"Where am I?" Wulaizi stared blankly at the gray-green mountain forest before him for a moment. "Wasn't I playing games at an internet café?"
The mountainous wilderness before him felt very familiar. Wulaizi stood in the middle of a narrow mountain path, and apart from the rustle of wind through the woods, the surroundings were almost unnaturally quiet.
A faint stink hung in the air, rather like the smell of a dead mouse in the house. Wulaizi took two deep sniffs and disgusted himself so badly that he sneezed three times in a row.
He looked himself over. He was no longer wearing a T-shirt and jeans, but an assortment of shabby gear: a suit of pitch-black chain mail, a pair of worn leather gloves, cloth shoes, and blue pants made of some material he couldn't identify.
He held a round wooden shield the size of a washbasin in his left hand and an iron sword as long as his arm in his right. They were his equipment in the game.
"Did I... transmigrate into the game?" Unable to believe it, he stamped his feet and waved his sword and shield. The dirt beneath his feet was solid, and there was no mistaking the weight of the weapons.
Unless someone had knocked him out, dressed him in equipment identical to what he had in the game, and dumped him here.
But he couldn't think of anyone bored enough to play such a nasty trick on him.
After being bombarded with transmigration novels and dramas, Wulaizi had dreamed of traveling to another world for a legendary adventure, but he had never imagined it would actually happen to him.
Earlier, he had camped out in Northrend waiting for a spirit beast without success, so he had switched to leveling his Paladin alt. He had reached level 20 questing in Westfall, and after some effort, he had found a Warlock in his guild to summon him to the Scarlet Monastery so he could soak up experience.
To his surprise, a group of high-level Horde players had ganged up on him as soon as he arrived. His little level 20 body had gone to meet the angel sister after just a couple of hits.
He had been running back to his corpse when a sudden stabbing pain struck his heart. His vision had gone black, and he had ended up here. Damn Horde pigs, I was going to switch to my high-level hunter and fight you to my heart's content, but I'll have to spare you now...
The sound of hooves and clashing metal interrupted Wulaizi's imaginings. He looked down the slope to see a knight galloping toward him, both rider and horse covered in armor.
In the moment Wulaizi stood stunned, the knight charged up to him. He looked somewhat disheveled, with strands of white hair streaming from beneath his helmet and dents all over his dark gray armor.
A bloodstained rag hung from his pauldron, bearing the faint outline of a red maple-leaf pattern—the emblem of the Scarlet Crusade.
"Kid, run if you want to live!" a great roar came from inside the knight's helmet.
Wulaizi seemed not to have recovered from the fright and simply stood there in the middle of the narrow mountain path.
But the knight didn't hit him. He swept past Wulaizi amid the thunder of hooves and the clatter of armor.
Wulaizi instinctively raised a hand and cast a buff on the knight—Blessing of Kings (places a blessing on a friendly target, increasing all attributes by 10% for 10 minutes).
It was a habit he had developed in the game. Casually buffing a passerby might earn him a friend, and if he ran into a sweet girl, that would be like hitting the jackpot.
A soft, silvery-white light appeared in his right hand, then shot swiftly toward the back of the mounted knight.
There was no such effect in the game. Wulaizi stared at his right hand in surprise, his eyes growing a little moist. At last, my right hand can do something else too (besides playing games and jerking off).
The silver light finally reached the knight, who cried out in surprise and suspicion, yanked on the reins, and turned his horse around to charge at Wulaizi.
"Please spare me, sir! I meant no harm!" Seeing the great horse charging toward him, Wulaizi let out a pig-like squeal, bent over, and rolled toward the side of the path.
With the thunder of hooves in his ears, a large hand in a red glove reached out to him. Wulaizi felt a tightness around his chest, and as though he were on a roller coaster, he was yanked onto the horse's back by the knight with a boom.
The knight made another sharp turn and continued up the mountain.
"Quick, throw away that junk in your hands. You're already slowing Black Wind down badly," a deep baritone came through the knight's helmet.
Wulaizi lay across the horse in front of the knight, still catching his breath. At those words, he promptly let go, and the wooden shield and iron sword tumbled into the gully on the left.
"Sir, why did you grab me? Where are you going in such a hurry? And could you put me in a more comfortable position? Something's pressing against my kidneys, and it really hurts..." Wulaizi clutched his stomach with one hand and held tightly to the horse's neck with the other. He didn't want to fall off.
"Idiot, don't be so ungrateful! Look behind us!" the knight roared.
Wulaizi strained to poke his head out and look back. There were actually pursuers down the mountain, though he could only see a few small black dots and one large one. He narrowed his eyes and could just make out that the large dot was a black-robed figure riding a goat.
Wait, a goat? Could that be a Skeletal Warhorse?
There was no mistaking it: a goat's head and a horse's body, steady and elegant, understated yet magnificent, trailing a string of purple ghostly flames as it ran. In the Alliance, it was a symbol of good character, while in the Horde, it was the exclusive mount of the Forsaken.
The pursuers' identity was obvious. They were either the Forsaken or troops of the Scourge.
Only then did Wulaizi feel a belated surge of fear, and he grumbled inwardly, Good thing I was smart enough to give you, you bastard, a Blessing of Kings. Otherwise, would you have just left me there? With my little level 20 body, I'd probably have died in two or three hits. I could resurrect in the game, but who knows what happens if I die here?
But when he remembered that his life was still in the other man's hands, Wulaizi could only express his gratitude. "Thank you for saving my life, sir. My admiration for you is like an endless torrent..."
"Hmph!" The knight cut Wulaizi off disdainfully and said in a commanding tone, "Don't thank me yet. It's not certain whether I can save you. Hurry up and take off that junky chain mail too!"
This stinking ****!
Wulaizi was furious. I was just minding my own business, transmigrating onto the road, and you stupid prick led a bunch of mobs right to me. I haven't even asked you to apologize, and here you are acting like a lord!
Of course, he could only curse inwardly. His hands weren't idle, though; he quickly unfastened the chain mail and threw it off the horse.
He knew full well that since this fellow could scoop him onto the horse with one hand, he could just as easily throw him off. It was better not to offend him for now.
"Tch, still not enough. At this rate they'll catch us for sure." The knight glanced back at their pursuers. "Black Wind, I'm sorry!"
With that, he took the riding whip hanging in a coil from the saddle and flicked it forcefully into the air. Unfurled, it was almost two meters long. Then he began spinning his arm rapidly, and the whip whistled as it whirled at high speed like a propeller.
One second, two seconds, three seconds. The whip spun faster and faster, but he still didn't bring it down. Wulaizi almost thought the man was about to turn into a human bamboo-copter and carry him into the sky.
At last, apparently having built up enough force, the knight let out a great shout and swung his arm down three times in rapid succession. The tip of the long whip struck the horse's rump like a venomous snake, the three cracks almost blending into one.
Struck so heavily on the rump, Black Wind—the warhorse beneath the knight—let out an earth-shaking scream of pain and abruptly surged to another speed, nearly throwing Wulaizi off.
Wulaizi hurriedly hugged the horse's neck and stuck his head out to look back. The horse's thighs were a bloody mess, but the knight showed no mercy, continuing to lash it fiercely to maintain their speed.
With a crack, a drop of blood flew onto Wulaizi's face. He felt a pang of pity. Oh, horse, horse, thanks for the hard work today. I'll be sure to pat your behind properly another day.
Their pursuers gradually disappeared from sight. Out of danger for the moment, Wulaizi breathed a sigh of relief. After that chase, the sense of unreality he had felt since transmigrating gradually faded.
Wulaizi began to think about his situation. Azeroth was an extremely dangerous world. All manner of alien demons and native Old Gods were doing everything they could to destroy it, and the various races of Azeroth had never truly been at peace. The Alliance and the Horde fought constantly, and all-out war could erupt at any time.
How am I supposed to survive in this dangerous world? I'm a lone transmigrator, with no family or friends.
He could only rely on his own strength. For the first time, Wulaizi longed so much for power: power to protect himself and control his own fate, rather than having his life in someone else's hands as it was now.
Looking at his surroundings, he saw that this seemed to be where he had been before transmigrating—Tirisfal Glades. It had once been home to the capital of Lordaeron, the most powerful human kingdom, but ever since the fallen prince Arthas had led the Scourge's invasion, plague and war had swept through it, and its former prosperity was gone for good.
In the game, the Forsaken, ruled by Sylvanas Windrunner, controlled most of the region, including Lordaeron City. The surviving remnants of the defeated human forces had gathered in a monastery to the northeast, where they formed the Scarlet Crusade and swore vengeance against all undead.
Thinking of this, Wulaizi couldn't help asking the knight, "You're with the Scarlet Crusade, right?"
"The Scarlet Crusade? Never heard of it." The knight paused before answering.
"You're wearing a scarlet tabard. I recognize it." Wulaizi gestured at the rag hanging from the knight's shoulder—if it could be called a tabard. The red maple-leaf emblem was all too familiar. He had run the Scarlet Monastery countless times on his high-level hunter.
"You have no right to question me, kid." For some reason, the knight suddenly grew angry. "I am Joseph Gordon, an elite guerrilla knight of the Lordaeron North Maple Regiment. Once we reach our destination, I'll be the one questioning you! Now, no talking!"
Wulaizi nearly choked. He had only been trying to start a conversation, and it had turned into an interrogation. It seemed the fellow felt bad after mistreating his own warhorse, so it was better not to provoke him for now.
The sky gradually darkened. Apart from the clop of hooves and the occasional crack of the whip, the surroundings were as silent and oppressive as death.