He stared blankly at the translucent system interface before him.
Name: Aier Salona Race: High elf Class: Sixth-circle Archmage {Epic} Intelligence: approximately 0.00001 Sargerases Stamina: approximately 3.9 Salorian Dawnseekers Strength: approximately 0.9 Salorian Dawnseekers Spirit: approximately 8.9 Fengdelors Agility: approximately 2.6 Anasterian Sunstriders Spell power: approximately 1.8 Anasterian Sunstriders
Al: You're trolling, right? What the hell are these units of measurement?
The units of measurement: And that's our fault?
This seemingly absurd stat panel seems to be hiding something.
"Right, why didn't I think of that?" Al struck his palm with his fist in sudden realization.
Aside from intelligence, all the units of measurement are the strongest fighters in Quel'Thalas, but intelligence uses Sargeras, and it's only a measly one hundred-thousandth.
Does that mean... my primary stat already far exceeds every senior figure in Quel'Thalas? Wait, why wasn't Grandpa included among the units of measurement?
Belovar Saronar: Gee, thanks.
A damp breeze roused Al from his thoughts. Turning to survey his surroundings, he decided to explore a little and see whether he could find any new materials.
After all, he had paid Thaedris Bloodwatcher a high price for the teleportation beacon to Un'Goro Crater.
Although that antiquities dealer from the Reliquary had told him the coordinates were rather far off, Al didn't mind. He might as well give it a shot and see what turned up.
"Finally, Un'Goro Crater. Things are getting interesting."
The spreading mist obscured Al's path. With visibility so low, he decided to proceed on foot. He slung his legendary staff, which had already changed forms, onto his back and walked into the unknown territory ahead.
"Huff, huff, damn it..."
A short, stocky figure ran through the primeval forest, panic on his face. Every so often, he glanced behind him, as though something terrifying were pursuing him. Suddenly, a careless step plunged his right foot into filthy mud.
"Damn it, damn it! Is old Hemet's hunting career going to end here? Titans above!"
The dwarf crouched on the ground in pain, desperately tugging at his right leg, which had sunk into the mire.
Rumble, rumble, crack!
A series of thunderous crashes drew closer, punctuated by the snapping of branches.
An enormous creature appeared in the dwarf's view: a gigantic tyrannosaur with brown stripes on its hide.
Its vicious little eyes were fixed on the prey before it. Its gaping maw opened, revealing densely packed, uneven teeth that gleamed with a chilling light.
The terror on the dwarf's face slowly faded. He had accepted his fate.
He took something from his chest: a bronze-colored pocket watch. A photograph of a boy was set into its lid. His gaze softened, and he said quietly:
"I'm sorry, son. I haven't been a good father."
Before his words had faded, he raised the double-barreled hunting gun at his waist and pulled the trigger at the Devilsaur before him.
Bang!
After the deafening gunshot, the Devilsaur crashed to the ground.
Wisps of smoke drifted from the muzzle, obscuring the dwarf's vision.
Just moments earlier, a blurred figure had appeared out of thin air at the Devilsaur's feet.
The tiny youth stood in stark contrast to the enormous beast, several stories tall.
The Devilsaur roared at the "little fellow" before it. Drool dripped from its gaping maw onto the emerald grass, eating foul-smelling pits into it within moments.
This Devilsaur's saliva was clearly highly corrosive.
"So noisy."
Pale violet light flashed, and the youth appeared level with the beast's massive head.
"Die, you bastard!"
His delicate fist became a blur, striking the center of the tyrannosaur's forehead.
With a shrill whimper, the enormous creature crashed to the ground, accompanied by the dwarf's gunshot.
"Pretty brave, aren't you, dwarf?"
The figure slowly stepped onto the Devilsaur's corpse.
"I... you... you..."
The dwarf slumped on the ground, mumbling incoherent fragments.
"What's your name?"
The gunsmoke gradually dispersed, revealing the mysterious figure standing atop the beast's corpse. It was Al.
"Gone mute?"
As Al spoke, he carefully examined the enormous corpse.
"I... my name is Hemet Nesingwary, G-Grandmaster."
"Oh, it's you. I really didn't recognize you at first. Where's your hunting party?"
"You know me?"
Hemet had a magnificent beard, distinctive even for a dwarf. His face was ruddy, and he wore a monocle over his left eye.
Unlike the man in Al's memories, however, this middle-aged fellow had yet to grow old. Even Al couldn't help remarking at the sight of his thick black hair: what a shame Azeroth didn't have the blessing of the 996 work schedule.
Seeing that the young elf before him not only failed to answer but instead began examining the Devilsaur's corpse in detail, Hemet continued:
"Grandmaster, I'm a hunter from Ironforge. Ten months ago, an employer in Stormwind City commissioned me to come here and hunt a Devilsaur named Mosh.
"But that damned noble didn't give us accurate information. Mosh isn't some ordinary beast. It's a ferocious monster on par with an epic Warrior.
"My brothers... all died under that beast's claws."
The dwarf's expression darkened as he forced down his anger and finished his story.
"Hmm, what a sorrowful past. Want revenge, Mr. Hunter?"
"W-what did you say?"
"I said, do you want revenge?"
"Can I, Grandmaster?"
Hemet struggled to pull his right foot free of the mud and asked with some excitement.
"If you want revenge, come with me. Oh, and you'll have to carry this Devilsaur's head for me. My spatial backpack really doesn't have room for it."
"Yes, my lord!"
Unable to hide his excitement, Nesingwary strode on his short legs toward the Devilsaur's corpse, which Al had dismembered.
"Hemet, interested in working for me?"
"As long as you help me get revenge, old Hemet is at your command."
"No need to be so stiff. I know your dream is to become a master hunter, and that happens to fit my plans perfectly. Follow me, and that title will be yours someday."
"Yes, my lord."
"Haven't you eaten? Louder."
"Yes, my lord!" Nesingwary shouted.
"There's no strength in it! I can't hear you! With a voice that quiet, you still want to be the king of hunters?"
"Yes, my lord!"
Hemet shouted himself hoarse, his naturally booming dwarven voice sending the birds on the branches scattering into flight.
"Good. Very spirited."
Al's lips curved into a lovely smile as he followed old Hemet out of the thick mist.
PS: Thanks to the two generous patrons, a Milan Dynasty a and Who from the Production Team, for the tips. While this new book is being promoted, this shameless author is begging for votes and bookmarks.
My deepest thanks~