Rain poured down.
Water streamed down the man's delicate face, but tears seemed to be flowing with it. I heard a sob he couldn't hold back.
At that moment, I seemed to understand him.
Even knowing that the news from a mere mage apprentice was false, he still pretended to listen intently. What was precious was that tiny bit of tenderness and warmth; all he wanted was a little comfort.
His heart was warm too.
"Your Highness, you—!"
"You saw everything, didn't you?"
The man slowly turned around, and a terrifying, sinister two-handed sword appeared in his hand. It was a broad-bladed greatsword, as wide as a door, with countless runes flickering across it and an endless aura of death swirling around it.
Without a doubt, this was the famous Frostmourne.
I felt as if I were about to die, as though I could hear my own soul wailing.
"Old friends reunited. Here's a small gift for you, a token of my regard."
Was it eternal death?
The greatsword slowly cut open my chest.
No blood flowed. The ensuing chill froze the wound, and I closed my eyes, sinking into despair, afraid to look at my beating heart.
The man reached forward and grabbed something.
Was my heart about to leave me?
I mustered the courage to open my eyes. What the man held wasn't a heart, but something curled into a ball, like a mana serpent. It was pitch-black and surrounded by an ominous aura.
"What is that?" I asked, summoning my courage. "Why was it in my chest?"
"A Spellstealer Wyrm hatchling, a variant of Quel'Thalas's mana wyrms. They're exceedingly rare, and a handful of powerful high elves raise them in secret. Have you offended Prince Kael'thas?"
"I've only been in Dalaran for three months, and I've been busy with my studies and experiments the whole time. How could someone like me have had the chance to meet Prince Kael'thas?" I said with a bitter smile.
"Oh! This must have been a gift, a gift for Jaina. Women—calamity is the most fitting word for you. I imagine you must have suffered the torment of falling from heaven to hell." The man's eyebrows twitched as he spoke in a grave tone.
"How did you know?"
A powerful surge of mana filled my body. The joy of regaining what I had lost made me forget, for the moment, my open chest and the organs exposed to the air.
Dalaran was home to countless elites and never accepted anyone worthless.
There were three things that mattered most on the path of a mage.
Aptitude, aptitude, and aptitude.
I was a genius, one rarely seen in a thousand years. I had the greatest aptitude in the history of the Council of Tirisfal and the best chance of becoming the Guardian. They said I could change Azeroth.
"Your stage awaits in Dalaran. Archmage Antonidas will surely take you as his disciple. I only hope the Archmage won't be so excited that he has a heart attack, haha." The magic instructor in my hometown had great hopes for my future, and his gratified gaze was gentle.
On my third day in Dalaran, after a night of drinking at a banquet, the magical aptitude I was so proud of suddenly vanished. I could no longer sense the power of magic.
In an instant, I had fallen from heaven into the abyss beneath the earth.
"This is the work of a heart demon."
The Dalaran instructor shook his head in disappointment, utterly dejected. "Another rising star has fallen. This isn't the first time, either. Those dreadful heart demons—why must they bring harm to the world?"
Dalaran had countless studies on heart demons, enough to fill Stormwind City's library, but opinions differed, and no one knew what a heart demon really was.
Commoners from ordinary families who also possessed exceptional aptitude were the most likely to develop heart demons, while princesses, princes, and the children of great nobles were rarely troubled by them.
Some called it a disease of the poor.
Only now did I understand that the so-called heart demon was nothing more than a Spellstealer Wyrm.
A Spellstealer Wyrm's egg had hatched inside me and stolen the power that belonged to me.
"Although you've lost your aptitude and are no longer suited to become a mage, we in Dalaran won't give up on anyone. You'll find a place for yourself here."
How heartwarming, how moving, enough to bring tears of gratitude to my eyes.
The truth was brutally cruel. They were merely waiting for the Spellstealer Wyrm to grow, after which they would mercilessly throw me out.
How sad.
The man sighed. "I thought the Spellstealer Wyrms had gone extinct with the fall of Quel'Thalas. Look—even sacred Dalaran isn't entirely spotless."
True, where there was light, there was darkness.
The world was bound to have dark corners where sunlight could not reach,
but that was no reason to become the world's enemy.
I wanted to say something in defense.
Warm light flowed, and flesh grew anew as my chest slowly healed.
It was the power of the Holy Light. I looked at the man in surprise.
"Surprised, aren't you? Death at its utmost and the Holy Light lead to the same place. Having mastered death, I can naturally wield the Holy Light as well. The Holy Light never abandons us," the man explained with a smile.
I didn't know what to say. I could only stare blankly at him, as if I had met him for the first time. At that moment, the prince was a stranger to me.
The prince of Lordaeron looked up at the sky, his eyes bright and shining, and asked:
"Azazel, if one day you wanted to put everything aside and find a place to live in seclusion, where would you choose?"
"Lakeshire," I blurted out.
That was the hometown of my beloved Lisa.
The prince smiled, his smile full of joy.
"Fate really is strange. How I wish I could put everything aside and become an ordinary farmer, marry an ordinary woman, and have a few children. A simple life, without a care in the world. What a pity..."
His Highness put Frostmourne away, waved his hand, and slowly walked into the curtain of rain. His figure gradually vanished, leaving only loneliness between heaven and earth.
For some reason, I felt he was bidding farewell to the world of the living.
I bowed deeply to his retreating figure.
In the days that followed, my mana fully recovered, and my strength grew steadily. I knew who the enemy I had to face was, so I stayed away from other mages and kept a low profile. I never displayed magic in front of anyone, and my strength remained unknown.
On countless quiet nights, I tossed and turned, recalling that night's conversation and the warm Holy Light in the man's hand. It always sent chills down my spine.
It wasn't the man I feared, but what I had seen and heard that night.
What had that man wanted to tell me? How many hidden currents and unknown depths of darkness lay within it? I didn't even dare think about it.
What looked like miraculous coincidence was always being controlled by an invisible hand. Magic itself was the art of concentrating and making use of coincidences, and I realized I had to do something.
I began searching for information, leafing through dusty old notes, entering the ruins of Dalaran to examine traces of spellcasting, risking my life to infiltrate Lordaeron in search of clues, venturing through the Plaguelands where the Undead ran rampant, and searching alone for the faintest traces amid Northrend's ice and snow.
I had drunk heartily in Orgrimmar, admired the scenery in Thunder Bluff, listened to music in Silvermoon City, danced with abominations in the Undercity, and tasted delicacies in Pandaria...
The greatest surprise came during the time I infiltrated the Stonemasons' Guild and helped repair Stormwind City. By chance, I discovered a tablet called Wealth, which recorded something very interesting.
The truth was drawing closer, the clues becoming clear one by one. A history unknown to the world was about to reveal itself before me, and all the mysteries were about to be solved. To confirm my suspicions and find the final piece of evidence, I passed through the Dark Portal to Outland, the Orcs' homeland.
It was here that I encountered the Bronze Dragonflight. They were no match for me, but they still had enough power to banish me to Draenor thirty-five years in the past, in the name of preventing interference with history.
I had to thank the Bronze Dragonflight. In this timeline, I had finally pieced together every clue, and no doubts remained.
I was conducting an extremely risky experiment.
If it succeeded, I would travel through the Twisting Nether and return to Azeroth in the normal timeline to reveal the truth to the people. If it failed, I would die.
But that didn't matter. I had told everything to another unfortunate soul who, like me, had been banished to Draenor, yet was also fortunate. I had seen a few fragments of the future: before long, this person was destined to pass through the Dark Portal with a group of heroes, leading followers..."
The diary ended there.
"So that's why this guy was only ever a mage apprentice."
After reading the mage apprentice's diary translated by Robbie, Vanessa was somewhat disappointed. "That's so unreliable. The crucial part is missing. I thought we'd get to learn the secret of the Wealth Tablet."
The Orcs had searched the whole city without finding it, and the Stonemasons' Guild had failed to discover it despite doing everything they could, yet this mage apprentice had stumbled upon the Wealth Tablet by accident. Fortunately, he had provided the whereabouts of someone in the know.
Robbie frowned and repeated, "Before long, this person was destined to pass through the Dark Portal with a group of heroes, leading followers... A commander. Wait..."
Of the heroes who had passed through the Dark Portal, once he ruled out the known ones with clean backgrounds and those who had died or disappeared, whoever remained had to be...
A player!
How had a player gotten involved in this?
Robbie didn't believe there were players in this world who could resurrect an unlimited number of times.
"Just as I expected." Vanessa placed the diary on the table. "I've been looking into the unidentified fiftieth person at the Dark Portal these past few days. This person is even more mysterious than I imagined."
"Is that person important?" Robbie asked cautiously.
"The secret of Stormwind City's Wealth Tablet is connected to Archimonde. This person took part in the Battle of Mount Hyjal and was an important member of the force there. I think he should know something." Looking helpless, Vanessa spread her hands. "Not many survived the Battle of Mount Hyjal. Most don't know the truth, and those who do are all high-ranking members of the Alliance and Horde. Every one of them treats it as taboo and keeps their lips sealed, so I can't get anything out of them. The mysterious person may be the only opening."
Was she about to go up against a player? That was dangerous. On the continent of Azeroth, whether they were good or evil, everyone who opposed a player came to a bad end.
Robbie felt he should find another job.
Although Robbie had been managing the garrison these past few days, while Vanessa appeared to have plenty of time on her hands and often didn't hand things over or the like, Robbie knew full well that the commander was investigating something in secret.
Robbie had never imagined that the target of her investigation was a "player."
"That's about all this diary is worth," Vanessa said listlessly.
"No, no, I think it's very valuable," Robbie hurriedly said. "For example, the Lich King can use the Holy Light."
"Mm." Vanessa nodded. "And?"
"Frostmourne is really big."