Ulthalesh, the Deadwind Harvester

Mardum, where endless chaotic energy ravages this shattered continent every moment, was particularly ferocious today.

In the center of this wasteland, a massive, hideous, dark-hued starship hovered rigidly in the sky, like a hawk searching for prey destined to be disemboweled. This was a presence Lanlos could never forget. The Hammer of Fel, Tyranna's flagship, was also the most powerful combat force on Mardum.

At the entrance, visible chaotic energy converged rapidly, and a moment later, a graceful figure became clear in the line of sight.

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

"Who are you?" Seeing an Eredar sitting in the seat that originally belonged to Belash, Alisa's fury ignited instantly. That was her property, a promise given to her by the Spider Queen, yet now it was occupied by an outsider? Absolutely not!

"That seat does not belong to you! Get—" As the Eredar raised her hand, Alisa finally sensed the dangerous aura emanating from the scythe in her grip. However, before she could finish her sentence, infinite fear had already crawled into her eyes like maggots on bone.

Amidst a terrifying shriek, a pale stream of light shot toward her from the scythe. Upon closer inspection, one had the illusion that the light was filled with countless wailing souls.

"Ah—!" With no time to dodge, the white light, laced with a faint, ominous dark purple, instantly pierced the Succubus's body. The flesh it touched rotted and necrotized at a visible rate. The heart-wrenching pain made her scream uncontrollably, sending shivers down the spine and cold sweat pouring down.

"Enough." Seeing her subordinate being tortured, Tyranna, standing to the side, let out a low, soft, yet undeniable reprimand. "Sathael, I am the master here, not you."

"Heh, as you wish, my lady." The Eredar named Sathael sneered and lowered the scythe. Her disrespect was wanton and arrogant, without the slightest attempt at concealment. The scarred Succubus collapsed to the ground, curled up and trembling like chaff, unable to stand for a long time.

"But don't misunderstand, Tyranna." Sathael lightly stroked the blood-red blade of the scythe with slender fingers. The disrespect revealed in her words and actions was something not even a demon, let alone a good-tempered ordinary person, could ignore. "I am not your servant; I am here to clean up this mess for you."

Arrogant, insolent, rebellious...

If not for that scythe, I would surely tear you to pieces! Tyranna clenched her fists tightly, her claws digging deep into her flesh, yet her face showed no sign of pain.

Indeed, a weapon—a weapon enough to make this Eredar so haughty. This was the Felsteel Scythe, forged by Sargeras during the formation of the Legion using the flames generated by the destruction of Mardum, then used to harvest the souls of those demons who resisted. One of them was the Dreadlord Ulthalesh, who once ruled Mardum with an iron fist.

Sargeras named the scythe after Ulthalesh and mounted the skull of Ulthalesh on its tip as a warning of the fate awaiting traitors.

Moreover, due to the terrible disaster Sathael created in Deadwind Pass, this weapon had truly entered the ranks of legends, and the name by which it was widely known across the worlds was: Ulthalesh, the Deadwind Harvester!

The strength of demons lies not only in their power, but more importantly, in the fact that even in death, as long as their souls remain intact, they can be reborn in the Twisting Nether.

No matter what kind of demon they were, upon seeing Ulthalesh, who delighted in devouring souls, they would temper their volatile tempers. This was not only because of its power, but more importantly, it was a weapon personally crafted by the Legion's master, Sargeras, and its wielder was surely favored by the Dark Titan.

Almost no demon dared to challenge the authority of the Supreme One, and Tyranna, naturally, lacked the guts—especially after the humiliating incident that had occurred not long ago.

"I hope your strength can match your sharp tongue." The Spider Queen suppressed her anger, crossed her arms, and watched the other party with the posture of a bystander.

"I appreciate the expectation." Sathael remained as confident as ever, as if Tyranna's demand were as trivial as eating or drinking.

"Ah, a long-lost, familiar scent." Pointing a finger at the Succubus who was trying to escape, under the latter's terrified gaze, a streak of white light suddenly shot out from the top of her head and arrived before Sathael in an instant.

"Come, show your true face!" Clenching her fist tightly, Sathael grinned and crushed the soul fragment. Subsequently, a blurred phantom appeared in the center of the hall.

"I knew you would come, Sathael..."

Watching the face that gradually became clear within the soul fragment, the curve of Sathael's mouth widened. "How many years has it been, Vihana? I didn't expect us to reunite in such a way. Truly interesting."

"If you are here to mock me, please step aside. I have important matters to report to Her Majesty."

"As you wish, since you are my sister, after all." Shrugging indifferently, Sathael stepped aside, and the image of an Eredar who looked somewhat like her appeared in Tyranna's line of sight.

The Soul Eater Vihana, her sister. Of course, as demons, they had long since cast aside family and friendship. Just as Vihana said, she would surely come, but not to clean up the aftermath for her foolish sister. Demons familiar with her knew very well that she would never let go of any traitor who relied on fel energy to resist the Legion.

The humiliation of ten thousand years ago—she would repay those who called themselves Demon Hunters a hundredfold, a thousandfold!

A natural harbor combined with the exquisite architectural craftsmanship of the High Elf had turned this place into the largest port city in Quel'Thalas outside of Silvermoon City. Unlike the tiny spot in the game, as a transportation hub, the scale of Sunsail Harbor was quite significant.

Based on white plaster, decorated with gold and red patterns, the entire port looked magnificent. Merchant ships and escort fleets flying the Phoenix Emblem crisscrossed, cutting through the waves on the azure ocean. On land, the bustling crowd of elves cheering, shouting, and working created such a lively scene that Lanlos couldn't help but be momentarily dazed.

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

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

"Either you have or you haven't, what does 'you could say that' mean?" The elven ranger curled her lip and took the lead in walking forward. "Sunsail Harbor is the most dazzling coastal pearl of Quel'Thalas. Although it can't compare to the Sunstrider Harbor of Silvermoon City, since the Council doesn't allow other races to enter Silvermoon City, this transit station is the only choice for all foreign merchant ships."

"After all, with the threat of the Forest Trolls to the south, merchants naturally prefer the safe inland harbors."

"Basically, you can buy anything in all of Azeroth here."

Sarell's explanation was clearly an exaggeration, but it wasn't without merit. Quel'Thalas did indeed hold itself in high regard, even to the point of isolationism, but they were still rational and not entirely pedantic. Import and export trade was not completely locked down. Due to its geographical location near the capital, Sunsail Harbor could be considered the first open city, where one could occasionally see Gnomes, Humans, and even Goblins in the crowd.

However, they were not welcomed. Whether it was taxes or other matters, the undisguised xenophobia of the Sunstrider Court reflected onto the ordinary people, and one could feel it completely in this place. If not for the fact that the goods of the High Elf were truly highly attractive, perhaps no one would be willing to come to this godforsaken place to be treated with coldness.

Yet, regarding this arrogance, Lanlos had a different view: prejudice. Not to mention the future Scourge, whether it was their stinginess when supporting the Lordaeron Alliance against the Orc, or the lack of aid when the Orc raided Quel'Thalas, these were all consequences of the long-standing arrogance of the High Elf. This world was not a world for one person, nor was it a world for one group. An isolationist regime that blindly refused to seek common ground while reserving differences was destined to be swallowed and abandoned by the tides of the era.

Unfortunately, even if Lanlos were to pull the long ears of the elven leadership and shout these truths word for word, no one would listen to him. This was not a question of right or wrong; this was the experience the High Elf had summarized to survive until now. The War of the Ancients, exile from their homeland, landing in the east, fighting the Forest Trolls—the history of the High Elf was a struggle from the very beginning, against demons, against nature, against the Forest Trolls. They never compromised. Whether it was life or glory, they protected it with their own scarred hands. They lived proudly, and they died proudly.

Shaking his head, the elven youth collected his complex thoughts and took a letter from his bosom. Looking at the handwriting belonging to Fergus, his mood sank once again.

Today was the departure time for the ship to Fastherin that Fergus had instructed. Lanlos would not stay in Sunsail Harbor for long. After asking Sarell for the specific location, he parted ways with this 'kind' elf. He didn't have paranoid delusions; he had self-awareness, especially after his dignity had been ruthlessly trampled by the Sargerite Keystone yesterday.

His Charisma was actually only 8...

"Two minutes late. Young man, are you running on a stopwatch?" A white shirt revealed a large expanse of alluring, wheat-colored skin on her chest, her exposed waist was slender enough to be gripped, and her fiery red tied-up hair complemented her trousers. At just a glance, she was as dazzling as fireworks, making it hard to forget that hot hair color and those curves.

"Are you Captain Kaelisendra?" Lanlos glanced at the letter in his hand to confirm before asking.

"Just call me Kaelis, the Sun-Strider Hero is about to set sail, get on board quickly." Just as Lanlos had expected, Kaelis had no intention of chatting with him. Her hurried manner was as if she wanted to throw him onto the ship herself.

Look, this is how a normal person treats a Charisma of 8...

Although my hair is gray-white, my lame leg has been healed by the fel energy's transformation of my body, my back is straight, and with the elf's innate high-tier looks and the introverted temperament of someone who has lived two lives, how could my Charisma possibly be 8!

By the way, Sargerite also mentioned that the basic standard for an average adult's attributes is 10. Whether it's higher or lower, it's not a simple matter of addition or subtraction, but an exponential change. 20 points is already transcendent, 30 is an unsurpassable legend, and 40 is practically the pinnacle of a world; in Azeroth, perhaps only the Dragon Aspects and the Keepers could reach such a level. As for 50? Go find a Titan.

Although high attributes alone cannot intuitively determine one's combat prowess, this digitized dissection of a living being's body and soul once made Lanlos shudder with fear. Yet, considering that in this plane, the Titans personally created countless lives and studied the so-called flesh and soul down to the finest detail, it seems perfectly reasonable, doesn't it?

"Blazing Sun, Gallant Hero?"

"That's right, the largest cargo ships in Sunsail Harbor, my ships!" Kelly patted her chest with a look of pride. At the same time, she cast a glance around, and the sailors hurriedly withdrew their lecherous gazes, continuing their work as if nothing had happened.

They were certainly large.

Lanlos silently shifted his gaze away from her chest, a question mark flashing in his eyes.

Isn't it a bit too flashy to give cargo ships names with such strong symbolic meaning?

"Alright, our cargo... oh, no, our guests have all arrived." Sensing the strange look from Lanlos, Kelly quickly corrected herself and then shouted loudly to the sailors, "Now, set sail!"

With a loud boom, the sails were hoisted instantly. Under the blowing sea breeze, the pattern of the red-haired woman on them looked exceptionally vivid.

Lanlos did not return to the cabin. He stood on the deck just like that, watching the land recede into the distance, remaining motionless for a long time.

He had imagined this scene before, but in his vision, there should have been a few figures standing on the shore, seemingly reluctant yet actually unable to bear the parting, shouting and playing there, unwilling to leave for a long time.

Instead of a blank void.