Chapter 6: Must Be Fulfilled at Least Once Daily |
“It looks like the problem is right here. Shall we go in and take a look?” Allen asked, though his body was already heading toward the room.
Farley followed and answered as he walked, “But after the last incident we thoroughly cleaned this room. We didn't find anything strange.”
Stella’s large eyes looked timidly at the room. She was a little scared, so she rummaged through her belongings and pulled out two Goblin Grenades.
She weighed the two grenades in her hand, and much of her fear was instantly driven away. She quickened her pace to catch up.
Allen was the first to step inside. Surprisingly, everything in the room was normal—just an ordinary guest room—except...
In the very center of the floor sat a purple cloth pouch.
When Farley saw that ordinary purple pouch, he reacted as if he had seen something terrifying. He took two steps back, his face drained of color.
“I remember now. Th-this... this is the pouch the messenger used to carry letters!”
When Stella heard that, her face stiffened. Her blue eyes blinked rapidly as she silently retreated a few steps and returned to the doorway.
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure! He was the only one nearby using a purple mail pouch! We thought he vanished with the pouch, but it seems the pouch has been here all along.”
Stella poked half her head out from behind the door and weakly asked, “Could this pouch be cursed?”
Allen drew his shortsword, crouched a safe distance away, and jabbed at it with the blade. Nothing happened.
Stella silently craned her whole head forward, and Farley moved up beside Allen.
“Who would bother to curse a bag of letters?”
Seeing nothing happen, Allen had already picked up the pouch and started rummaging through it.
“Maybe there’s a letter in here that’s involved in something improper.”
Perception Check: 19, success.
The pouch’s fabric was unexpectedly fine, its deep purple-blue color clashing with most of the rough letters inside.
At that moment, a lavish letter caught your eye. The envelope was bound with a faded silver cord, and a cat’s-eye bead hung from the cord’s end, emitting a faint, ominous phosphorescence.
The instant you touched it, a cold, stinging pain shot through your fingertip, as if pricked by a fine needle.
Thanks to the system’s spoiler, Allen picked up that incongruous letter. The envelope was thick vellum. In its center was stamped a vertical-pupil eye that seemed to cry blood.
Religion Check: 1, critical failure.
You cannot recognize this mark, but it carries a profane distortion. The bloody tears seem to slowly slide downward.
Most unsettlingly... that eye is watching you.
No matter how you tilt the envelope, the pupil of that emblem remains locked onto your face.
The room’s lighting shows no change, but you swear the vertical pupil is slowly contracting, like a predator adjusting to the dark.
A chill seeped from the envelope into your fingertips, climbing up the veins of your arm, and in your ear rose a distant howl, like mourning from beneath deep water.
Everything around suddenly became too quiet.
Thunder, wind, the rustle of distant leaves—all vanished.
Just as your fingers pinched the edge of the envelope to pull it free, the air froze.
With the narrative’s whisper, six or seven new wraiths suddenly materialized in the room, clawing and lunging.
“Ahhhhh! Help!”
Stella screamed. Allen, already primed by the system’s spoiler, began reciting the Grease spell. A great glob of lard splashed down.
However, only two of the wraiths slipped; the other malevolent spirits lunged at the group.
Allen felt doomed. He shouldn’t have let curiosity take over. This isn’t a game—this is dangerous Azeroth, teeming with Old Gods, undead, demons—countless evil beings could end his life at any moment.
Stella raised a grenade, ready to pull the pin, screaming, “Run!”
Farley lifted his gun, sparks flying, and time seemed to freeze...
No—time actually froze.
Allen had just turned around and found himself unable to move. Then he felt a woman whisper in his ear.
“Dear, you are about to die.”
For a moment Allen couldn’t tell whether this was his system or some other presence speaking.
“I cannot bear to see you die like this, dear. Come, offer everything to me—give me your name, your soul, body, and heart. Serve me for the rest of your life, and I will grant you endless... power!”
“Who are you?”
“Who am I? I am your lover, your eternity, your deepest devotion, I am your... master...”
Hearing that rambling whisper, Allen knew this was not a power worth borrowing. He did not want to become some unspeakable thing in Azeroth.
So what to do?
Have Stella detonate a grenade and bring the ghosts and them all to ruin together?
Would a grenade even harm those things?
At that moment Allen caught sight of a familiar figure in the hallway shadow outside the door.
Time began flowing again.
A rough voice shouted, “Run!!!”
Allen summoned all his strength and sprinted forward, knocking into Farley, grabbing Stella by her ponytail. Stella’s limbs flailed like a puppet as Allen dragged her away.
Right in front of them, Wen Lei stepped out from behind the doorframe, his light bow blazing with scorching fire!
“LTAKA!”
Explosive shot!
A brilliant blaze launched from the bow. Fire serpents swept through, igniting the grease on the floor. Magical flames soared and detonated.
A massive heat wave tossed Allen and the others.
The wraiths were consumed by the flames and dissipated like ash, wailing and screaming as they vanished from the room.
Thrown into the corridor, Allen ignored the pain and bit his teeth, charging back into the roaring blaze. He grabbed the distinctive envelope, then leapt into Wen Lei’s arms, burying his face in his chest, and fainted.
Wen Lei, foster father, father!
You finally came!
Wen Lei—well, no, Wen Lei at first wanted to smack Allen away, but remembering his persona—he was Allen Prestor’s retainer—he held back.
Farley knelt on the ground, wailing, “Put out the fire! Put out the fire! My inn! Aaahhh!”
---------------
When Allen woke again, he saw bright sunlight outside the window.
“You’re awake, you’re awake! Master Allen is awake!” an unfamiliar man cried with joy as he opened the door.
He was Dobbins, the innkeeper of the Lion's Pride.
Soon, a crowd burst in.
Wen Lei stood expressionless to the side. Stella was first to leap to Allen’s bedside, her ponytail trembling, face full of delight, “Savior! You’re awake!”
It had been two days since that rainy night.
Two nights ago Wen Lei had captured the unlucky guest who had fled the inn in panic; he found the man reduced to a babbling lunatic.
Coming back in time, Wen Lei witnessed the last scene before Allen was knocked unconscious and saved them.
Allen had used his body to shield Farley and Stella, taking the brunt of the blast. Then he had dashed back into the flames to snatch the letter. He sustained varying degrees of burns. Farley specifically invited Sister Anita, a female cleric from Northshire Abbey, to treat Allen.
Learning he’d been lying there for two days, Allen couldn’t help thinking his constitution was still too weak, but Farley and Stella disagreed.
They believed that Allen had taken the full force of a massive explosion and still could wake up after two days in bed, looking so energetic—his body was incredibly resilient, almost superhuman.
“The letter—where’s that letter?”