The world was vast and full of wonders, and the same rice fed all kinds of people.
There were always a few adventurers who demonstrated the true meaning of a pig teammate in all sorts of baffling ways.
Luobo'an's Shadow Bolt struck its target, and Slitthroat opened his eyes and immediately pounced.
Terrified, Luobo'an scrambled out of the wolf's claws just in time and turned to run back. But he forgot about the trap, and he and Slitthroat tumbled into the three-meter-deep pit together.
That idiot really was as stupid as a pig.
Robbie could no longer afford to hold back. He activated Avenging Wrath and killed all five wolf pups in an instant.
Robbie and Ironfist looked down into the trap and both laughed.
Luobo'an ran in front, with Slitthroat clamped firmly onto his backside.
The Succubus followed Slitthroat, swinging her whip. The man, wolf, and demon ran circles around the cramped trap. It was quite a sight.
After they killed Slitthroat, Luobo'an was a bloody mess. Fortunately, his injuries were only superficial. Robbie casually cast Holy Light a few times, hoping there wouldn't be anything like rabies.
Still catching his breath, Luobo'an searched Slitthroat's corpse with a shrewd look on his face. Finding nothing, he reluctantly took out a knife, skinned the wolf, and endured the bloody smell as he searched carefully through its innards.
"Why didn't the rare monster drop anything? So books really are full of lies."
Robbie and Dwal Ironfist exchanged a glance and silently agreed to say nothing.
Looking disappointed, Luobo'an ordered the lumberjacks to gather wood, then trudged back to the garrison to turn in the quest.
Robbie and Ironfist wandered around for a while, then came back.
It was better to have no books than to believe everything in them. A beast wasn't a humanoid monster, so naturally it wouldn't carry its loot on its body.
The two found Slitthroat's lair in a nearby ravine.
Deepest inside the Wolf Den lay a desiccated human corpse that looked to have been dead for many years. There were no obvious wounds on its body, only a hole in the middle of its forehead with a sharp beast's tooth lodged in it. That was presumably the cause of death.
The two spent a long time examining the corpse. No matter how they looked at it, the beast's tooth seemed to have been deliberately implanted. What kind of idiotic performance art was it for a human to bore a hole in his forehead and install a beast's tooth? Had he been trying to pass himself off as a demon?
Robbie carefully pulled out the Beast Fang. To his surprise, it was a piece of equipment.
It was a fine-grade dagger, Throat Cutter's Fang, and would fetch a good price.
Unfortunately, under the follower contract, fine-grade equipment had to be handed over to the commander to dispose of.
They searched the corpse's clothing and suddenly saw a flash of light.
It was a superior-grade ring. Both Robbie and Ironfist had empty ring slots, and followers could divide superior-grade equipment among themselves without handing it over to the commander. Both of them took out dice at the same time.
But when they checked the ring's name and attributes, they were both dumbfounded.
Superior-grade green-text equipment: Kirin Tor Apprentice's Ring.
Equipment requirement: Dalaran mage.
Why had a Kirin Tor mage apprentice appeared here?
Deep in the cave, Robbie found a diary. Most of its pages had rotted away, but the last few had been specially treated with a magic potion, and the writing was still clear.
After reading the diary, Robbie's expression grew serious.
Damn it, he didn't recognize a single word.
Vanessa lay reclining on her bed in pink pajamas, reading the diary they had recovered.
"Kirin Tor mage cipher, apprentice level. It's nothing too complicated." Vanessa yawned, pulled a book from the shelf, and handed it to Robbie, open to a particular page.
"Just decipher it using the method on this page."
"Commander, do I have to do this too?"
"I need to catch up on sleep," Vanessa replied matter-of-factly.
Commander, keep this up and you'll become as lazy as a pig. Of course, Robbie could only think it.
Back in his room, Robbie burned the midnight oil, working at his desk through the night to decipher the diary:
"...Dalaran has been destroyed...
I am Azazel Carla, one of Dalaran's survivors.
After Dalaran was destroyed, I swore never to wear the robes of a Kirin Tor apprentice again. I couldn't bear to see the pity in people's eyes. Even Azeroth's most powerful group of mages couldn't stop Archimonde. Is there any hope left for this world?
All the sorrow in the world combined cannot compare to the fall of Dalaran.
I remember that it was a rainy night, and the streets of Southshore were wet.
I ordered a strong drink in a tavern. The burning sensation made me forget my sorrow for a while, and I felt I could eat some vegetables and meat.
Ever since I heard of Dalaran's destruction five days ago and parted from my beloved Lisa in Lakeshire, I had been in a terrible mood and had eaten nothing but conjured bread.
Among a group of noisy merchants and fierce pirates, I caught sight of a figure by chance, and sobered up instantly.
I heard a murmured whisper, the words coming in fits and starts:
"...The Book of Medivh... summoning Archimonde... Dalaran's mages lost their mana... the Orcs feasted, drank their fill, and reveled to their hearts' content... the wealth Dalaran accumulated over a thousand years... what was the point of everything I did... even if I could defeat Archimonde, what then... the Burning Legion has already arrived... stubborn Medivh, foolish Antonidas, is this the outcome you wanted?"
The man was drinking the cheapest beer in the tavern, pouring down one mug after another as if he would never stop, muttering to himself all the while.
He suddenly sensed something, raised his head, and glanced at me. He smiled at me, a shining lock of golden hair stirring gently over his forehead.
"Azazel, my old classmate, what a surprise to see you here."
He greeted me as if we were old classmates...
No, we really had been classmates, but we belonged to different social classes and had hardly ever spoken.
I couldn't help recalling those carefree, reckless days of my youth in Lordaeron...
"I am Arthas Menethil, the man destined to become king of Lordaeron. My goal is to make sure everyone in Lordaeron has meat to eat."
That childish voice, that stubborn, chuunibyou face—what wonderful memories.
In a sense, he had largely achieved his goal. Almost all the people of Lordaeron had become Ghouls.
The man had already walked up to me, and I stammered in reply:
"I never expected... to... to see you here... how have you been... Your Royal Highness, you look..."
How was I supposed to deal with this damned scum? This traitor who had murdered his father and his teacher, the executioner who had slaughtered Lordaeron and Quel'Thalas, the chief culprit behind Dalaran's destruction? The respected Archmage Antonidas had died at his hands.
But I was only a mage apprentice who had been enrolled for three months.
"My dear old classmate, what did you expect me to look like? As the rumors say, a face full of wrinkles, long, withered hair, pale skin, evil eyes, and a hoarse voice, feeding on foul maggots and fresh flesh and blood? Would someone who can control death be powerless to change his own appearance? Those who spread such rumors have no idea how magnificent the ultimate power of death is. Bloodshed, slaughter, lies, and betrayal fill this world. Only death can bring hope and courage to cowards and weaklings, grant them new life, and lead them to a hopeful tomorrow."
He was as much of a chuunibyou as ever. He hadn't changed at all.
For a moment, I felt a trace of relief I hadn't felt in a long time.
My old classmate really hadn't changed much. Only his appearance was younger and more vigorous than before. Was that really all right?
The man realized he had been talking too much and fell silent for a while.
As he watched the rain pouring outside the window, his face was flushed, probably because he had drunk too much. He was full of vitality, with no trace of death about him.
"Azazel, I remember your family moved to Dunau Town in the Kingdom of Stormwind. When did you become a mage apprentice in Dalaran?"
The man lowered his voice and asked casually, doing his best to suppress his chuunibyou spirit.
His eyes were brighter than before, and he had become much more mature. He had the bearing of a natural leader and radiated the charisma of an immortal king.
Even more frightening were his powers of observation. I wasn't wearing anything that marked me as being from Dalaran.
"I, actually... am only an apprentice. What I study... isn't magic, it's... surgery."
My field of study aroused his interest.
"Could you tell me about the results of your research?"
This was the field I prided myself on. Although I tried to be cautious, I couldn't help feeling a little proud, and my words gradually began to flow.
The man nodded repeatedly as he listened, his expression appreciative. "Teaching ordinary people to treat injuries is very worthwhile. It could save a lot of lives in war. It's an excellent idea. Come with me. We haven't seen each other in years; let's catch up properly."
He's not going to make me stitch together abominations for the Scourge, is he? I speculated maliciously.
I didn't know how I ended up following him, but I was no longer as afraid as I had been at first.
We walked slowly through the dark night. The man spoke calmly of the past, recalling stories from our school days. He even laughed at my naive youthful ambition to marry a High Elf woman.
Like any old classmates meeting again, we opened our hearts and spoke frankly. For some reason, I completely forgot that the person beside me was in fact the Betrayer of all Azeroth, the terrifying lord of the Undead Scourge.
The man kept asking about the old days in Dalaran. I knew he wanted to ask how Jaina was doing, but just as when he was young, he was too shy to bring it up, so I told him everything I knew.
The man was visibly relieved to hear that Jaina was still alive, but when he learned that she had gone to Kalimdor, his brow darkened again!
"She made her choice after all." The man's smile was intensely bitter.
Before we knew it, we had arrived at the former site of Durnholde Keep.
Looking at the ruined walls, the man's expression grew serious:
"Many years ago, right here, a human lord found an Orc infant. The human lord found someone to nurse him, hired teachers to educate him, had people instruct him in the strategies of war, and trained him to fight with all kinds of weapons."
"The reason is quite laughable. This human lord actually had the naive idea of raising the Orc infant to become the leader of the Orcs, so he could use them to conquer the world. More interestingly, the Orcs were lazy and weak at the time, not even fit for hard labor."
As an apprentice of Dalaran, I naturally knew this history, so I gave him my assessment:
"Prince, that is a complete lie. No human lord would be so foolish. Even if one had such an idea, he would make the infant sign a contract never to betray him."
As a mage apprentice of Dalaran, I knew that such evil contracts existed, and more than one kind at that.
The man smiled and shook his head. "No, the Orc infant was real. It's just that there was an interesting little incident. Of course, the lord had no ambition to conquer the world; he acted purely out of a father's love for his son. Who would have thought that this Orc was the son of Durotan, chieftain of the Frostwolf Clan?"
"Prince, that is merely a story, a falsehood deliberately put about. Everyone knows that Durotan and his wife were assassinated by the Shadow Council long ago. It would have been a miracle for an Orc infant to survive in a human kingdom, and who could prove his identity? In any case, no one can verify whether it is true!"
The man nodded slightly. "Yes. Right and wrong, truth and lies—why should we care? Take today, for example. I lied to you!"
"When Dalaran was destroyed, I saw Jaina."
That was what the man said.