Pressing a blue button, Al jumped out of Type Zero's cockpit.
The robot's massive chest and abdomen slowly opened, revealing a surprisingly spacious cockpit. Besides precision instruments, it contained all sorts of everyday necessities and research equipment.
Type Zero was at least as large as Mosh, so the entire mech had become the boy's ride, like a mobile fortress.
"My turn, my turn!"
Hemet's short, stocky body moved remarkably fast, and he raced up the mountain in a flash.
Under the adventurers' envious gazes, the dwarf nimbly jumped into the mech.
"Check this out!"
Hemet excitedly fiddled with the cockpit controls. Under his operation, Type Zero began staggering around like a drunk, shaking its head one moment and stamping its feet the next. The enormous machine threw the entire camp into chaos.
Basking in the distant adventurers' cries of astonishment, Hemet let the excitement go to his head and pressed a red button.
"Bzzzz!"
A tremendous hum rang out. Type Zero's reverse-jointed feet instantly retracted with a clack, replaced by blazing orange-red flames.
Under the powerful counterthrust, the mech slowly began to hover.
Hemet exclaimed in delight, shouting excitedly in the cockpit, his face flushed red. Unfortunately, the good times did not last...
Once the propulsion system finished warming up, the entire mech shot into the sky. The dwarf frantically worked the controls, but how could an inexperienced operator like him possibly handle Type Zero? The mech named Sky-Tyrant Behemoth went completely out of control.
Clouds were shredded as Type Zero plowed back and forth through them, the entire mech flying aimlessly like a headless fly.
At first, the adventurers below watched Type Zero's wild charges with great interest, assuming the old dwarf was showing off some fancy tricks. But when the mech made an extremely low dive that skimmed their scalps, everyone understood one thing: the old dwarf had gotten in over his head.
The people below began running for their lives, but Type Zero seemed to have a mind of its own, managing to fly precisely over the fleeing adventurers' heads every time.
It made them wonder whether that old rascal Hemet had heard them badmouthing him behind his back and was abusing public equipment to settle a personal score.
Type Zero dove one moment and climbed the next, indulging its nature like a mischievous child. Al watched it all with interest. Rather than stop it, he took out a little notebook.
A layer of deep blue coated his azure eyes. Hyperthymesia activated silently, and Al rapidly jotted something down.
"Maximum climb rate... preliminary observation puts it at 695 meters per second...
Maximum angular turning speed is approximately 65° per second. Feels like there's still room for improvement...
As for speed, not bad... Mach 5 is already the limit. Flying at three times the speed of sound should be enough to dodge most instant-cast spells. Hmm, if it's something like Finger of Death, forget I said anything."
The boy looked up and began counting silently, measuring the time.
As time passed, Type Zero began slowing down. The orange flames from the thrusters beneath its feet started sputtering intermittently with a series of pops. It was running low on power.
Only 43 minutes of full-power flight? If the weapons systems are used, that time will be cut down considerably.
Al frowned in thought, but even after a long while, he could not come up with a way to improve it.
The mech flying over a thousand meters in the air had originally been a tiny speck in people's eyes, impossible to spot without looking closely. Now that speck began growing larger, and people scattered in terror.
"Forget it. I wanted to test whether a fall from three thousand meters could damage Type Zero, but given the rushed schedule, I haven't designed a proper shock-absorption system yet. For Hemet's sake, I'll shelve that for now."
Hemet: Thanks fer yer kindness...
The boy sighed, an indescribable gleam flowing through his eyes as he stared intently at the enormous machine falling from the sky.
Given that Type Zero weighs around 100 tonnes, applying the gravitational acceleration formula...
The energy released by an explosion of 1 kilogram of TNT is 4.2 × 10^6 joules. Using gravitational potential energy, Ep = mgh: Ep = 100,000 kg × 10 (taking gravitational acceleration as 3) × 3,000 m ≈ 300,000 joules.
"Hiss... 300,000 joules of energy. If that damned thing really crashes, it'll pack more punch than 60 kilograms of TNT exploding."
Al sucked in a sharp breath. His expression grave, he summoned every bit of Telekinesis he could muster.
The boy's eyes rolled back, his veins bulged, and his entire body began trembling.
"I don't even know if I can hold this..."
In the blink of an eye, Type Zero had already fallen to an altitude of 1,500 meters. If no one stopped it, the whole of Marshal's Refuge would be razed in less than ten seconds.
1,000 meters. Type Zero was still accelerating.
800 meters...
600 meters...
Only at 200 meters, when people could already see the vivid gold-and-red patterns on the mech and were screaming in despair, did Type Zero begin slowing down. But that slight deceleration was merely a drop in the bucket, because it was still falling rapidly.
100 meters...
50 meters...
30 meters...
5 meters...
Al's entire delicate, snow-white face began to flush with blood. Capillaries burst beneath his skin, spreading into large bruises. Fortunately, it... stopped.
Some of the taller buildings in Marshal's Refuge had already been pulverized by Type Zero's hard armor. Among them was Al's alchemy workshop.
Will Heavyfist stood 3.5 meters tall. At that moment, he stared blankly upward with his bovine eyes wide open, gazing unblinkingly at the vicious barb that was about to pierce his eye socket, not daring to move a muscle.
A rank stench wafted up from beneath the Tauren, and yellow liquid trickled down his hooves. The few unconscious unfortunates beside him missed the sight. Otherwise, they would have had another story to tell around a late-night campfire.
After a long while, the Tauren let out a shriek and sprinted away without looking back. Covering his broad, rugged face, he sobbed the whole way.
"Boohoo... Mommy, the outside world is too dangerous! I'm never going out adventuring again... Boohoo..."
Edwin VanCleef, who was still back home in Elwynn Forest mixing mud with urine, would never know that he had forever lost his right-hand man.
The weakened Al was supported by the guilt-stricken old dwarf. This was the aftermath of overusing Telekinesis.
In plain terms, Telekinesis still needed a strong foundation of mental power. If that mental power ran dry, the consequences could range from dizziness and nausea to unconsciousness and brain death.
With an aching heart, Al took a full 5,000 gold coins out of his spatial backpack. This was compensation for the damage the old dwarf had done to Marshal's Refuge.
Williden's previously ashen face instantly lit up. Bursting with unparalleled enthusiasm, his face glowing, he grabbed Al's hand and shook it nonstop. He practically wanted to write the elven boy into his family genealogy.
"That's the price of 50 bottles of Jinkela or 6.25 bottles of Jinkela 2.0. All because of this damned dwarf, I've lost so many little darlings. It pains this old man to death..."
The boy clutched his left chest as if he were about to have a heart attack, frightening Hemet into sobbing aloud. The dwarf beat his chest and stamped his feet, cursing himself. He thought Al's hidden ailment had flared up and that he did not have long to live.
"What the hell are you wailing for? I'm not dead yet!"
Al angrily kicked the fussing dwarf in the backside, sending Hemet tumbling headfirst with his rear sticking up.
Williden awkwardly rubbed his nose. Seeming to remember something, he hurriedly pulled a crumpled letter from inside his clothes.
"Lord Al, I found this letter on an adventurer's corpse. He died in the marshes on the route from Tanaris to Un'Goro Crater...
By the time I found him, the body had already started rotting. He must have been dead for quite some time. Although I can't read Thalassian, I also found this in his belongings..."
As he spoke, Williden took an exquisite insignia out of his backpack.
It was a golden phoenix emblem, exquisitely crafted and splendid in design. Al recognized it at a glance as the Sunstrider family's crest, something only royalty could possess.
His Majesty Anasterian? No, His Majesty's token should also be decorated with the symbol of Silvermoon City. Then this emblem...
Thinking it over, Al took the crumpled letter from Williden, tore open the envelope, and began reading.
Thalassian filled the boy's vision, every stroke ending in an elegant curve. The ornate lettering left him momentarily distracted.
"To my dear mentor, Aier Salona,
-From your most devoted apprentice, Kael'thas Sunstrider"
PS: Thanks to Lord Qian Lengfeng for the tip. My lord, you're generous.
The Un'Goro arc ends here. The eagerly anticipated developments are coming right up~