Chapter 27: To an Eternal Secret |
Unexpectedly, Allen flipped the parchment over and over several times, but the small piece of sheepskin inside was completely blank…
“I still don’t think this is that simple.” Wen Lei frowned deeply. “We investigated—Stalvan was originally just an ordinary teacher in Westfall. Why did he become undead? How did he learn these forbidden spells?”
“So I suspect someone must have guided Stalvan the whole way, taught him these things, and helped him transform into the undead.” Wen Lei tapped his fingers against his thigh. “All of this has to be connected to this letter, to this bizarre emblem.”
Allen flipped the letter over again, held it up to the light to check the back—still blank.
“Did you ask around? Has anyone in Darkshire seen this emblem?”
Wen Lei shook his head. “No one has.”
Allen sighed and set the letter down. He thought for a moment, then picked it up again, held it over a candle flame to heat it, then wet his finger with a bit of water and gently rubbed it across the paper’s surface—still blank.
“Forget it.” He tossed the letter back onto the table. “I’ll check at the Stormwind Library when we get there.”
He looked up. “Speaking of which… were there any other spoils from Stalvan?”
A few bloodstained clothes, several moldy old books, a handful of daggers, and all sorts of random personal belongings—a broken pipe, half a candle stub, a roll of bandages, a few empty medicine bottles…
Allen’s gaze swept over the pile of junk casually, then locked onto a staff.
Wen Lei followed his gaze, reached out, pulled the staff from the clutter, and handed it to Allen.
Allen took the staff and examined it closely. The shaft was polished smooth, with a warm, gentle feel in his hand.
He flipped the staff over, his eyes landing on the bottom of the shaft, where a line of small characters was engraved:
“To an eternal secret.”
Allen’s fingers lightly traced the inscription, recalling that morning he left the horse ranch.
He had still been packing his things in his room when a young man suddenly came in. He was maybe in his teens, his face haggard, as if he hadn’t slept well for many days.
He took a deep breath, struggling to keep his voice steady. “My name is Maduk Hunter. Tiroia… Tiroia de Montmorency was my fiancée.”
“I’m sorry, I overheard your conversation yesterday.” He lowered his head, his voice trembling. “I… I… After Tiroia died, the staff I gave her went missing.”
He looked up, his eyes pleading.
“Tiroia always dreamed of studying at the Arcane Sanctum in Stormwind. That staff was something I saved up years to buy… a token of our love. I know, in the face of your important matters, this is a trivial thing, but… but it was her most cherished possession…”
He bowed deeply.
“Please, if it’s possible, could you take me with you? I ask for nothing else, just to find that staff.”
Allen looked at him.
He thought of Milana, of the banshee that had dissipated, of her words, “My Miss Tiroia.”
“I can’t take you,” Allen said.
The young man’s eyes dimmed.
“But—”
Allen paused.
“I’ll bring it back for you. The staff you want.”
Now, holding the staff in his hand, Allen gently rubbed his fingertips over the inscription.
“I’ll take this staff.” He looked up at Wen Lei. “You two split the rest.”
Wen Lei shot him a surprised look.
This kid—since when did he become so generous?
---------------
A week later.
The carriage set off again, slowly leaving Darkshire along the same road they had come.
This time, Allen honestly spent the entire week resting.
During that week, Allen never heard Xal’atath’s whispers again, as if everything from that day had been nothing but a dream.
The quest “The Mystery of de Montmorency (II)” was completed, and Allen put all 5 free attribute points from the reward into Charisma.
His reasoning was that other attributes could be boosted through World of Warcraft equipment or skills, but Charisma was a stat that didn’t exist in World of Warcraft at all.
The two random spells he drew were the 1st-level spell Command and the 1st-level spell Feather Fall.
Command allowed the caster to issue a single-syllable command to a creature, and if it failed its save, it would obey that command.
Feather Fall could alter the speed of a falling object.
That’s right—two more support spells. Allen strongly suspected there was some behind-the-scenes rigging going on; he just couldn’t draw an attack spell.
At this moment, in the carriage, Allen looked at Morgan Ladimore, who appeared slightly awkward yet exceptionally determined, and voiced a soul-searching question:
“Morgan, don’t you need to go home and be with your wife and kids?”
Morgan’s face flushed red as he explained, “Last time… last time I didn’t really help much. I didn’t repay the life-saving grace, and I even took a share of the money—it really weighs on my conscience.”
He lifted his head, his gaze firm.
“I heard it in the room earlier too. There are still evil doers lurking in Stormwind territory, committing atrocities. Let me help! Let me join you in punishing the wicked! I won’t accept any reward!”
Allen looked at him, calculating in his mind.
Morgan Ladimore, a paladin, combat-ready, reliable character, high loyalty… And if he left him in Darkshire, he would eventually follow the Silver Hand to Lordaeron, suffer through unbearable pain, and end up as that Mor’Ladim wandering in Raven Hill Cemetery.
If he came with us… maybe we could change his fate.
“Alright.” Allen nodded. “Come along then.”
Morgan’s eyes lit up, and he nodded firmly.
The carriage traveled north, crossing the border of Duskwood and re-entering Elwynn Forest. The sky gradually darkened, storm clouds gathering from all directions as if brewing a torrential downpour.
They stopped at the horse ranch in eastern Elwynn Forest.
Maduk Hunter was working in the stable. Hearing the carriage, he looked up and saw Allen stepping down—and his whole body froze.
Allen walked up to him, holding the staff out with both hands.
“Your belonging. I brought it back.”
Maduk stared at the familiar staff, and in an instant, his eyes turned red.
He reached out both hands, trembling as he took the staff. When his fingertips touched the small inscription, tears burst forth.
He lowered his head, clutching the staff, making no sound, only tears falling drop by drop onto the shaft, slowly trickling along the engraved words.
“Thank you, thank you, Mr. Prestor.”
Allen said nothing.
He turned and silently walked back to the carriage.
The wheels rolled, and the carriage slowly pulled away from the ranch.
Allen looked back through the window. The young man still stood there, holding the staff, motionless. From a distance, he could only see his hunched back, his shoulders still shaking.
The carriage was exceptionally silent.
No one spoke.
The sky was thick with dark clouds, pressing down low, low. Everyone’s mood wasn’t as light as when they had set out.
To ease the atmosphere, Allen clapped his hands together in a show of dismay, looking regretful. “Ah, I forgot to ask him for a reward!”
Wen Lei cast him a sideways glance. “We could turn back now, it’s not too late.”
Allen shot Wen Lei a resentful look—obviously, I was just joking around, and you still had to call me out.
-----------------
Pushing hard, they finally made it to Goldshire just before the storm hit.
The Lion’s Pride Inn still stood on the corner, with wisps of cooking smoke rising from the chimney and warm yellow light spilling from the windows, as if welcoming them home.
Innkeeper Farley warmly welcomed everyone to stay at the Lion’s Pride.
Allen was somewhat famous now. Although the residents of Stormwind only cared about and exaggerated the young king’s heroic performance in the Stalvan case, the name Allen Prestor, after all, had appeared in the newspapers alongside Varian Wrynn.
There were also some fragmented rumors with various claims, but Innkeeper Farley absolutely believed in Allen!
After a hearty dinner, Allen returned to his room—the same room as the first time.
Outside the window, the torrential rain finally began to pour.
A thunderclap exploded, lightning illuminating the room in stark white. Allen lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, listening to the rain and thunder outside, a strange feeling of emotion surging within him.
A twist of fate.
Before he knew it, almost a month had passed since he transmigrated.
He remembered the first day, it was also a thunderous rainy night like this. Back then, he was alone, picked up by a suspicious “hunter.”
Now…
Anyway, the Stalvan case had come to a close.
On a moonlit night, he’d go to Milana’s grave.
Tell her the good news, tell her that her Miss Tiroia, whom she had guarded her whole life, that her sweetheart had received the token of their love.
Thinking this, Allen’s thoughts gradually blurred, and he sank into a deep sleep.
Late night.
Boom—!!
A massive clap of thunder jolted him awake.
Allen’s eyes snapped open, his heart pounding like a drum. He lay in the darkness, breathing heavily, his hazy consciousness slowly sharpening.
Then, he heard it.
Squeak—creeeak—
The sound of a door being pushed open.
Allen was fully awake now, staring at the direction of the door.
Lightning flashed, its stark white light instantly illuminating the room.
Six children.
Tattered clothes clung tightly to their thin bodies, their hair dripping wet in strands, leaving small puddles on the floor.
They stood silently in a row before the bed.
Slowly, slowly, they turned their heads.
And looked at Allen.
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