Scapegoat

The rushing Erendal River cuts through the heart of Quel'Thalas in a massive U-shape. Although its source lies in the Endless Sea, the magical intervention of the High Elf has rendered it a purely freshwater river, serving as the mother river of Quel'Thalas.

The Eastern Temple is situated exactly where this river begins its southward bend.

At this moment, two elves riding a Strider along the riverbank are hurrying toward this location.

Though not as wild as horses, the running Strider is still exceptionally bumpy. Lanlos can even feel his wounds throbbing, let alone attempting the delicate work of Arcane study under such conditions. However, he does not waste his time on the scenery before him.

True power only favors those who put in the effort.

With the deductive capabilities of the Sargerite, he consolidates and improves his knowledge in his mind over and over again, while previewing the 2nd-circle spells he had long since recorded, and even occasionally flipping through the memory archives of 3rd-circle spells.

"Lanlos, we're here." The mage has remained silent throughout the journey, which has made Vereesa unaccustomed to the situation; for a girl at this youthful age, boredom is the most detestable thing.

Hearing the impatient words in his ear, Lanlos is somewhat puzzled as to why she is so unhappy, but he does not dwell on it too much; there are more important things to do right now.

Compared to the desolation of the Western Temple, the Eastern Temple is far more bustling, as it faces the dwellings of the Farstriders across the river.

"Halt, who are you?" Several fully armed guards block Lanlos and his companion, ready to draw their blades at any moment.

"I am Lanlos, a teaching assistant at Fastherin Academy, arriving from the Western Temple with important news to deliver to Landra Sunstrider." Glancing at the towering, ornate spire behind them, Lanlos sighs at the impoverished work and life of Velania while briefly explaining his origins.

The lead guard exchanges a look with his companion, then bows apologetically to Lanlos without granting passage: "Please wait patiently; we will go and report immediately."

"If you two don't mind." The guard captain's gaze lingers for a long time on the face of the bored girl behind Lanlos. After a prompt from his companion, he snaps back to reality, clears his throat, and his voice becomes much softer, "There is ample space and supplies for rest at the outpost..."

This is the gap in Charisma.

Lanlos's face turns as black as coal. He stares coldly at the elf guard who has suddenly become so attentive, and it takes a great effort to suppress the nameless fire rising within him.

After a brief wait and upon receiving permission, Lanlos and his companion are led into the high tower of the Eastern Temple.

"A rare guest indeed. Does that little brat Velania need to send someone just to pass a message?" In the central hall, a tall elf magister turns around. Backed by a powerful aura, her brow radiates an inexplicable majesty. In stark contrast to her fiery red hair, her coldness and arrogance make one afraid to meet her gaze.

Compared to Velania's simplicity, Landra is not only surrounded by a well-equipped elven guard, but the spellcasters serving here also revolve around her, and her gorgeous robes, engraved with profound inscriptions, further highlight her nobility.

As a Ley Line Warden, her strength, wealth, and status far exceed those of Velania.

After a moment of hesitation, Lanlos opens the package.

"This is... a Conduit Crystal? Why did you bring this here?!" Her brow tightens, and Landra looks at him with a wary gaze. The atmosphere around them suddenly becomes heavy; it seems that if Lanlos makes any sudden move, these guards and mages will immediately seize him.

"Velania asked me to bring it. There is a problem with the Conduit Crystal, and she needs your help..." The conduit array is one of the most important devices in every major temple; Lanlos can understand this caution. Yes, it is definitely not a matter of Charisma!

"A problem? Velania is a Warden, after all. Even if she couldn't solve it, couldn't she just ask via a communication spell? Why send two errand runners..." Realizing her words were not very polite, Landra does not continue. She uses Mage Hand to draw the crystal before her and examines it carefully.

However, Lanlos does not notice her casual disparagement. The moment he hears "communication spell," his brow furrows, and his expression suddenly turns gloomy.

He hadn't realized he could communicate via a communication spell because his way of thinking hadn't shifted from his past life's experiences. But Velania is a Ley Line Warden; even if they were dozens of miles apart, her magic would certainly be enough to support it. But, why...

"Damn it!"

Lanlos's inner unease is confirmed. He hears Landra let out a cry of surprise; the crystal floating before her suddenly reveals countless fine green veins. The next moment, a low explosion echoes in the air, and green flames erupt from within!

BOOM!

Like a landmine detonating, the massive amount of magic is instantly ignited by chaotic energy. The ferocious Fel flames, like a tiger descending from a mountain, roar and collide with everything around them!

Almost simultaneously, a faint chime rings out in the air. A massive spherical shield instantly envelops the erupting flames. The thick, loud impact hits Lanlos's chest like a heavy hammer, leaving him shocked and nearly spitting out a mouthful of blood.

"Seize them!" Maintaining the shield with a continuous flow of magic to resist the Fel explosion, Landra finds a gap and shouts ferociously.

The next moment, a dozen blades are pressed against the necks of Lanlos and Vereesa.

"Why are you arresting me?"

"Let me go!"

Unlike Vereesa's desperate resistance, Lanlos allows the guards to take him away, his expression lost in deep thought.

Fel? How could this be? This is impossible...

CLANG!

The sound of the iron door finally brings Lanlos back to his senses. Looking at the guards outside the iron cage glaring at him, he gradually begins to understand something. Fel, demons, Conduit Crystal, Velania...

Compared to the bustling activity of the Eastern Temple, the Western Temple is chillingly quiet today.

Walking to a plain, unremarkable wall, Velania taps it lightly. As a touch of green energy is infused into it, a faint magic array appears on the wall.

Subsequently, a series of low rumbles echo through the hall, and the floor in the center sinks piece by piece, revealing a pitch-black spiral staircase. Following the stairs downward, the moment the view becomes completely pitch-black, Velania claps her hands lightly.

WHOOSH!

Blue magic flames suddenly erupt on the torches along the wall. The sudden fire brings a rare light to this space, but when eyes gather in the center of the room, most people would wish these torches had never been lit.

Corpses—withered, rotting corpses—are piled up all around, as if they had been dead for countless ages. But the reddish-brown bloodstains beneath them prove that the time of death is no more than a week.

In the center of this blood-soaked ground, a pitch-black square platform appears. An elf who is still breathing is tied up and thrown onto it. Withered long hair, vacant eyes, and pale cheeks make it unbearable to look at. Clearly, endless torture has crushed his mind; even when Velania walks to his side, he shows no reaction.

"Tsk tsk, my poor apprentice." With a familiar smile, Velania's fingertips lightly brush his cheek. As magic is infused into his body, the latter's dilated pupils finally find focus.

"Bastard, bitch, the Quel'dorei will never, never let you go, you whore..." Anger, hatred, and scarlet bloodshot eyes fill his sockets. His deeply sunken eyes make him look like a vengeful ghost, and coupled with the hoarse roar that sounds like a torn windpipe, it is bone-chilling.

"I hate it most when people call me a whore." Although Velania's smile remains unchanged, a trace of imperceptible malice flashes in her eyes. "Even if it's my most beloved apprentice, it won't do."

With a flick of her wrist, a crimson dagger etched with intricate patterns appeared in Velania's hand. No, that was not its original color; it was congealed blood, the wailing souls of elves!

"I'll be waiting for you in hell, you bitch!" His wide eyes locked onto the woman, wishing his gaze could kill. If it could, that witch would surely be torn to shreds!

"No." Dragging the dagger across the elf's jaw, Velania whispered softly. With a careless motion, the tip pierced his skin, slowly tearing through flesh and sinking deep into his throat as the elf shuddered violently.

Blood gushed out like a fountain, gradually filling the complex and twisted carvings beneath the elf.

"Your soul belongs to the Master; you aren't going to hell." Velania's smile appeared incredibly hideous and malicious in the blood-red glow.

The pain of the dagger slicing his throat was far greater than the elf had ever imagined. As the blood seeped into the magic circle beneath him, his entire body felt as if it were being devoured by countless ants. Even more terrifying was that as the array grew saturated, the elf's skin and flesh withered at an alarming rate, as if he had suddenly become an old man in his twilight years. He watched helplessly as his life force was slowly drained through his blood and injected into the altar.

Fear, agonizing pain!

He wanted to wail, but the air in his lungs only forced more blood to surge from his throat. The more he struggled, the sharper and more profound the pain emanating from his soul became.

The more he struggled, the more he suffered, and the happier Velania became.

Watching the elf's expression shift from hatred to a desperate plea for release amidst endless torment, Velania found every moment of that transformation immensely pleasurable.

This is your end, the future that awaits everyone who defies me!

"A decent performance, but it is not enough." A textured, husky voice sounded deep and abrupt, echoing from every corner of the space, causing the woman to immediately cease her manic laughter.

"Master!" The Ley Line Warden knelt on one knee facing the altar, burying her proud head against her chest in sheer terror.

Almost simultaneously, the blood-soaked array beneath the dying elf erupted with a dazzling green radiance. As chaotic energy rose and converged, a translucent, blurred figure appeared on the other side of the altar.

The crimson scythe seemed like a long tongue extending from that horned, skeletal skull. As Sathael swung it forward, the elf used as the sacrifice finally ceased to breathe.

Yet he found no release. Wisps of pale light rose from his body, coalescing in the air into the rough shape of the elf, only to be completely devoured by Ulthalesh amidst endless terror and wailing.

"Only endless torment and suffering should be their final destination!"