Chapter 764

Chapter 764: Special Cooperation

This small dungeon was quite unique. Jesse felt it must have been enhanced by magic—meaning that although the Wizard’s Sanctum wanted SI:7 to hand over these users of black magic, they had still helped modify this place specifically for detaining spellcasters.

Inside the cell sat four isolated prisoners: three men and one woman. Though all were warlocks, Jesse recognized none of them. Black magic groups within the Kingdom of Stormwind far outnumbered what he had imagined.

Whether these prisoners had exhausted their strength from long imprisonment or were suppressed by the magical seals, Jesse could barely sense any black magic power from them. He had initially reasoned that black dragons wielded fire and Shadow Magic, so warlocks manipulating fel magic could be ruled out first.

Yet now he detected no trace of shadow, fel, or any other magic. As he studied the four, Jesse’s uncertainty deepened.

He glanced back at Matthias, wondering if this was a test. Perhaps they already knew which prisoner was the Wyrmkin—or maybe no Wyrmkin existed here at all, and they merely sought to gauge his abilities.

But even with his acute sensitivity to shadow energy, he discerned no differences among them. "Do these cells weaken magic?" he asked.

"Yes," Matthias nodded. "To prevent sudden attacks with black magic against those outside."

"Then I need to enter," Jesse stated.

"It’s dangerous, Master," Matthias cautioned.

"Trust me, Matthias. The danger lies with them, not me," Jesse said, locking eyes with one gaunt youth. Matthias offered a faint smile and nodded, signaling the guard to unlock each cell door sequentially.

After inspecting all four prisoners, Jesse’s findings remained unchanged. While he detected remnants of Shadow Magic and could roughly gauge their power levels, it wasn’t enough to identify who carried black dragon blood.

At last, Jesse shook his head. "This is beyond my skills, Mr. Matthias. A dragon’s disguise isn’t mere Polymorph trickery—it’s a true transformation."

"Would magical attacks force their true forms?" Niden asked.

Matthias stayed silent as Jesse answered, "Possibly. Wyrmkin endure fire and Shadow Magic better than mortal warlocks. Using equal-force spells would likely kill the mortals first. But would you execute every captured warlock just to find Wyrmkin? What if those Wyrmkin posed as nobles… or even SI:7 agents?"

Niden nodded. Jesse scanned the prisoners again. They watched him or the two agents intently, the woman sighing as she lowered her head. Jesse considered whether emotions might betray the impostor.

"I wish to examine them once more."

"Of course," Matthias motioned to the guard.

This time, Jesse focused on a middle-aged man whose emotional undercurrent felt distinct—not stronger, but different.

Most radiated resignation, weariness, or desperate hope for freedom—typical prison sentiments. Yet this man harbored confusion, even fear.

He fought to conceal it, but his suppression only made the emotions clearer to Jesse, who read feelings through shadow energy, not outward expressions.

*What frightened him? Was it guilt over Deathwing’s demise?* "Do they know about Grim Batol?" Jesse asked.

"No. They’ve been isolated here nearly a year with no outside contact," Niden replied.

*Then why?* Jesse studied the man. "Do you know me?"

The man stared mutely. Just as Jesse dismissed his suspicion, the man’s gaze flickered to his cloak.

Though instantly averted, Jesse caught the fear directed at his dark cloak—the black dragonhide gift from Vaelastrasz!

"Do you know this cloak’s material, Mr. Shaw?" Jesse asked.

"Is this relevant?" Matthias countered.

"Absolutely."

Matthias touched the fabric, frowning. "Unfamiliar. Like soft metal. Isn’t it heavy?"

"Heavier than most cloaks," Jesse said. "If even a dragon investigator can’t identify it by touch, isn’t this man’s recognition suspicious? It’s woven from black dragon scales and hide."

The middle-aged man’s rage nearly erupted, but he stayed silent. Jesse spoke in Draconic: "Deathwing has fallen. How long can his pawns last?"

"Lies!" the man snarled back in Draconic. "You die now, little mage!"

His pupils became slits. Clothes tore as his body swelled, dark-brown scales engulfing his form. But as he raised clawed hands, Jesse chanted a Fear incantation. The Wyrmkin shrieked, collapsing to claw desperately at the cell floor, scrabbling at walls like a trapped animal.

Jesse stepped out calmly as the guard secured the door. Matthias and Niden drew blades, watching the frenzied Wyrmkin. The three warlocks prostrated before it, begging mercy while hurling curses at Jesse, who ignored them.

"How did you detect his recognition of the cloak?" Matthias asked, sword tight in hand.

"I sensed emotional discord," Jesse said. "But this method can’t be replicated. Not every Wyrmkin loses control so easily. We need reliable tactics."

Outside the cell, Matthias peered back inside. "Since we’ve uncovered one disguised Wyrmkin, Master Seso, can we trace others by similar traits?"

"That requires a hound smelling magic," Niden quipped. The jest struck Jesse like lightning.

He studied Matthias, then Niden. "The real question is: if such hounds exist, would you work with their… specialized trainers?"