leading thug said.

Jorgen did not want to make a big deal of it. He had to find a way to stop the thug's harassment without arousing the suspicion of the surrounding guests about his identity. The Goblin boss behind the counter wiped glasses while glancing over with an interested smile on his high lips.

Just then, the inn suddenly darkened. Accompanied by heavy footsteps, an enormous figure almost completely blocked the door. After squeezing into the store, he was no longer in a backlit position, and people saw clearly that the newcomer was an orc. Every muscle on him was like a rock worn down over the years. He wore a string of wooden prayer beads around his neck with countless cross marks on it and carried a sword nearly as wide as a man on his back. When the blade projected sunlight radially into every corner of the inn, the room fell silent. Everyone temporarily stopped what they were doing and cautiously watched the visitor. The thug turned around, then obviously shrank back.

Jorgen recognized him. Now, almost everyone in Booty Bay recognized him: the championship favorite of the gladiatorial arena, Brego Bloodthroat. When he was in the center of the arena, at least half of the people in this room would cheer for him frantically regardless of the consequences, for his cruelty, enthusiasm and bloodiness; but in reality, without the barrier of the stands, these people were extremely afraid of Brego, fearing that the air around him would gouge themselves. People like to imprison gladiators in the arena and enjoy safe, harmless entertainment.

"Master Brego, would you like breakfast?" Even the voice of the Goblin boss showed a hint of hesitation. It was said that Brego went to the mountain top overlooking the sea outlet of Booty Bay to sit in silence for an hour every morning before starting his day.

"The same as yesterday." Brego threw two silver coins onto the counter and then sat down in a seat by the window. People near that seat unconsciously moved their chairs. The boss gestured to the waiter, "Hurry up", and in less than half a minute, a large plate of shark liver and a whole pot of wine were delivered to Brego's table. People knew that staring at Brego while eating was unwise, so they hurried about their business, but the noise was much less than when Brego came in. The thug in front was still in shock. Jorgen wanted to take advantage of this opportunity. He stood up and walked out the door. If the thug was smart enough, he should understand the message that "there is trouble here, if you want to solve the problem, go somewhere else", and sneak out after him.

But he was obviously much more stupid than Jorgen imagined.

"Hey, where are you going? We're not done yet." He grabbed Jorgen's wrist and his body was not completely straight. His knees were still behind the edge of the chair, his eyes wide open, and his voice unnaturally shrill.

This little guy took the wrong medicine, Jorgen thought. It seemed that he wanted to express to the people around him: even with Brego here, I will not retreat, because I have the real guts, and you all watch carefully. He stared straight at Jorgen, but his eyes wavered.

Jorgen pulled his wrist back, and the little thug pulled hard again. It seemed that he was stupid enough to misunderstand. Then let him suffer a bit.

The loud sound of an object tapping the table drew the attention of all the guests to Jorgen's side. They saw Jorgen grasp the dagger through the sheath and vertically smash the hilt of the knife on the thumb of the little thug's right hand. Jorgen's wrist turned, and an unpleasant twisting sound came from under the hilt. The little thug screamed and knelt down, his right elbow resting on the table and his palm shaking outside the edge of the table.

Jorgen bent down slightly and said to him, "You chose the wrong place and the wrong person. Only smart people can live to make a name for themselves, unfortunately you are not. If you understand, get out of here quickly. If you don't understand, hide your next finger. Do you understand?"

The sweaty thug nodded, stumbled out the door, and the two followers hurried to catch up.

At this point, Jorgen found that most of the eyes in the store were on him. He could read the meaning of these people: he was either a pure thug who was fearless in the face of Brego, or a real person with a background and backing. In any case, he was not easy to provoke.

Although this would not completely eliminate their doubts about Jorgen, suppressing doubts with fear was also good. However, Jorgen found that Brego had also looked over. Their eyes met.

Those were a pair of dangerous wild eyes full of danger. Brego was looking him over, but Jorgen understood that he was not an orc who would open random killings on all things that threatened him. All audiences underestimated him, regarding him purely as the embodiment of violence. But the real situation was not the case: he would carefully choose his opponent and show full respect. He did not care whether the weak crowd around him was afraid of him or not, because he disdained them.

Brego turned around. Jorgen sat down and picked up his wine glass.