Dalaran Sewers

Three days passed. Today was the opening day of the magic tournament.

The curious citizens were like a swarm of headless flies, wandering aimlessly between the Violet Citadel and the city gates and putting considerable pressure on law enforcement throughout Dalaran.

"Mel, where exactly is this sewer arena the notice board mentioned? We've been going around in circles for half an hour."

A female gnome complained to her companion.

"Damn the Kirin Tor! I came all the way here from Dun Morogh specifically to cheer for Dofus Alpha. That fine lad is the pride of all us Ironforge mages."

The gnome girl and the middle-aged dwarven woman complained loudly beneath the notice board, and the surrounding citizens nodded in agreement.

Most of these citizens were low-ranking mages or apprentices. After learning a month ago that Dalaran would be holding an academic symposium, they had traveled great distances from countries and cities across the Eastern Kingdoms to get here.

"Make way, make way! The chairman is coming!"

Kirin Tor battle mages in regulation robes rushed out and began maintaining order, dispersing the citizens and adventurers gathered in clusters.

A moment later, Antonidas and his entourage emerged from the Violet Citadel in a grand procession, heading toward the prison.

Antonidas wore an amiable smile, occasionally nodding to the crowds on either side of the street and receiving waves of cheers and applause.

Behind him was a varied group of mages, not only humans but even gnomes and rarely seen dwarves.

Nielas Aran lowered his head bashfully. The cheers of the citizens left the Archmage, who had never witnessed such a grand scene, somewhat embarrassed.

Behind him were Modera and Krasus, while the two Kirin Tor councilors Ansirem and Karlain were nowhere to be seen.

Elsewhere.

"Instruc... Mr. Al, Antonidas never announced the location of these so-called sewers. That old fellow must be up to something again."

The youth walked along with an odd expression. This prince was over six hundred years old, wasn't he? How did he have the nerve to call Antonidas, who was not yet fifty, an old fellow?

Kael'thas was still anxiously saying something to the youth. Today, he wore Quel'dorei phoenix robes, which, in a certain sense, represented the royal house of Quel'Thalas.

The phoenix on the robes was lifelike, and the golden-red magical patterns glittered dazzlingly in the sunlight. Old Hemet stared unblinkingly at Kael'thas-or rather, at Kael'thas's clothes-with nothing but gold coins in his eyes.

The black-robed mages on either side of the street stood ramrod straight. Orvido stood solemnly to one side with two mid-ranking mages, maintaining order. Today was the Godfather's big day; there absolutely could not be any trouble with public order.

"Don't worry, Your Highness. Antonidas just wants to put us in our place."

Al spoke without raising his head. He was planning tactics for the upcoming tournament.

"But..."

"What's with all this flustered panic? You haven't a shred of princely bearing."

Hemet contemptuously scraped his large nose and mocked Kael'thas in front of him.

For once, Kael'thas did not get angry. The old dwarf's words suddenly calmed him down. Even a rude dwarf understood this principle, yet he had been so impetuous. It really was unbecoming.

"I understand. I'll leave everything to Mr. Al."

Rommanser looked rather unhappy. Kainar Flamesun's appearance had disrupted his plans for the tournament, and his original anger toward Al had escalated into resentment. Unfortunately, even the prince obeyed this wet-behind-the-ears bookworm's every word. What could he do?

The Grand Archmage cursed inwardly. He had already decided how to embellish Aier Salona's "achievements" when reporting to His Majesty the Sun King after they lost the tournament.

Dalaran was not large, and the two groups soon encountered each other. The instant Antonidas saw Al, his pupils contracted.

Damn it! How could he possibly... where did he learn the location of the sewers? Kael'thas? Karlain? Or that traitorous bastard Ansirem? No, none of them. Apart from that person knowing this place, it's impossible... it could never be him.

Nielas Aran looked curiously at Antonidas's face as it alternated between green and purple.

"Are you feeling unwell?"

The Archmage asked with concern.

"N-no, I'm fine. I'm just a little worried."

Antonidas forced down his inner panic and gave the Archmage an ugly smile.

"It's all right, Mr. Chairman. I'll definitely win the 3v3 arena competition."

Nielas Aran offered Antonidas encouragement.

"I've never doubted that."

Color returned to Antonidas's face, and his smile grew increasingly gratified. What the Archmage failed to notice, however, was a viciousness he had never seen before in the eyes of the elder he respected.

"Mr. Al, these are the Dalaran Sewers. How did you..."

Kael'thas asked in delighted surprise.

"Let's go. The show is about to begin."

The youth gave the dumbfounded Rommath and his supporters behind him a meaningful smile, then took the lead, bending down and entering the sewer entrance without any intention of exchanging pleasantries with Antonidas in the distance.

Al pushed open a concealed door beside the passage to Krasus' Landing, and a damp, rotten smell hit him in the face.

The pampered elves covered their mouths and noses with their sleeves, hesitating over whether to go inside.

Hemet cast a disdainful look at the bunch of long-ears behind him and followed Al inside ahead of them.

The deep, dark sewers seemed endless, but fortunately, a precariously hanging magical oil lamp stood every few meters along the moss-covered walls.

The scene before him seemed to merge with the scene from the game in his previous life, leaving the youth somewhat wistful and intrigued. Looking at the enormous drain opening not far away, Al did not avoid it; instead, he walked over to admire it closely.

I wonder if that crocodile named Var is in there.

Kael'thas looked at the youth's figure with admiration. Most elves utterly loathed such filthy, gloomy surroundings, yet Mr. Al strolled at ease as though he were back in his own garden.

After walking several dozen meters farther, Al stopped at an enormous drain opening. Strangely, no bizarre, filthy liquids flowed out of it, and there were actually steep steps along the smooth pipe wall.

Antonidas looked toward the youth a short distance away with a complicated expression, veins faintly bulging on his forehead.

He really does... know this place.

Emerging from the drainage pipe, everyone found the space before them suddenly opening up.

The entire underground area had been excavated and divided into two levels. The upper level was further divided into three tiers, with densely packed stone benches overlapping across the top, middle, and bottom tiers. At a rough glance, Al estimated it could seat some two to three thousand spectators.

A large rectangular pit had been dug in the center of the grounds. The bottom of the pit was where the contestants would compete, allowing the spectators a clear view of the duels below.

A pale pink curtain of light, somewhat resembling Arcane Burst, shrouded the arena overhead. Al guessed that this might be a protective barrier erected to prevent powerful spells from harming the spectators and the grounds.

At the center of the lower competition area was an enormous square fighting platform. Mountainlike piles of wooden crates stood at two diagonally opposite corners, giving Al a dreamlike sense of unreality.

"I feel like I'm about to catch fire."