Ulthalesh, the Deadwind Harvester

Mardum. The endless torrents of chaotic energy ravaged this shattered continent every moment, and today they were especially fierce.

At the heart of this wasteland, a massive, sinister, dark-colored starship hung suspended in the air, like a hawk high above, searching for prey to gut. Lanlos would never forget it. The Fel Hammer, Tyranna's flagship, was also Mardum's most powerful weapon.

At the entrance, chaotic energy visible to the naked eye swiftly gathered. The next moment, a graceful figure took shape before them.

"Mission accomplished, Your Majesty. I can hardly wait to see what sort of reward you'll bestow upon me." Alisa walked into Tyranna's command hall beaming, but to her surprise, the one waiting for her was not the Spider Queen.

"Who are you?" Seeing an Eredar seated in the spot that had belonged to Belash, Alisa was instantly consumed by rage. That was her property, something the Spider Queen had promised her, and now an outsider had taken it? Absolutely not!

"That seat isn't yours! Get out—" The Eredar raised a hand, and only then did Alisa sense the danger emanating from the scythe she held. But before Alisa could finish speaking, boundless terror had already crawled into her eyes like a bone-deep parasite.

Amid a terrifying shriek, a ghastly white beam shot from the scythe toward her. On closer inspection, it almost seemed as if the light were filled with countless wailing souls.

"Argh!" She had no time to dodge. The white light, tinged with a faint, ominous purple, pierced the succubus in an instant. The flesh it touched rotted and died before their eyes. The heart-wrenching agony forced a scream from her, sending chills down their spines and sweat beading on their foreheads.

"That's enough." Seeing her subordinate suffer, Tyranna spoke in a low voice that was quiet but impossible to ignore. "Sathael, I am the mistress here, not you."

"Fine, as you wish, my lady." The Eredar called Sathael lowered her scythe with a cold laugh. Her disrespect was brazen and unrestrained, utterly undisguised. The scarred succubus collapsed at once, curling up and trembling like a leaf. She couldn't get back to her feet for a long time.

"But don't get the wrong idea, Tyranna." Sathael's slender fingers brushed the scythe's blood-red edge. Her every word and gesture dripped with such disrespect that even a mild-mannered person, let alone a demon, couldn't ignore it. "I'm not your servant. I'm here to clean up this mess for you."

Arrogant, insolent, utterly outrageous...

If not for that scythe, I'd tear you limb from limb! Tyranna clenched her fists, her claws digging deep into her flesh, yet not a trace of pain showed on her face.

That was right: a weapon, one that made this proud Eredar's heart swell with confidence. When Sargeras formed the Legion, he forged the felsteel scythe using the flames unleashed by Mardum's destruction, then used it to reap the souls of the demons who resisted to the bitter end. One of them was Ulthalesh, the Dreadlord who had once ruled Mardum with an iron fist.

Sargeras named the scythe after Ulthalesh and mounted the Dreadlord's skull on its tip, as a warning to all traitors of the fate that awaited them.

And because of the terrible calamity Sathael wrought in Deadwind Pass, the weapon became a legend. Across the worlds, it was widely known as Ulthalesh, the Deadwind Harvester!

A demon's power lay not only in strength. Even in death, as long as their soul remained intact, they could be reborn in the Twisting Nether.

Any demon who encountered Ulthalesh, which delighted in devouring souls, would temper their volatile temper. It wasn't just because of its power. More importantly, it was a weapon forged by the Legion's master, Sargeras himself. Whoever wielded it had surely earned the favor of the Dark Titan.

Almost no demon dared to challenge the supreme ruler's authority. Tyranna certainly didn't have the nerve, especially after the humiliating incident that had taken place not long ago.

"I hope your strength can match that sharp tongue of yours." The Spider Queen forced down her anger, folded her arms, and watched Sathael as if she were merely an observer.

"Thanks for your confidence." Sathael still looked utterly self-assured, as though Tyranna's demand were no more trouble than eating or drinking.

"Ah, that familiar taste. It's been so long." She pointed at the succubus trying to sneak away. At the latter's horrified gaze, a streak of white light suddenly burst from the top of her head and appeared before Sathael in an instant.

"Come on, show me your true face!" Sathael clenched her fist and crushed the soul fragment with a sinister grin. A hazy apparition then appeared in the middle of the hall.

"I knew you'd come, Sathael..."

As the face in the soul fragment gradually came into focus, Sathael's smile widened. "How many years has it been, Vihana? I never thought we'd meet again like this. How interesting."

"If you're here to laugh at me, then get out of the way. I have important business to report to Her Majesty."

"Of course. You are my little sister, after all." Sathael shrugged indifferently and moved aside. An Eredar apparition who bore a slight resemblance to her appeared in Tyranna's view.

Vihana, the Soul Eater—her younger sister. Of course, as demons, they had all but cast aside family affection and friendship. As Vihana had said, Sathael would come, but not to take care of her foolish little sister's unfinished business. Every demon who knew her understood that she would never let any traitor who relied on fel power to defy the Legion go unpunished.

She would repay those traitors who called themselves Demon Hunters a hundredfold, a thousandfold, for the humiliation of ten thousand years ago!

A natural inlet, combined with the High Elves' masterful architecture, had transformed this place into Quel'Thalas's largest harbor city after Silvermoon City. Unlike the tiny spot it occupied in the game, Sunsail Harbor was no small place, serving as a major transportation hub.

Whitewashed buildings, decorated with gold and red patterns, made the entire port look magnificent. Merchant ships bearing the Phoenix Emblem and their escort fleets crossed paths, cutting through the blue sea. On land, crowds of elves cheered, called out, and bustled about. The lively scene left Lanlos momentarily stunned.

"First time in Sunsail Harbor?" Sarell tugged the reins and stopped beside Lanlos.

After a brief silence, a trace of melancholy appeared in Lanlos's eyes. "You could say that."

"Either it is or it isn't. What do you mean, 'you could say that'?" The elven ranger pursed her lips and led the way forward. "Sunsail Harbor is Quel'Thalas's most dazzling coastal jewel. It can't compare to Silvermoon City's Sunstrider Harbor, but since the council doesn't allow other races into Silvermoon City, this transit port is the only choice for all foreign merchant ships."

"Besides, with the Forest Trolls threatening from the south, shipping merchants naturally prefer the safety of an inland harbor."

"You can buy pretty much anything in all of Azeroth here."

Sarell's explanation was clearly exaggerated, but it wasn't without merit. Quel'Thalas did think highly of itself and keep its borders closed, but it was still rational, not completely mired in old ways. It hadn't entirely shut down imports and exports. Because of its proximity to the capital, Sunsail Harbor was one of the first cities to open its doors, and gnomes, humans, and even Goblins could occasionally be spotted in the crowd.

They weren't welcome, though. The Sunstrider Court's undisguised xenophobia was reflected in everything from taxes and fees to the way ordinary people treated outsiders. You could feel it everywhere in this place. If High Elf goods weren't so enticing, no one would want to come to this miserable place and be snubbed.

Lanlos, however, had a different view of this arrogance: prejudice. Never mind the Scourge of the future. Whether it was their stinginess in supporting the Alliance of Lordaeron against the Orcs or their failure to help when the Orcs launched a surprise attack on Quel'Thalas, both were consequences of the High Elves' long-standing arrogance. This world didn't belong to one person, nor to any one group. A haughty regime that refused to seek common ground while respecting differences was destined to be swept away and discarded by the tides of time.

Unfortunately, even if Lanlos grabbed the High Elf leaders by their long ears and shouted these truths at them, word for word, no one would listen. It wasn't a question of whether he was right. These were lessons the High Elves had learned in order to survive. The War of the Ancients, exile from their homeland, landing in the Eastern Kingdoms, wars against the Trolls—their history had been a struggle from the very beginning. Against demons, against nature, against Trolls: they had never compromised. Their lives and their glory alike had been protected by their own hands, battered and bloodied. They lived proudly, and they died proudly.

Shaking his head, the elven youth put away his complicated thoughts and took a letter from his robes. Seeing Fergus's handwriting on it, his spirits sank again.

Today was the day Fergus had told him to set sail for Fastherin. Lanlos wouldn't be staying long in Sunsail Harbor. After asking Sarell for directions, he parted ways with the "kind" elf. He wasn't paranoid; he knew his own worth, especially after the Sargerite Keystone had trampled his dignity just yesterday.

His Charisma was only 8...

"Just two minutes to spare, young man. Do you always work with a stopwatch in hand?" The white shirt revealed a generous expanse of alluring, wheat-colored skin over her chest. Her exposed waist was so slender it seemed a hand could encircle it, while her fiery red hair and trousers complemented each other. One glance was all it took to make her shine like fireworks—her vivid hair and curves impossible to forget.

"Are you Captain Kaelisendra?" Lanlos asked, checking the letter in his hand to be sure.

"Just call me Kelly. The Sun-Strider Hero is about to leave, so get aboard." Just as Lanlos had expected, Kelly had no intention of chatting with him. She was so brisk that she looked ready to toss him aboard herself.

See? That was how a normal person treated someone with 8 Charisma...

Sure, my hair was gray-white, but fel's changes to my body had healed my limp. I stood straight, and with the High Elves' naturally good looks and the reserved air of someone who'd lived two lives, how could my Charisma possibly be 8?

Oh, and Sargerite had said that the baseline for each attribute was 10, based on the average adult. More or less didn't mean simple addition or subtraction; it meant exponential change. At 20, you were already beyond the ordinary; 30 was the stuff of legends; 40 was almost the pinnacle of a world. Perhaps only the Dragon Aspects and Keepers could reach that level in Azeroth. And 50? You'd have to ask a Titan.

Though an attribute's value alone couldn't give a clear picture of someone's abilities, this quantification of a living being's internal and external data had once left Lanlos deeply unsettled. But on this world, where the Titans had personally created countless forms of life and studied the body and soul down to the finest detail, wasn't it only natural?

"The Sun-Strider Hero?"

"That's right—the biggest cargo ship in Sunsail Harbor, and it's mine!" Kelly thumped her chest proudly. At the same time, she glanced around. The sailors quickly averted their leering eyes, then continued their work as if nothing had happened.

It was big, all right.

Lanlos silently shifted his gaze away from her chest, a question flashing through his mind.

Wouldn't naming a cargo ship after a warship, with such a grand and symbolic name, draw too much attention?

"All right, our cargo... Oh, no, our guests are all here." Feeling Lanlos's strange look, Kelly quickly corrected herself. Then she shouted to the sailors, "Now, set sail!"

With a loud boom, the sails unfurled. In the sea breeze, the image of the red-haired woman on them seemed especially lifelike.

Lanlos didn't return to the cabin. He simply stood on deck, watching the land recede into the distance, and didn't move for a long time.

He had imagined this scene before. In his mind, a few people who seemed reluctant but couldn't bear to see him leave would have stood on the shore, shouting and joking, yet lingering there for ages.

Not an empty stretch of shore.