Traces of the Thief

The conversation was a success, leaving everyone satisfied. Vailton Barov had found an opportunity to grow stronger and decided to follow Liam for the time being. Liam's performance was entirely calculated to keep this sinister, power-hungry youth by his side, serving as a vessel for his own influence. For now, that goal was essentially achieved; as long as he remained vigilant, there was little chance the boy could stir up any real trouble.

What surprised Liam most was that after their hypocritical "heart-to-heart," the loyalty of his "attendant" Vailton had inexplicably risen by 5 points, reaching 39!

Looking at the loyalty attribute, which had now passed the one-third mark, Liam shook his head with a wry smile, feeling completely baffled by the logic behind this metric.

Coral, that silly bird, would gain loyalty just from being fed something tasty, but the moment he was sent into a fight, his loyalty would plummet. His loyalty chart looked like a stock market K-line, fluctuating with remarkable consistency.

Vailton Barov, however, was different. His loyalty hadn't budged when Liam granted him power, nor did it change after all the courteous treatment he'd received along the way. Yet, after the two of them had just engaged in a mutual display of deception and acting, the impenetrable Vailton had quietly gained 5 points of favorability, leaving Liam truly at a loss for whether to laugh or cry.

Does the loyalty calculation for "villains" work differently than common sense? Or does everyone have their own set of criteria? If that's the case, this is going to be difficult...

Unable to make sense of it, he decided to stop thinking. As his subordinates grew in number, he would eventually figure it out.

With the conversation mostly concluded and everything that needed to be said out in the open, Vailton dropped his formalities. He joined Liam in turning his attention to the delicacies on the table, devouring the food ravenously. He had suffered greatly during his time on Atonement Island, where he was lucky to get a full meal each day. Now, faced with a table full of fine food, his aristocratic poise was cast to the back of his mind.

Liam, however, did not share his famished, ghost-like appearance. He had plenty of good things hidden in his inventory, more than he could finish for a while. So, while eating, Liam kept an ear out for the loud conversations of the various patrons in the tavern.

At a square table in the center, a man missing the lower half of his left forearm was loudly boasting to his companions about his combat record against the orcs.

"Every one of those green-skinned monsters was as tall as a yeti and as sturdy as an ox. When they raised those giant axes, they looked like small trees. My squad of ten, all trainee soldiers, could only manage to take down three of them. The biggest one, the leader, I traded my arm for a single sword strike just to lop off his head. That battle... I still dream about it even now."

"You must have earned quite a bit of merit, then. How come you didn't end up as a minor officer?" one of the men teased.

"Officer, my foot! The damn King of Lordaeron even seized the little bit of farmland I had to build those prisoner-of-war camps for the greenskins. The few gold coins they gave me weren't even enough for my tavern tab!"

The burly man was indignant, clearly dissatisfied with the recent changes in Southshore. He spoke without restraint, but his drinking companions were startled and quickly tried to change the subject.

"Shh, keep your voice down. Alterac is gone, and we're all citizens of Lordaeron now. Be careful, or those guys building the castle will hear you and give you trouble."

As he spoke, he glanced at two tables nearby, where a dozen men dressed as laborers were sitting—presumably the very people the man had mentioned, sent to build the castle.

"I don't give a damn! I was born a citizen of the Kingdom of Stormwind, and I'll die a citizen of the Kingdom of Stormwind! I heard King Varian has already finished rebuilding Stormwind City. In a few days, I'm going home. Even if I have to work on the subway for those dwarves, it's better than taking this crap here."

The man had clearly drunk too much. The more his companions tried to persuade him, the louder he argued, until he finally slumped over onto the table, dead drunk and unconscious, which finally allowed his friends to breathe a sigh of relief.

Watching a veteran who had been on the battlefield reduced to this state, Liam felt a pang of sympathy. In this world, there was no such thing as a just war. Arguably, there weren't even that many "brain-dead" big shots fighting yet; everyone was just a victim of the Burning Legion's schemes. But regardless of the cause, it was always the common folk at the bottom who suffered, and that was a truth that would never change.

Unfortunately, with his current strength, Liam could only watch; he was completely unable to help. At that moment, Liam craved power more than ever. He wanted to wipe out those few lunatics who were obsessed with destroying the world. Then, regardless of race, if anyone had a conflict, he'd throw them into some desolate place to fight it out themselves, and if they didn't submit, he'd beat them until they did—saving everyone from the pointless chaos caused by these so-called heroes.

Stormwind City... there are only five years of true peace left...

Thinking about how the chaos in Stormwind City would erupt a few years after the city's reconstruction, followed by endless turmoil, Liam couldn't tell anyone. He could only pray that this veteran wouldn't run into that disaster and could live out his days in Stormwind as he wished.

The rowdiest table in the tavern had suddenly gone quiet due to the burly man's collapse, causing the entire tavern to fall into a sudden hush, which allowed the hushed discussions nearby to reach Liam's ears with startling clarity.

"Hey, did you hear? Another person from the Third Squad went missing yesterday. No sign of life, no sign of a body. They say he was snatched by those highwaymen to be used as forced labor."

A series of low whispers reached Liam, drawing his full attention.

"That's the thirteenth one to go missing. The higher-ups keep saying they were just afraid of the hard work and ran home, but it's been so long and there's been no word. I knew the guy who went missing yesterday; he was the most honest and hardworking of us all. He could do the work of three men by himself. How could he be a deserter?"

"Don't talk nonsense. We're just laborers, not soldiers. Deserters get their heads chopped off."

"Yeah, yeah, stop talking about it. Let's drink."

The men nearby clearly didn't want to continue the discussion and raised their glasses. But the man who had claimed to know the missing person wasn't satisfied and continued his story.

"Sigh, I knew you wouldn't believe me! I'm telling the truth. The two guys I ran into when I went out to pee in the middle of the night were the ones kidnapping people. If it weren't for the Light's protection, I would have been snatched that night too."

"There you go with your nonsense again. We don't even bring up how you sleepwalked and wet your pants, yet you keep digging up your own old stories."

Someone interrupted the man who was in the middle of his rant, drawing a roar of laughter from the group. The man turned red in the face and shouted back.

"Don't you dare disbelieve me! I was terrified at the time and my head wasn't clear, but I remembered everything later. There were two guys wearing tight black suits with orange strips of cloth over their faces coming to grab me, but then, out of nowhere, their throats were slit... blood was spraying everywhere..."