"Aaron, get this guest a bottle of Southshore liquor." The innkeeper greeted the guest before him with an eager expression, calling for his server to bring the drink over. At the innkeeper's booming shout, the guest frowned but said nothing.
"Coming!" A black-haired boy who looked sixteen or seventeen slipped briskly out of the kitchen, glanced behind the counter, pulled out a glass bottle of liquor, and hurried over with it.
"All right, that's all. Go back to washing dishes." The innkeeper took the liquor and waved the boy away, then smiled at the guest, who had already taken a seat. "Look, honored guest. This is Hillsbrad's most famous Southshore liquor. It's no easy task for a little place like ours to get even one large barrel a month. You're in for a treat today."
Hearing the innkeeper's familiar sales pitch, Aaron could not help wanting to grin mischievously. The innkeeper was right: the entire town received only one large barrel of this Hasic liquor each month. But that was not because it was in high demand. It was simply because it would not sell. Southshore's strong liquor lived up to its name in a single word: strong.
From what Aaron had seen over the past two days, the innkeeper had repeated that pitch more than a dozen times and sold just one cup. He had no idea what the innkeeper was thinking. Judging by that guest's expression, he probably would not sell any today eith-wait, was there something unusual about this guest?
Shoulder-length white hair was rare, but not particularly strange. Those long ears and eyebrows standing out like blades, though... an elf? That had to be an elf, right?!
Aaron stared excitedly at the female elf before him, failing to notice that her expression had already turned tense, with undisguised distaste. It seemed she strongly disliked his gaze.
Seeing this, the innkeeper hurriedly shooed Aaron away. "Aaron, get back to washing dishes! Don't you want your bread today?"
Only then did Aaron recover from the surprise of seeing this elf for the first time. He hurried back to the kitchen to finish the dishes he had left unwashed, still muttering, "I thought this world only had humans. I never imagined there'd be elves, and she looks pretty familiar, too. Could it be..."
At that thought, Aaron quickly turned back and asked the innkeeper, "Boss, what were those two countries to our north again?"
"Alterac and Dalaran. Why?" The innkeeper eyed Aaron suspiciously. "Didn't I tell you the day before yesterday?"
"Alterac, Dalaran... right, Dalaran hasn't moved away yet." Aaron muttered the names over to himself, then said, "So we're part of Lordaeron, right?"
"Why's your accent so strange? But that sounds right to me." The innkeeper nodded. Seeing Aaron looking almost deranged, he could not help asking with concern, "Aaron, are you all right?"
"I'm fine. Of course I'm fine." Aaron waved a hand and headed back into the kitchen, still mumbling, "I knew it. I should've known all along. Lordaeron! The pronunciation's just a little different. How did I not recognize it?"
Once Aaron had left, the innkeeper hurriedly explained to the distinguished and rarely seen female elf, "Honored guest, it seems the boy's family fell victim to the Orcs. He's not quite right in the head. Please don't mind him."
Meanwhile, the boy named Aaron did not settle down after returning to the kitchen, either. He continued muttering something. The cook resting nearby glanced at him and asked curiously, "Aaron, what happened out there? Why are you so happy?"
"Huh? Am I happy? I should be happy, actually. I finally know where I am. Of course I should be happy." Aaron still seemed distracted, but the smile never left his face. The cook kept worrying that the boy might break a plate in this state, but Aaron made no mistakes in the end. His mental state persisted, however, and when the cook started work the next morning, he was startled to find Aaron looking utterly listless. "What happened to you?"
"Nothing. I was too excited last night and couldn't sleep." Aaron waved a hand, then went over to the cook to start helping.
"It's just a High Elf visiting. Aren't you getting a little too excited? Silly boy, stop dreaming. She's from a different world than you." The cook seemed to have heard from someone else that an elf had come to the inn. He probably thought Aaron was so excited because of that beautiful elf. Young people always loved to dream, after all.
"Hey, that's not why I... forget it. Think whatever you like." Aaron waved a hand listlessly, then asked, "What's she here for?"
"And you still say that's not why? I saw her waiting outside when I came in. Looks like she's waiting for someone."
"Waiting for someone? Oh, let her wait, then," Aaron answered offhandedly.
"What, don't you want to go get another look?"
"What's there to look at?" Aaron curled his lip and thought, How many years have I been looking at them? Isn't she just a Blood Elf whose eyes haven't turned green yet? Do you know my Horde account is full of Blood Elves?
By now, what was there left for Aaron not to understand? He had thought he had been dumped into some ordinary medieval world, but now he was certain he had been thrown into Azeroth, a fantasy world that could only be described as plagued by disasters.
The most straightforward indication of how dangerous Azeroth was lay in the fact that, ever since the launch of World of Warcraft, the online game set primarily in Azeroth, virtually every expansion had brought at least one or two world-ending crises, and as many as four or five. Most terrifying of all, according to the official account, each expansion covered roughly a single year in the game.
In other words, Azeroth faced an apocalypse roughly once a season. Although players and NPCs would ultimately resolve those crises, even their preludes were already extremely dangerous.
Now that he had confirmed which world he was in, Aaron understood that, before finding a way home, what he probably needed to do most was establish exactly what era this was, then see whether he had any chance of avoiding those dangers fatal to ordinary people.
Still, Aaron knew perfectly well: where could there be a safe place in this turbulent world? Besides, in this world, where could someone of ordinary flesh and blood like him possibly hide? How far could he run on these two legs alone?
But at least I can find a little peace of mind, Aaron told himself. Calming the jumble of thoughts in his head somewhat, he looked at the cook beside him and asked, "By the way, Nosh, what year is it?"
"What year?" Chef Nosh frowned and answered casually, "How would I know what year it is? That's something for astrologers and noble lords to worry about."
"I knew it. No point asking." Aaron curled his lip and said no more, though he still looked distinctly distracted.
Nosh, who was past middle age, gave him a knowing, suggestive smile. "Hey, Aaron, if you want to look at her, just sneak out and have a look. There's not much to do in the morning anyway. The boss won't mind."
"I told you, I'm not... fine, I'll go take a look. Happy now?" Aaron shook his head, gave his hands a quick wash, and left the kitchen.
Although he claimed he was not interested, the truth was that a living, breathing High Elf still held considerable appeal for him. After all, there was a substantial difference between a real person and a game model.
After stepping out of the inn, the first thing Aaron noticed was not the white-haired High Elf he had seen yesterday, but a beautiful little chestnut horse tethered by the entrance. Its glossy coat made it obvious that its owner cared for it meticulously.
The horse's most striking feature was the pair of fairly short, pointed brown horns growing from its head. Unless Aaron was mistaken, this had to be a Thalassian Horse.
Aaron could not help curling his lip and muttering, "Isn't it just a Thalassian Horse? I collected hundreds of mounts back then. What a shame... I can't use a single one now. Sigh!"
By the end, Aaron could not help sighing. He knew himself that, no matter how much he said to show he did not care, all it proved in the end was that he really did.
After looking over the horse, Aaron naturally turned his gaze toward its owner. The elf did indeed appear to be waiting for someone, and had most likely been stood up. That was the judgment Aaron reached upon seeing her restless expression.
On closer inspection, the elf was remarkably tall and slender compared with the ordinary humans Aaron had seen over the past few days. She wore a leaf-green shirt and shorts, with a sturdy breastplate over the shirt that accentuated her slender figure without making her look overly bony. A wood-colored cloak hung down her back, with knee-high leather boots on her feet and elbow-length gloves on her arms.
Even by Aaron's aesthetic standards, long bombarded by modern photo-editing techniques, the elf before him qualified as a beauty.
And unlike the crude game models Aaron knew, the one before him was high-definition-and she moved!
"Who could she be? Lordaeron still exists, and nobody mentioned Dalaran having been destroyed when they talked about it. That means Arthas hasn't swept across the Eastern Kingdoms with the Scourge yet."
Outwardly, Aaron watched the elf, but all sorts of thoughts ran through his mind. I remember the innkeeper saying the Orcs haven't been driven out yet. Does that mean the Second War is still going on? But judging by his attitude, those Orcs should be dealt with soon. So does that mean there should still be ten years or so of peace? That's not so bad.
By this point, dear readers, you have probably already figured it out: Aaron was a transmigrator, currently inside a game world. Tragically, he did not even have a decent golden finger.
The story of Aaron's transmigration had to begin at the beginning. It was an ordinary summer evening. Aaron had just finished a busy day at work, turned on his computer, and logged into the game to unwind.
As a busy office worker, Aaron utterly detested things like guild raids that required him to clock in on schedule even in a game, or endless grinding. But having chosen a casual playstyle that would spare his liver, he needed to find some new entertainment for himself.
For Aaron, aside from occasionally leveling an alt for fun, his greatest pleasure was taking his main into old dungeons and raids, steamrolling them to farm mounts.
After work that day, he had been on his weekly date with Arthas in Icecrown Citadel. As one of the game's most popular bosses, Arthas dropped a mount Aaron very much wanted.
After confirming that Tirion Fordring had ninja-looted Invincible again that week, however, Aaron felt rather dispirited.
Once he had made sure he had finished all the old mount-dropping raids he needed to run that week, Aaron turned off the light and went to bed. He casually opened a random video on his phone from a certain largest same-sex dating platform, then fell fast asleep before it finished.
Yet when he woke up, he found himself lying in the wilderness. Unaccustomed to the slightly chilly morning air, he instinctively tried to wrap his blanket tighter around himself, only to grasp empty air.
"What's going on? Did I forget to turn off the air conditioner last night?" Aaron stood up with his arms wrapped around his shoulders. Wearing only a pair of shorts, he shivered in the chilly wind.
Still unable to understand what had happened, Aaron finally managed to find a settlement of fellow humans. Fortunately, for reasons unknown to him, he could understand the locals' language. After several not particularly successful attempts at negotiation, he finally found a job doing odd chores at the inn in exchange for bread, and more or less managed to settle in.
For a time, Aaron did not know what expression to make about this bewildering transmigration. He could only thank the mastermind behind it for not only gifting him an understanding of the local language, but also restoring his body to that of a sixteen- or seventeen-year-old. Otherwise, with his original body, which had frequently stayed up late and received little care, that morning's cold wind alone would probably have given him a cold lasting several days.
When he first encountered the locals, Aaron had thought he had arrived in some ordinary medieval world. After all, the real scenery was bound to differ from what he had seen in the game. Moreover, all the place names he knew were in Chinese, so when he first heard those supposedly familiar names from the locals, he had failed to recognize them at all.
Had he not suddenly seen a High Elf, Aaron probably would never have thought of Azeroth. He had fallen into a fixed way of thinking right from the start, after all.
But as his mind raced, Aaron failed to notice that the female elf had spotted him long ago and was now walking toward him. It seemed she had finally had enough of his undisguised staring.
New author, new book. Please show your support.