The hazy beauty of dusk had faded, and night had fallen. Rhonin walked wearily through the streets of Lordaeron.
The night in Lordaeron was far from pleasant; the shops on the streets closed early, with only one inn still lit up.
A drunken Dwarf leaned against the door, his beard covered in grime.
He needed to find a hotel to rest. Rhonin touched his waist; his purse was still firmly in place.
They cautiously entered the inn, and the noisy atmosphere inside vanished instantly as the adventurers quietly observed the Dalaran Mages.
It's unusual for a distinguished monk to appear at an inconspicuous inn on the street; they are usually guests of nobles.
Unless the monk has a terrible reputation.
Rhonin felt the intense gazes, wrapped his cloak tighter to make himself less conspicuous, and whispered to the innkeeper.
"I need a room, the cheapest kind."
Rhonin's savings are running low, so he has to be careful with his money.
The still-attractive innkeeper, with her alluring gaze, looked at Rhonin with a smile.
Young Rhonin had an attractive head of red hair, a strong physique, and regular features. His strong scholarly air added to his charm. His well-tailored robe was worn, but it did not affect his aristocratic manners in every gesture.
The landlady handed over a key, swaying her hips and saying with a flirtatious look, "The best room is free."
"Free? How can that be?" Rhonin was so embarrassed that he didn't know whether he should take the key or not.
The innkeeper leaned forward, the pungent smell of perfume hitting Rhonin's nose, and whispered in his ear:
"I heard that mages have special ways of playing. I'll come find you later and bring you half a roasted lamb leg and a pot of good wine."
"A leg of lamb?" Rhonin swallowed hard. It had been a long time since he had tasted meat. As for the "method," he didn't care. Wasn't life just a transaction?
The surrounding adventurers all looked on with envy, but unexpectedly, a deep voice rang out:
"Mage from Dalaran, please have a drink."
The innkeeper bit her lip angrily and muttered in dissatisfaction, "The duck that was almost in our mouths has flown away."
Following the sound, Rhonin looked and saw a tall, middle-aged man sitting by the window. He wore a magnificent double-breasted robe, his short, jet-black hair was neatly trimmed and shiny, his beard was clean-shaven, and his face was thin with sharp, eagle-like eyes. He possessed an extraordinary and noble air, making him stand out from the adventurers in the inn.
A large space was cleared around the middle-aged man; the adventurers preferred to huddle together rather than get close to him.
Rhonin's eyes lit up; the middle-aged man was clearly a nobleman, a powerful figure he needed to curry favor with.
Rhonin's purpose in coming to Lordaeron was to secure a position; he didn't want to be Court Mages, he would be content to work as a magic teacher in a noble family.
Walking quickly over, Rhonin hastily introduced himself, "Rhonin, Dalaran Mages, apprenticed under Korialstrasz."
Korialstrasz is another name for the Dragon Mage Krasus. In reality, Rhonin was only a nominal disciple and never received any instruction from Krasus.
The middle-aged man said politely, "Davar Prestor, I'm from Alterac."
With a completely unfamiliar surname, Rhonin, who hadn't yet integrated into Lordaeron's high society, didn't know what to say and gave an awkward laugh.
Prestor smiled slightly. "I can see you're in some trouble. I know some people in Lordaeron who might be able to help you. Of course, I hope you're of good character. It's okay for young people to make mistakes, but remember not to violate your principles."
Rhonin felt that Prestor was more noble than any Prince. His elegant demeanor made him lower his guard, and he wanted to speak his mind.
"I did indeed violate the principles of Dalaran and displease High Archmage Antonidas; that was two years ago."
Two years ago, eight years after the Dark Portal opened, on that night, Rhonin and five close friends got drunk at a tavern.
They were all nominal disciples of Dalaran, insignificant figures who could be abandoned at any time.
Perhaps the wine was too good that night, or perhaps the girls were too enthusiastic, but when Rhonin and his companions came out of the tavern, they did not find the streets quiet and the magical puppets that usually patrolled were nowhere to be seen.
Then, Rhonin saw a group of Orcs, the leader of Orcs wore a hood and a red and black chainmail.
"Have the Orcs escaped from the Internment Camp?"
Rhonin instinctively thought so, but then the nauseating stench made him abandon the idea.
"The stench of the Undead must mean some mage was researching forbidden magic, and their test subject escaped. Strange, why didn't Dalaran sound an alarm?"
The Orcs were taken aback when they saw Rhonin companions. After a brief hesitation, Rhonin began to cast a spell, which was almost an instinctive habit. Many people said that Rhonin's spellcasting was faster than his brain could react, and he always made the right choice. Rhonin was casting the Holy Word.
Holy Word is highly effective against Undead creatures, but if the opponent is too strong, there is a high chance it will be resisted.
It must be said that Rhonin was quite lucky; the Holy Word worked, and Flames started burning from the rotting Orcs's chest, which he couldn't extinguish.
The chief Orcs struggled, screaming in pain and pleading incessantly, while the Orcs retreated in fear.
As the Orcs's turban fell to the ground, revealing his face, Rhonin and the others were so frightened they couldn't utter a sound.
What a distorted face it was! Its skin was an unnatural dark green, disgusting green secretions flowed from its cheeks, and its eyes were bloodshot, filled with malice.
Rhonin had seen many Undead creatures, but he had never seen one so terrifying.
"Who, who are you? What are you?" Rhonin couldn't help but take a few steps back, his voice trembling slightly as he asked.
"I am Teron Gorefiend, please, save me, don't let me die here."
At the time, Rhonin was just an ordinary mage and didn't know the meaning of the name. Just as he was wondering what it meant, a majestic voice rang in his ears.
"Fool, filthy trash, useless wretch, dispel your Holy Word now!"
The voice was very familiar; High Archmage Antonidas, who had often stood on a high platform and addressed the public, his topics mostly revolving around mercy, the fight against Evil, and the struggle itself.
Rhonin dared not disobey the order and hurriedly tried to dispel the Holy Word, but because he was too nervous, he failed to cast the spell several times.
Antonidas seemed to have grown impatient; a purple orb of light slowly descended and then exploded.
The Greater Disintegration.
It can dispel magic like Holy Word, but if one's strength is insufficient, the body will turn to dust.
In the critical moment, Rhonin Blink to a magically covered area, but unfortunately, his five companions were not so lucky, falling to the ground and turning into dust.
Later, Rhonin learned that that night, Teron Gorefiend had divided his forces to search for the mysterious Booty Bay room in Dalaran, and unfortunately encountered Rhonin and his companions, who were drunk.
The deaths of his five companions were naturally blamed on Rhonin, who claimed it was because he used magic recklessly.
Even Rhonin himself couldn't deny that his situation in Dalaran was becoming increasingly difficult.
After recounting his past, Rhonin said with a bitter smile, "I just want to leave Dalaran, leave this place of sorrow."