"I hope it's as you say." Unas thanked him and suddenly swung his wooden sword at Darian. The blond boy didn't react in time, and Unas's sword tip quickly touched his right shoulder.
This tactic always works so well against this somewhat old-fashioned fellow. Unas laughed, "Haha, if your right hand is crippled in the duel, I'll win the first round."
Darian rubbed his slightly sore shoulder, then transferred the sword to his left hand. "No, you are far from winning!"
Before he could finish speaking, a sword thrust came at him. Unas hadn't expected Darian to be so skilled with his left hand as well. Such ambidextrous ability was rare. The left-handed sword and the right-handed sword were very different to deal with, Unas quickly became flustered.
The two began their sparring session amidst the clanging of their wooden swords. Just like before, finding a worthy opponent was beneficial for both of them.
Erigor watched from the sidelines, his hands and feet still but his mouth never stopped, transforming into a human pager to "enthusiastically" instruct the two newbies.
Whitemane watched for a short while and then left without a word; the kind of fight was boring to her.
She didn't return to the training ground until noon, bringing back hot toast and fresh milk.
The three of them were starving and immediately began to devour their food. The silver-haired prosecutor's bread-baking skills were surprisingly excellent, and with a large bottle of fresh milk, Unas felt this was the most delicious meal he had ever had in Azeroth.
After lunch, there was a break, and Darian and Erigor both disappeared. These two third wheels were quite self-aware, knowing to disappear on their own.
"Thank you for the treat," Unas said, finishing the last drop of milk and handing the empty bottle back to Whitemane. He then took the opportunity to compliment, "I've never eaten such delicious bread before. I wish I could have it every day from now on."
The silver-haired Priest twisted the milk bottle and said, "What's so difficult about that? You can go to District 15 and find Aunt Mary. She only charges a little wheat or flour as payment, and she'll bake you the best bread in the entire Monastery."
"You didn't make this bread?"
"Of course, but I heated the fresh milk myself," Whitemane said matter-of-factly.
"..." Well, he was too naive. The Mograine family is a great noble family in Lordaeron. Their young lady being willing to heat up milk by hand is probably the most extreme housework they can do.
Unas was speechless again. It was always like this; whenever he was alone with a girl, he would have trouble speaking. At this rate, when would he ever become a rich, handsome, and successful man?
"Actually," Whitemane quickly broke the silence, "There's something I need to ask you."
Sure enough, there's always a reason for someone to be overly attentive; otherwise, there's no good intention. However, dating advice says that when a girl takes the initiative to make a request of you, it's a good sign, and you should firmly agree. But when you fulfill the request, don't seem too casual, so that she'll feel indebted to you.
Unas adopted an air of omnipotence. "What is it?"
"It was something you promised me before, to teach me the Resurrection."
Unas had indeed promised Whitemane to teach her Resurrection, but only if there was a suitable target—a corpse that had been dead for no more than two hours. He immediately realized, "Someone's dead?"
"Yes, someone is going to die. There are still a dozen or so death row inmates in the Inquisition, most of whom will be publicly burned at the stake," the silver-haired Priest leaned closer and lowered her voice. "But some will still be executed secretly. I paid the executioner to get one."
Unas, inhaling the pleasant feminine scent emanating from Whitemane, felt a stirring in his mind. "Has he already been executed?"
"No, I hid him."
"So you mean we have to kill him first, then resurrect him?"
"Of course, I've heard that the fresher the target, the higher the success rate of the spell. If the Resurrection can be used repeatedly on the same target, we can reuse it repeatedly." That is, kill him and resurrect him, kill him and resurrect him again, until it can no longer be resurrected or Whitemane learns the spell.
Unas felt a chill run down her spine at Whitemane's angelic face uttering such cold words. Perhaps to her, death row inmates were merely experimental subjects, no longer considered human.
Although Unas was a little reluctant, it wasn't a big deal; it was just killing NPCs.
Just like he had previously tried to comfort himself, fighting a war is just about killing monsters and bosses. He was able to quickly adapt to the bloody battlefield by self-hypnosis with this kind of Ah Q mentality.
Having massacred cities so many times in the game, he had also killed hundreds of NPCs. He felt much less guilty if he turned the people he killed into NPCs.
"I'll be waiting for you at three in the morning by the twenty-third pillar in the Forgotten Corridor. Don't be late." Whitemane said this in an unyielding tone, then picked up a few milk bottles and walked away.
Unas stared blankly at her alluring back, his mind wandering and losing all interest in admiring her. This woman was a bit scary; it was best not to offend her in the future.
A large, waving hand suddenly appeared before them, and Erigor's voice rang in their ears. "Stop looking, he's vanished."
This guy suddenly appeared out of nowhere, a mocking smile on his face, "It's rare to see Whitemane so close to any man other than her brother. You're quite the ladies' man, with Banshees, Night Elves, and beautiful Priest all surrounding you."
Are they female ghosts, elderly girls, or femme fatales? Are there any normal, beautiful women in Azeroth who would love me?
Unas looked up at the sky and sighed, having completely forgotten his feelings about being single.
The Tomb of Glory is a large cemetery located northwest of the Monastery Cathedral. As it is named after Glory, most of the warriors buried here are those who died heroically for Lordaeron.
The Forgotten Corridor is a wide, winding corridor that runs through the entire cemetery. In the pitch-black night, a dark figure emerges from the empty corridor. Unas, wrapped in a black robe, has arrived here a quarter of an hour early.
With something on his mind, and another complete defeat in the afternoon, he firmly declined Erigor's invitation to drink that evening, citing feeling unwell. After dinner, he took a good nap and obediently got up in the early hours of the morning to keep the appointment.
Unas tiptoed along the dark corridor, feeling his way along the thick stone pillars, until he reached the twenty-third one before stopping.
There were no stars or moon tonight, and it was pitch black all around. The cemetery was unusually quiet in the dead of night, with only occasional mournful cries that sent chills down one's spine, as if a man-eating monster might rush out of the darkness at any moment.
Unas swallowed hard, pressing himself against the stone pillar. His back felt icy cold from his undergarments, which were soaked with cold sweat.
The thumbnail for Sense Undead didn't show any red dots, indicating there were no Undead. It must just be night birds like crows; there couldn't possibly be ghosts in this sacred Monastery.
I'm Paladin now; even if there are ghosts, they'll be afraid of me, not the other way around.
Having figured this out, Unas felt a little more relaxed.