Mentor Nathas

Andy rested at Malfurion's place for the night. Malfurion did not stay in Darnassus for long; in his own words, he needed to keep a constant watch on the movements along the borders of Kalimdor. Some old ports still remained between the two continents, and although the elves had ceased using them after their relationship with the human kingdoms soured, that did not mean the creatures from other worlds wouldn't use them!

Early the next morning, Andrew and Hilar dragged Andy, who was still fast asleep, out of bed, leaving him full of complaints and unwilling to move.

The two were going to take him to find a master—the very teacher Malfurion mentioned, the one who didn't even give Malfurion face, yet showed respect to this bow.

In Andy's view, Darnassus was not actually that large; one could traverse the entire city on foot, as Darnassus was, after all, not the entirety of Teldrassil.

In a remote, dim little thatched hut, Andrew found the teacher who sounded so high and mighty. He was a disheveled old man with brown hair like straw, messily tied atop his head, and a strand of yellow, scorched beard hanging in matted locks from his chin. Andy truly could not reconcile this old man with the image of a teacher; the contrast was simply too great. He looked more like a lifelong alcoholic living in seclusion.

In fact, Andy's intuition was spot on: he was indeed an old drunkard. Without a word, he fished a filthy wine flask from behind his waist, gulped down two mouthfuls, and only then looked at Andrew with bleary, drunken eyes, mumbling, "What are you here for? And you, you... where is that teacher of yours? Why didn't he come?" The old man's words were barely coherent.

Facing this old man, Andrew did not show any contempt or disdain. Instead, he bowed respectfully as if greeting his own master and said, "Master went to inspect the borders himself, and he asked me to bring him here!" As Andrew spoke, he pointed at Andy, taking the opportunity to cover his nose; the smell in the small hut seemed to make him very uncomfortable, though he dared not show too strong a reaction.

Hilar had already reached his limit and had stepped out of the hut less than a quarter-hour after entering. Andy was also on the verge of a breakdown. Heavens, what was that smell in this room? The scent of alcohol, the stench of feet, and something like the smell of rot. If he hadn't come to seek a master, Andy would never have stepped inside, or he would have run off just like Hilar.

"Oh, and why bring him here?" the old drunkard asked, letting out a hiccup.

Andrew frowned slightly and took a small step back before replying, "It is Master's wish. He asked me to bring him here to take you as his teacher." Andrew then wanted to recount Andy's story from beginning to end, but before he could get two sentences out, he was interrupted by the old drunkard: "Has your teacher gone stupid or crazy? Take me as a teacher? He actually thought of that—has he forgotten what happened back then..." The old man stopped there, as if there were some taboo he dared not touch.

"This... it really is Master's wish," Andrew argued.

"Enough, say no more. You lot, leave," the old drunkard issued an order to leave. "Don't come bothering my rest again!"

Andrew shook his head helplessly, looked at Andy, and offered a look of consolation.

"Brother Andrew, let's go," Andy said. "If he won't take me, I don't care! Besides, I still have my bow." Actually, Andy wanted to say he also had his Monster Spirit, but he quickly changed his tune; the matter of the Monster Spirit system could not be leaked under any circumstances. As he spoke, Andy turned to walk out.

The old drunkard squinted at Andy. He had been so focused on talking to Andrew that he hadn't looked at Andy at all. But at this one glance, the old drunkard suddenly sat bolt upright and shouted, "Little brat, let me see the thing you're carrying!"

"Hmph, why should I?" Andy didn't even look back.

"Do you even know who you're talking to!" The old drunkard's tone had shifted entirely. "Why? Just because of this!" As he spoke, he reached out, and a massive suction force appeared in his palm, pulling the bow from behind Andy's back.

"My bow!" Andy was frantic. He turned and lashed out with a kick toward the old man, silently shouting, "Kick!"

The old man didn't even look at him. He held the bow in one hand, and even through the cloth wrapping, he could feel that familiar fluctuation. As for the kick Andy delivered, he merely flicked a finger, and Andy's leg rebounded, sending him tumbling backward in a somersault.

"Ouch!" Andy fell to the ground. Andrew hurried over to help him up, whispering, "Don't be a fool. Even Master wouldn't dare to act rashly here."

Andy was shocked. What was the identity of this disheveled old man? Even Malfurion had to be cautious around him—who on earth was this? Looking at the old man, he didn't look like a hidden master at all!

"Give me back my bow!" Andy stood up and reached out.

"A small child with quite the temper, though the force of that kick wasn't bad for a kid your age!" The old drunkard seemed like a different person now; the previous drunken demeanor was gone, his eyes filled with gentleness as he carefully unwrapped the cloth covering the bow.

"Little brat, answer me a few questions, and I'll return the bow!" the old drunkard said.

"Where did this bow come from?"

"My old man left it to me before he died!"

"And how did your old man get it?"

"I don't know!"

"Do you know the origin of this bow?"

"I don't know!"

"Do you know whose bow this is?"

"I don't know! Wait, could it be yours?"

"I'm the one asking the questions, I didn't tell you to ask me!"

"Then what else do you know?"

"I don't know!"

The old drunkard asked several questions in one breath, stared at Andy for a while, and then sighed softly, "Fine, it is your fate to have obtained it. Here!"

The old drunkard tossed the bow to Andy, who quickly picked up the cloth from the floor and carefully wrapped the bow back up.

"Kid, go back now. Tell Malfurion that this brat is staying with me!" the old drunkard said.

Andrew let out a genuine sigh of relief, hurriedly bowed in acknowledgment, patted Andy on the shoulder, and left quickly. Truth be told, Andrew had spent enough time in that room; the smell was simply unbearable.

"Kid, enough! Stop fiddling with your bow. It's meant to be used, not worshipped like a god!" the old drunkard said.

"This was left to me by my old man, and besides, who do you think you are?" Andy said with a look of disdain.

"Me? Heh! I am Nathas!" The old drunkard looked quite proud.

"Who are you?" Andy thought he had misheard.

"Kid, listen well, my name is Nathas!" The old drunkard sat back down, slumping into a pile like a drunkard again. "From today on, I am your teacher! Hurry up, call me teacher and let me hear it!"