Brief Peace

Lister of Steel, the Steel Giant—this was Lister's second nickname. Beneath his childish appearance lay an unyielding soul.

At the very least, truly, many door-to-door salesmen no longer dared come knocking.

Kel'Thuzad was teaching Lister how to handle grave moss. This herb, which grew in graveyards, was as fluffy as a sponge and saturated with the deathly aura of the cemetery—the aura of shadow. Grave moss absorbed this energy, and royal blood had to be used to filter out its impurities, refining pure, harmless shadow energy. This gentle energy would not only fail to harm the drinker; it would instead protect them from shadow damage.

Lister's fingers deftly stirred the grave moss solution. A weakly acidic solution filtered out its impurities, after which it was strained, yielding a cup of murky black liquid.

He suddenly remembered that the royal blood had not yet been processed. Hurriedly sealing the beaker, he placed the royal blood in temperature-controlled water and slowly simmered it, in a process much like making that seasoning. After twenty minutes, he filtered it into a blood-red liquid, mixed the two at 25 degrees, then distilled them in a beaker. The resulting black-purple potion was a Shadow Protection Potion.

"The quality is slightly lacking. You didn't process the royal blood beforehand, so some of the efficacy was lost." Kel'Thuzad gave the finished potion an indifferent glance. The black within it was somewhat weaker than the purple; clearly, there was a problem. "How is the Frost Protection Potion coming along?"

"The winter's bite materials will arrive tomorrow. I've only studied the relevant processing methods, but I can already handle goldthorn proficiently." Lister numbered all the herb boxes like the drawers in a traditional medicine shop. He quickly took out the finished processed goldthorn. Goldthorn had a coarse, hard golden outer layer, while the soft core within was the actual medicine. It carried a faint sweet fragrance, and both processing and storage required ice to keep it cool, preventing the useful sweet juice inside from seeping out.

"Very good." Kel'Thuzad nodded, his hands clasped behind his back as always. "Once you learn to make this potion, you will be a senior alchemist. Then you can smoothly begin learning Frost Runes."

Lister bowed in acknowledgment. The archmage departed calmly, while a plump kitten meowed at him. The archmage extended his left hand from behind his back, and the fat cat nimbly leaped onto his arm before climbing onto his shoulder. Lister blinked at it. It meowed back at Lister, licked its paw, and seemed to be savoring the aftertaste.

Kel'Thuzad had repeatedly warned Lister not to make Mr. Bigglesworth his exclusive fried octopus, fried silver carp, or grilled herring. That special seasoning made Mr. Bigglesworth unable to stop; every time, he only quit after stuffing himself full. Thus, Kel'Thuzad often snatched dried fish from Lister's hand right in front of the fat cat.

But Mr. Bigglesworth strongly opposed this. He truly took concrete action in resistance, including urinating on Kel'Thuzad's scrolls, aiming his little backside at the archmage's face while he slept, and even biting the archmage's fingers.

In short, the archmage compromised, though he also made a demand: Mr. Bigglesworth's food intake had to be controlled. "Because he's too fat." Kel'Thuzad patted the fat cat's fleshy belly, and Mr. Bigglesworth comfortably narrowed his eyes. "Excessive obesity affects Mr. Bigglesworth's lifespan. Hmm, should we have him neutered?"

So Mr. Bigglesworth the little piggy cat swiped at his face. Kel'Thuzad shook his head and fed Mr. Bigglesworth a strip of dried fish he had just confiscated. Mr. Bigglesworth quieted down again, enjoying the archmage's wholehearted apology.

Lister shook his head. One of his important daily tasks was making Mr. Bigglesworth's exclusive dried fish, but this did not seem to be a bad thing. His cooking skills were improving rapidly. Fiala Sweetberry praised his grilled meat as unrivaled, trading her secret wine recipe for his seasoning formula. Both sides were highly satisfied.

If Lister had anything to be dissatisfied about, it was that the construction of his mage tower was far too slow.

A mage had to possess a mage tower of his own. Belo'vir, Kael'thas, Antonidas, and the others all had independent research rooms, and they recruited large numbers of subordinates to assist their studies. This could greatly accelerate the progress of magical research. Put simply, spells and potions were like solving problems by elimination. Many times, one could only use the most basic methods to rule out wrong answers one by one. With assistance, a great deal of time could be saved.

But that was not Lister's purpose. It was a royal requirement. Anasterian had dispatched several elves to assist him, and they could not possibly squeeze into a cramped rented house with him. Lady Melis Dawn, the court etiquette officer, forcibly inspected his attire. It had to be elegant, noble, and appropriate. Every piece of his clothing was personally made by Koni Amberlight.

Salorian was both his swordsmanship instructor and chief bodyguard. The Falon and Solanar brothers followed him to study, while Kor'thira Morningwalker volunteered to teach Lister the art of jungle warfare. Liadrin had been sent to make contact with Lister. She would be responsible for teaching the elves in Dalaran who believed in the Holy Light, while also learning etiquette from Lady Melis. In truth, this was a scheme to squeeze out Uther.

Ganis Sunwing was Lister's dragonhawk riding instructor. She had stayed in Tranquillien for a long time and could ride not only dragonhawks, but even the most savage hawkstriders. Pathfinder Karel was an outstanding assassin who would protect Lister from the shadows.

It was truly, truly a headache. The moment Lister pushed open the door, he saw Lady Melis Dawn's stern face. Her originally lovely features had become overly rigid due to her severity. Not even the most dazzling chandelier could conceal her terrifying side. "Duke Nalorath, please mind your etiquette when outside. Do not simply drape your robe over yourself."

"Bearskin and velvet again—don't you think it's hot?" Lister tossed up his coat. Under Melis's nearly furious gaze, Ebony Chill blew out a gust of cold wind, hanging it perfectly on the coat rack. Without even changing his boots, he walked straight into the spotless hall. Salorian and the Falon brothers had long been ready, and the four of them noisily headed upstairs to the training ground.

"Honestly..." Melis touched her chest. "Oh heavens, I need a moment."

"In fact, Melis is only a hundred years older than Liadrin. She's still a very young girl. It's just that she used to serve as an etiquette officer in the royal palace, so she looks so old." Solanar's big mouth could not keep anything to himself. His voice drifted downstairs on the wind, and the etiquette officer and head housekeeper was already considering how to deal with him. "If she found a suitable husband, I reckon her personality would improve a lot."

"Then in bed, she'd say, 'Please do not look at my chest. Looking at a lady's chest is impolite.'" Lister complained. His swordsmanship had also improved by leaps and bounds. From being utterly beaten around by Salorian, he could now last five exchanges. "My height only lets me see that far! Any lower, and I'd only be staring at her thighs."

Dirty jokes were forever the bridge between men. Thus was the friendship of four lecherous men forged. But only Lister knew that laughter could not last long. A grief-stricken future was about to arrive.