Belo'vir

Lister packed up his things in the classroom. The staff on his back had become an iconic symbol; all of Dalaran knew he was Antonidas's disciple and the founder of the Dalaran Truth Daily. The newspaper had firmly established itself in Dalaran, bringing Lister dividends of roughly 3,500 to 4,000 gold coins each month. Uther managed the enterprise well. He was loyal and steadfast, and would never allow any unscrupulous merchant to set their sights on it.

That was not only because the paper reserved a section for priests, but also because Uther and the workers held shares. Uther earned around 2,000 gold coins each month, while the workers made five silver coins a day, paid on the spot without ever being delayed.

The respectable priest kept only enough for his basic living expenses and donated everything else to the poor and the church. He would not allow anyone to compromise the fairness of poor people earning their pay through their own labor.

Lister had cleverly brought together the strength of three sides to create this massive enterprise: Dalaran's authorities, the elves, and the priests who believed in the Holy Light. With wisdom, he had successfully unearthed Dalaran's gold. To him, it did not matter how much he gave away, because he had started completely from scratch.

It was not as though no one had tried to imitate Lister after witnessing his enormous success, but they soon discovered they lacked the necessary channels. Not everyone could gain the support of Kael'thas and Antonidas, and without their support, how could they possibly promote a similar product, much less an inferior one?

But none of that was anything Lister needed to worry about anymore. He had just finished Modera's class. Modera was also a genius mage; at only twenty-four this year, she had already advanced her understanding of string theory—that was, mastery of spatial magic, the teleportation spell for which mages were most famous. Compared to them, Lister was merely an eccentric genius with lopsided talents. He still had a long road ahead of him.

Just as he finished organizing his drafts, Modera's voice came from the front of the classroom. "Lister, come to my office in three minutes."

Lister exchanged a glance with Nobo. The two had originally planned to have dinner together, but now it seemed Nobo could only savor the taste of solitude alone. Of course, he could also help himself to the honey-glazed braised meat Lister had ordered. That dish did not taste good cold; it became as cloyingly sweet as chilled syrup water.

"I'm guessing it's make-up lessons. I missed more than a dozen classes before." Lister shrugged. "The honey-glazed braised meat is yours."

He walked against the flow of people into Modera's office. The young Archmage pulled out a document—it was the students' attendance record. Lister lowered his head in despair. "You owe thirteen classes in total, Lister. Strictly speaking, you've already failed."

Lister nodded. "Thank you for the reminder. I'll take this course again next semester. I won't disappoint you."

Modera spread her hands, her snow-white brows knotting together. "You really are... Krasus said you had a soul of steel. He was not wrong."

Lister gave a faint smile. "Then is there something you need me to do?"

"Nothing. You're Antonidas's disciple; there's no need for me to offend the Archmage." Modera watched Lister quietly, her azure pupils shifting. "In fact, you've already completed the apprentice-stage study of string theory. Otherwise, you could never have developed Spiral Missile. I have even less reason not to let you graduate."

Lister took half a step back and gave a slight bow. "Thank you for the compliment."

"I only wanted to tell you that the threat spells pose to mages is on the surface, but rumors and gossip are far more lethal. Keep a certain distance from some people." Modera reclined in her floating magic chair. "I find your Spiral Missile very interesting. How much?"

"One thousand gold coins." Lister did not pay attention to her thighs, because the thick smoke and flames rising from the window opposite were far more captivating. "Wait, that seems to be a fire lizard?"

Modera immediately rose to her feet. A huge purplish-red lizard crawled out through the shattered window. Its long, heavy body landed on the ground with a faint tremor. An anxious mage cast several spells, yet none could stop the monster as it continued swelling in agitation. The enormous creature, expanded to eight meters in size, caused severe destruction. But soon, the fire lizard aged like a guttering candle in the wind. Its skin turned white and sagged; once its pale yellow eyes became grayish-white as well, it died completely and turned into a pile of ashes.

"Oh, that's Vargas. Poor fellow." Modera watched as members of the Tirisfal Arcane Society took the mage away. "This accident will make it into your newspaper, won't it?"

"At the very least, the spell Vargas used to turn the fire lizard into that is quite interesting." Lister showed no expression, cold as a precise instrument. "I'll bring the scroll over tonight. It may be late, because I have an appointment with Prince Kael'thas."

"Oh? I hope you enjoy yourselves." Modera pushed open the window, and the quiet room was instantly filled with the clamor outside. "I won't see you out."

Lister bowed once more and slowly left. The scorched scent in the air reminded him—perhaps he should have grilled meat tonight?

He had to hurry. Kael'thas's private lesson was about to begin. He bought a grilled pork chop from Ein and ate as he walked, soon arriving beneath the Violet Citadel. After exchanging greetings with the passing Aethas Sunreaver, he pushed open the elves' doors. Rommath, Prince Kael's trusted confidant, stood loyally in the hall. Upon seeing Lister, he immediately came forward and led him to Kael's private laboratory.

"Welcome, my friend." Kael'thas smiled as he came to greet Lister. This laboratory was nowhere near as small as it appeared from outside. Clearly, spatial magic similar to teleportation had altered it as well. Only once inside did one discover that it was a gigantic library spanning tens of thousands of square meters, while the entrance stood merely at the library's center, as abrupt yet harmonious as Doraemon's Anywhere Door. "Welcome to my laboratory."

Countless books floated in the air. These books and scrolls, imbued with magic, possessed formidable power in themselves. It was difficult to imagine how terrifying the spells recorded within them must be.

Besides Lister, another high elven mage sat there. He held a book with a deep purple cover in his hands. The scrutiny in his eyes beneath his long brows was impossible to dispel, while his pale-purple robes against a black background radiated arrogance. Indeed, Octas had been right. The high elves living in Silvermoon City truly possessed an innate sense of superiority.

"This man will teach you runic knowledge in my stead." Kael'thas said with a smile. "Quel'Thalas's finest mage, Silvermoon City's Grand Magister, Belo'vir Theron."

"Simply call me Belo'vir, Your Highness." Belo'vir rose to his feet. At a height of 1.9 meters, he was indeed imposing. "Let us begin, apprentice. Our time is both limited."

"As you command, Grand Magister." Lister showed his compliance.