Chapter 33: By Crystal Lake |
Doesn't that match up with the skeletal remains left behind in that ritual?
In an instant, Allen broke out in a cold sweat. Several cases in Goldshire that seemed unrelated—some serious, some minor—all pointed toward one evil ritual, one vicious culprit.
Even though four children were still missing, Allen had a feeling that the truth was definitely tied to these cases.
Little Goldshire, harboring so much hidden evil.
Thomas, how the hell are you even the sheriff?! No wonder after all these years, even in World of Warcraft: Classic, you're still just a sheriff!
"Wen Lei! Wen Lei! I found it!"
He shot to his feet, waving excitedly toward Wen Lei.
A withered old hand landed silently on his shoulder, followed by a smack to the back of his head.
"LIBRARY! KEEP IT DOWN!!!"
The next day, Goldshire Sheriff's Office.
Bam!
Allen slammed his palm on the desk.
"Thomas, what the hell have you been doing?!"
Early this morning, they'd rushed back to Goldshire. Allen was now brandishing the token Varian had given him, using it to bully the sheriff Thomas like a fox pretending to be a tiger.
Might as well use it while he had it.
Thomas cowered like a quail, obediently taking the scolding.
"Forget it. I'll give you a chance to redeem yourself. Right now, right this second, report every single case to us in detail."
Thomas nodded repeatedly, cleared his throat, and began flipping through the files on his desk.
"Uh... let's start with the livestock disappearance. A month ago, old Barnes in town said his cow went missing. He searched the whole pasture and couldn't find it. He thought a mountain beast had dragged it off."
He turned to the next page.
"Then the two kids... they're the blacksmith's twins, a boy and a girl. A month and a half ago, they said they were going to play with friends, left the house, and never came back."
He set down the file and shook his head. "But honestly, those two kids were pretty mature for their age. Some folks in town whispered about whether they might've..."
Allen cut him off. "And then?"
"Then there's this wanted criminal..." Thomas pulled out a crumpled wanted poster. "His name is Pits Skinner. He's a skinner. Three months ago, he got into an argument with someone at the tavern, stabbed the guy to death in a rage, and ran off. We still haven't caught him."
Allen and Wen Lei exchanged a glance.
Thomas kept rambling. "Come to think of it, his wife Helene is pitiful too. Her husband ran off, leaving the household without its backbone. I don't know how that woman managed to hold it together—raising four kids all alone, living way out in the sticks..."
"Hold on."
Allen raised his hand sharply.
Thomas froze. "Huh?"
"What did you just say?"
Thomas said cautiously, "I said... she lives far from town?"
"The line before that."
"Helene has four kids to raise?"
Allen and Wen Lei exchanged another look.
Four kids.
Plus the two missing from town.
That made six total.
"Has anyone in town seen Helene recently? Where does she live?"
"No... no, actually, come to think of it, it's been a while since she came to town. She lives by Crystal Lake, just follow the north trail all the way there. Ah, I'm really worried about her. Her husband ran off, and there are murlocs in Crystal Lake. I don't know how she protects herself and her four kids... Hey? Where are you going? No more questions?"
Thomas was still muttering away when he realized the people in front of him had vanished.
Allen and Wen Lei had already charged out of the office.
Stella was squatting by the roadside, holding a box of honey-roasted muffins, eating with grease all over her mouth. Morgan stood at the blacksmith's door, watching the smith hammer away with great interest.
"Get in!"
Allen grabbed Stella by the scruff and shoved her into the carriage.
The carriage shot off, kicking up a trail of dust.
Inside, Allen and Wen Lei discussed in low voices.
Crystal Lake. Those bones were buried by Crystal Lake. And Helene lived right there. Wen Lei was worried about Helene's safety.
The carriage raced along the main road, weaving past grove after grove, gradually leaving Goldshire behind. The road grew narrower and bumpier, and the dense branches on both sides nearly blotted out the sky.
Finally, the view opened up ahead.
Crystal Lake appeared before them.
Crystal Lake in daylight was a world apart from that stormy night. Sunlight spilled across the water, creating shimmering ripples like a mirror nestled among the mountains. Occasionally, a water bird skimmed past, stirring up circles of ripples.
The carriage pressed on, drawing closer to Crystal Lake.
A cacophony of cries shattered the stillness.
Up ahead, dust swirled. A swarm of short, blue-green figures surged out from the woods, brandishing crude weapons, blocking the road.
Murlocs.
At least twenty or thirty of them, croaking and yammering. The one at the front was a head taller than the rest, with a string of shiny shells hanging around its neck. It gestured wildly with its hands and feet.
Everyone exchanged blank looks.
What the hell were they doing?
Allen stared at the murlocs for a moment, thoughtful. "Could they be... holding up the road?"
Typical. Back in the days before the Defias Brotherhood rose to power, apparently this was the murlocs' line of work.
The "Murloc Chief" kept gesturing furiously, pointing at Allen's group, then tapping its own palm with a wooden club. The meaning was crystal clear.
Morgan looked at Allen and asked in a low voice, "What do we do?"
"Drive them off." Allen waved his hand. "They haven't charged in swinging, so at least these murlocs are the more polite, civilized batch."
Morgan nodded and dismounted.
He strode to the middle of the road, raised his greatsword, and murmured a prayer. Golden light—the Light—surged from his body, spreading outward like ripples.
Consecration!
The Light fell upon the ground, turning into a blazing halo of radiance.
The murlocs touched by the Light shrieked in piercing agony, wisps of smoke rising from their bodies.
They scrambled backward, dropping their weapons all over the ground.
The Murloc Chief ran the fastest, vanishing into the woods in the blink of an eye, leaving behind only a trail of panicked croaks.
Everyone was taken aback. They'd just realized how powerful Morgan's Light really was, since until now he'd either been getting steamrolled or completely missing the fights.
The carriage moved on.
Finally, the small cabin came into view.
It was a crude wooden house, nestled at the boundary between the lake shore and the foot of the mountain.
But right now, a group of short figures surrounded the cabin.
Kobolds.
About a dozen of them, dressed in tattered rags, holding rusted weapons, bashing madly against the wooden door.
"Give us the candle!"
"Hand over the candle!"
The kobolds' eyes glowed with a dim yellow light in the dim shadows, like a pack of starving beasts.
They sensed someone approaching and all turned their heads.