Elf

"A great victory!" The elves cheered jubilantly. Under Alleria's leadership, the Farstrider Rangers had wiped out a band of headhunters from Zul'Aman!

Trolls were a very ancient race. They had already been active across the land before the Titans came to this world. The Old Gods seemed not to have noticed these insignificant creatures, apparently having little interest in flesh-and-blood life. This allowed the trolls to escape being purged by the Titans.

Forest trolls were a branch of trollkind. A peculiar mutation allowed plants to grow upon their bodies, giving them their distinctive green skin—the perfect camouflage in the forest.

Male trolls averaged around 2.4 meters tall, while females averaged 2.2 meters. They were the tallest humanoid race on Azeroth. Trolls had three fingers on each hand and two toes on each foot. Their tusks and hairstyles were varied and wild regardless of sex. Their physiques were well-proportioned and powerful; male trolls weighed an average of three hundred pounds, while females weighed around two hundred and fifteen. Like other races, some trolls were far larger than normal, yet they were still regarded as part of the tribe. Zul'jin, for instance, the legendary troll warlord who inherited the blood of the Amani, stood at an astonishing three meters tall.

Though sufficient physical damage could kill them, trolls recovered from severe injuries much faster, giving them a tremendous advantage in battle. If they maintained a good relationship with the Loa, they could even regenerate fingers and toes. Troll legends claimed that certain trolls blessed by the Loa possessed extraordinarily powerful regenerative abilities; losing limbs or even vital organs in battle was no issue. The tale of Ula'jin the Voidwalker spoke of how he had nearly regenerated his entire body within the Pool of Shadowflame. Yet the Loa could bless, and they could curse. Troll children were taught of the miserable fates of trolls cursed by the Loa: even minor cuts and bruises would never heal, instilling in them reverence for the gods. One poison could completely halt a troll's regenerative abilities for several weeks. Elemental fire could also prevent troll wounds from regenerating.

Troll headhunters were the fiercest warriors among trolls. Every one of them was battle-hardened, wielding sharp throwing spears. Their long, powerful arms allowed them to casually hurl those spears one hundred and fifty meters, while some particularly formidable warriors could reach two hundred. Zul'jin even had a record of throwing a stone from four hundred meters away and killing an elven mage. That was an utterly terrifying distance, almost equal to the power of modern firearms.

It was said that elf had been Belo'vir's first and only disciple. From then on, the Grand Magister took no more students, until Kael'thas introduced himself to him.

Lister watched the celebrating elves. Everyone was rejoicing over this victory. Trolls were the elves' mortal enemies, yet no one had ever known why trolls hated elves.

After Dath'Remar crossed the sea and arrived here, he led the high elves from Tirisfal Glades to the site of Silvermoon City. They occupied the trolls' ancestral burial grounds, where countless troll heroes lay buried. The elves cast the remains of troll ancestors into the wilderness, then built a magnificent city atop that very place. That was why war had erupted between them and the trolls.

Still, Lister had no fondness for trolls either. Trolls were cannibals. When starving, they would even eat their own kind. Those creatures apparently had no fear of prion diseases. Then again, this was a world of magic.

Belo'vir was recognized by the celebrating crowd. He smiled and greeted everyone. Even the three sisters dipped their heads slightly in greeting. Korthira finally saw who stood beside Belo'vir as well—a half-grown half-elven child?

Lister obediently stood behind Belo'vir as a middle-aged female elven priest approached with a young female elven priest. "Hey, Belo'vir, I never expected you to have a child."

The future Deathweaver pricked up her pointed ears. Belo'vir smiled. "He isn't my child." He rubbed Lister's head as the surrounding elves all looked toward him. "He is my disciple."

Lister saw fury and jealousy flash across one elf's face. For an instant, that elegant face became hideously twisted, utterly at odds with his exquisite mage robes. A thought flashed through Lister's mind. Could he be Darkan?

In this era, the relationship between master and disciple was exceedingly pure and steadfast. If children were the continuation of one's bloodline, then disciples were the inheritors of one's will, holding a status equal to that of biological offspring. This was especially true among mages. If a mentor made no arrangements before death, their disciple would automatically inherit all their possessions.

Damn it, he set me up again. Belo'vir picked Lister up to introduce him to everyone. Ebony Chill continually blocked the hands reaching toward Lister. These people were all up to no good—it had to protect its master!

"Should I congratulate you?" Vandelor extended a hand. This time, Ebony Chill did not interfere, because several sinful hands also reached toward it. She took Lister. "Oh, he's quite heavy."

"He's nine years old now. He can already cast more than ten low-level spells proficiently, and he can brew Major Healing Potions. He can fully be considered a qualified mage." Belo'vir's words drew quiet gasps from the crowd. Major Healing Potions were genuine intermediate potions. Even high elves needed to spend years learning how to brew them. No one had expected this little fellow to possess such potential.

Vandelor smiled and set Lister down. Ebony Chill swiftly flew behind Lister to hide. It had just been thoroughly fondled. A mage who recognized Ebony Chill was about to cry out, but under Belo'vir's smiling gaze, he forcibly swallowed the sound.

"He really is a very heavy little fellow." Liadrin patted Lister's head as well. "Hey, can you stop looking at me like that? I didn't use any force."

Lor'themar covered his face. He had never expected Lister to come to Silvermoon City too. Korthira noticed something strange about his colleague. With a light squeeze of his legs, he guided his hawkstrider over to Lor'themar. "Lor'themar? Who is he? Why would the Grand Magister have a half-elven disciple?"

"Uh, that little fellow is a mage from Dalaran. I saw him in Dalaran. He has a very good relationship with the prince, so perhaps that was why the Grand Magister accepted him as a disciple." Lor'themar's explanation plunged Korthira into silence. His handsome face creased slightly, though it only made his features seem more sculpted. "I won't say anything."

Lor'themar nodded, but his quick mind immediately caught on. "Wait! Did you misunderstand something?"

"Mm, I don't think I misunderstood." Korthira sighed. "His Majesty the King should be the one worrying over this, not us."

"Pfft!" Lor'themar nearly spat blood. If Kael'thas learned that he had started this rumor, Alleria would skin him alive. "It's not like that! He really is a mage from Dalaran. I heard he's an orphan."

Korthira's guess was confirmed. "All right, brother, you've said enough. I believe you've been completely frank with me, and I will certainly keep my mouth shut."

"Please, let me explain!"

Darkan Drathir was a supremely gifted mage. He had grown up in Morning Star Tower, a mage tower on the border of Quel'Thalas. There, he studied all manner of magical knowledge and fought the trolls of neighboring Zul'Aman. Those trials allowed him to progress rapidly, quickly becoming a moderately renowned mage.

Yet his inner world was filled with pure desire. Driven by desire, he advanced by leaps and bounds, but desire also bound his hands and feet. He envied the child named Lister. In a rage, Darkan slammed his fist against the desk. The pattern drawn upon the unfurled parchment scroll was none other than Ebony Chill.

He actually had an artifact!

He had actually become Belo'vir's disciple! In the future, he would inherit his teacher's immense wealth!

He was even so young! Yet he had already achieved so much!

Oh, heavens—any one of those things would have been enough to make Darkan dizzy with envy. So many accomplishments together made his face flush with blood, stars swim before his eyes, and veins bulge from his neck. His clenched fists pounded the desk violently for a full minute before finally stopping.

I must find a way to get rid of him! Darkan pondered for a moment as countless vicious schemes surfaced in his mind. He took a deep breath and began calculating how to make his move.