"This Assassin's Blade was a gift from my teacher after I became a full member of the Assassins' Order. Now I'm giving it to you," Onias said, pointing to the curved sword on the wall to the left.
Not a dagger, but a curved sword!
The Assassin's Blade had never been a dagger. Rogues did not necessarily have to use daggers, either; one-handed swords and sabers were both options.
Some unconventional rogues even used two-handed swords and polearms!
Daggers were more agile, while curved swords had greater reach and dealt more damage!
Legend had it that the legendary assassin Garona had once used an epic curved sword called the Night Blade, which had a strange, bizarre design.
Of course, she had later switched to the famous Kingslayer blades, Anguish and Sorrow, and assassinated Stormwind City's previous king, Llane, directly bringing about the city's fall!
The Assassin's Blade was the finest standard-issue rogue's curved sword human craftsmanship could produce. Better weapons generally required extremely precious rare metals, such as thorium, mithril, truesilver, or adamantite. These metals were so expensive that they cost even more than their weight in gold. Any such weapon was worth hundreds or thousands of gold coins, perhaps even tens of thousands.
Widowmaker, for example.
It was an exceptionally rare, superior-quality dagger. Only a handful had ever existed, making its value difficult to fix, but it would cost at least several dozen gold coins, perhaps even a hundred or more. One dagger could buy one or two fishing boats!
As for the epic-quality Gut Ripper, weapons like that were unique, treasures every rogue dreamed of possessing, and worth far more than Widowmaker.
What did "epic" mean?
It meant something that could leave its name in history, be recorded in a kingdom's annals, and be remembered by some people-equivalent to the Eight Swords of the King of Yue or the Eight Divine Weapons of Shu Han in ancient Huaxia.
As for weapons like Chengying and Chunjun, they ranked even higher, belonging to the legendary tier. There were not many of them in the entire world.
The most famous legendary rogue weapons, the Warglaives of Azzinoth, also known as the "Egg Blades," were still in Illidan's hands.
"Widowmaker and Gut Ripper are too valuable. I can't give them to you yet," Onias said. "I'll leave these two daggers with Miles for safekeeping, and he'll decide when to give them to you. You can go now."
Though he was very reluctant to leave and desperately wanted those two daggers, Jiang Jie knew Onias meant what she said.
It was perfectly understandable, really. An innocent man's treasure could make him guilty. Carrying daggers worth hundreds or thousands of gold coins was like an ordinary person carrying jewelry worth millions or tens of millions-and everyone could fucking see it. Of course someone would rob him!
Onias was looking out for him.
As a general rule, only master-level professionals were equipped with epic weapons. As for legendary weapons, even many legendary professionals did not necessarily own one. There simply were not enough to go around.
Take Uther the Lightbringer, for example. He was a renowned legendary paladin, yet the paladin's warhammer in his hands was only epic.
"That guy Miles won't keep the two daggers for himself, will he?" Jiang Jie worried a little as he walked back to his lodgings.
Miles's weapons were only a pair of superior-quality daggers. If he suddenly saw the epic-quality Gut Ripper, could he remain unmoved?
Impossible!
"Forget it. There's no point thinking so much about it. I wonder how things are going with Don Quixote. I'll go take a look." Jiang Jie shook his head slightly and headed toward the central square.
A table now stood in the most conspicuous spot in Lordaeron's central square, with three things on it:
A folding fan, a storyteller's wooden block, and a stack of white paper.
Don Quixote was already seated.
Two fully armed guards from the princess's residence stood beside Don Quixote, one on either side.
Behind them hung a golden silk backdrop bearing several large black words:
"Storytelling: Tides of Darkness"
The lettering swept and soared, brimming with commanding grandeur!
The large words stood high above.
Below them were rows of slightly smaller red lettering: "A masterwork surpassing Trouvere!"
"A perfect recreation of that stirring, moving chapter in the history of the war against the orcs!"
"Passionately performed by the celebrated bard, Master Don Quixote!"
"Highly recommended by Her Highness Princess Calia!"
"The first installment in Nicholas Jiang's World of Warcraft novel series!"
"Free today!"
Master Don Quixote. Princess Calia.
Those two prestigious names certainly had tremendous drawing power. In less than half an hour, a large crowd had gathered, including commoners, merchants, and even quite a few professionals and nobles.
"Storytelling? What's that? Another performance trick from the bards?"
"Tides of Darkness? Never heard of it! It actually claims to surpass Master Trouvere? Isn't that an exaggeration? Could it be Master Don Quixote's new work?"
"The author is Nicholas Jiang? Why does that name sound so familiar? Isn't he that once-in-a-century rogue prodigy, that one-in-ten-thousand talent?"
"He can write novels? And he claims to surpass Master Trouvere? Has he gone mad trying to get famous?"
"Master Don Quixote is performing in person! Princess Calia highly recommends it! That's enough for me! Besides, it's free. Let's watch first!"
At half past eight that morning, the entire central square was packed with people. At least several hundred had gathered around to see what was going on.
Seeing this, Don Quixote nodded to himself. That young fellow Nicholas is no simple boy. This method he came up with really works.
He briefly introduced the general premise of Tides of Darkness, then began his impassioned performance.
"Now, on this day, darkness shrouded Southshore, and the sky was pitch-black. The fishermen who had risen early were just about to put out to sea when they suddenly heard faint sounds, low and slow, like weeping, like lamenting, coming from somewhere unknown. Were they the whispers of naga? Or the soft songs of murlocs? Why did those sounds carry such mournful desolation, such heartache?"
"Everyone craned their necks and watched, until the black mist changed shape, as though torn apart by those sounds, and dark shapes appeared, one after another!"
"The dark shapes continued to approach, trailing the thick mist around them. Those weeping, lamenting sounds grew stronger, until at last they broke through the barrier of fog and revealed their true forms to everyone."
"They were stunned!"
"There were hundreds of ships!"
"They did not yet know that this was a nation fleeing disaster, the beginning of a chapter in history, a turning point in Azeroth's fate!"
Don Quixote certainly lived up to his reputation as a veteran bard. His voice was deep and resonant, and amplified by a low-level spell, its captivating sound reached everyone in Lordaeron's square. Combined with his endlessly compelling performance and perfectly judged expressions, it held them spellbound.
What was immersion?
This was immersion!
At that moment, everyone seemed to have been transported to that morning when thick fog shrouded the sea, standing on Southshore's wooden decking, craning their necks and watching, awaiting that turning point in fate.
At last, they saw the ships, saw the fleeing civilians in ragged clothes, saw the soldiers of Stormwind City in battered armor, and saw the aged, lionlike man standing at the bow of the foremost ship:
"Lothar! He's here!"