Chapter 36: The Black Dragon's Gift |
Stormwind.
Inside Katrana's mansion, candlelight flickered in the study, casting two silhouettes onto the heavy tapestries. Katrana lounged lazily on a soft couch, twirling a lock of jet-black hair between her fingers, her gaze drifting casually toward the shadowed corner of the room.
The darkness there was unnaturally thick.
Then, a figure emerged from the shadows—first, a pair of eyes burning with ghostly green flames, followed by a body clad in pitch-black armor, and finally, a face so pale it was nearly rotting.
A Death Knight.
He stepped out from the shadows, surrounded by an aura of decay and death, the ghostly green flames flickering in his hand as if they could still see the scene inside Helene's room.
"They've already tracked me down."
His voice echoed like something from the depths of a grave—hoarse, icy, carrying a bone-chilling dread.
"Black Dragon, when will you finish carrying out our planned operation?!"
The lazy smile froze on her face, then was replaced by a layer of icy coldness. She slowly sat up straight, and a suffocating pressure surged in her violet eyes.
The air in the study seemed to solidify in an instant. In the corner, the maid's legs gave out, and she fell to her knees with a thud, trembling like a leaf, her forehead pressed to the floor, not daring to lift it an inch.
Katrana's voice was cold as frost:
"Watch your tongue, you insignificant worm."
She stood and walked step by step toward the Death Knight. With each step, the invisible pressure grew heavier.
"If it weren't for my father's favor, you filthy, ugly green-skinned mongrels wouldn't be able to accomplish a single thing."
The green flames in Teron Gorefiend's eyes blazed with fury.
Rage churned like molten lava in his chest. He, Teron Gorefiend, the most feared existence of the Horde, was being so contemptuously humiliated by this she-dragon.
But he held back.
His ghost-fire eyes fixed on Katrana, a barely perceptible hatred flickering within them.
Someday.
He would make this black dragon kneel before the great Horde, just as the Red Dragon Queen Alexstrasza had been enslaved by the Dragonmaw clan, turning the black dragons into mounts and weapons for the Horde's conquests.
But for now, he still needed her.
Teron Gorefiend lowered his head, his voice hoarse but restrained:
"Respected Lady Katrana, may I ask how much longer it will take before we can proceed with the planned operation?"
Katrana snorted coldly, the pressure slightly receding.
"What's the hurry?"
She turned and walked back to the soft couch, lounging down again with a posture so lazy it seemed as if nothing had happened at all.
"The day after tomorrow, I'll be returning to Lordaeron. Before I leave, I'll help you finish it for sure."
Teron Gorefiend raised his head, a look of gratitude appearing on his face.
"Thank you, Lady Katrana. The Horde will not forget the Black Dragonflight's kindness."
Katrana glanced at him with pride, her gaze as arrogant as looking down at ants in the dust.
"One more thing."
Her voice suddenly turned cold.
"Do whatever you want in Stormwind, but Allen Prestor is my man. Don't let him die."
She paused, and a dangerous smile curled at the corner of her mouth:
"Otherwise..."
In that instant, Teron Gorefiend saw...
Behind Katrana, it was as if invisible shadows were churning and swelling, coalescing into the silhouette of a massive dragon.
He lowered his head and said nothing more.
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Stormwind Keep.
Late at night.
Inside the council chamber, rows of candles flickered in the night breeze. Varian hunched over a long desk piled high with scrolls, his brow furrowed, a quill pen scratching constantly across parchment.
A squad of guards stood at attention on either side of the hall's doors, their postures rigid. Several SI:7 agents lurked in the shadows of the corners, their gazes scanning every entrance with vigilance.
Varian put down the quill and rubbed his sore brow.
After that trip with Allen, he'd realized that Stormwind wasn't as prosperous on the surface as it seemed.
In the past, trapped on his throne, everywhere his eyes reached, it all seemed like a scene of vibrant life and flourishing growth.
The reports submitted by those nobles always read "governance stable" and "people's livelihood peaceful."
But after following Allen on all those adventures, he'd finally glimpsed the truth.
It turned out that all of this was only what those nobles wanted him to see.
Even Goldshire, right at the foot of Stormwind, was plagued by threats from kobolds, gnolls, and murlocs, with a new group of Red Scarf Bandits rising recently.
And Darkshire, even more remote, was fraught with danger, its people barely surviving.
Along the way these past few days, he'd also heard many of Allen's thoughts on governing.
That seemingly carefree guy would occasionally drop insights that left him feeling refreshed.
So, after returning to Stormwind, he buried himself in government affairs day and night, striving to rule diligently.
He wanted to become a king whom Allen Prestor would truly admire from the bottom of his heart, a king who would make his people happy.
Just then, Mathias Shaw's figure appeared at the hall's entrance. He approached quickly and bowed.
"Your Majesty, Lady Katrana requests an audience on urgent business."
Varian didn't look up, continuing to flip through the scrolls in his hands.
"What does she want from me?"
"Lady Katrana says she has important matters to attend to and will be returning to Lordaeron soon. Before she leaves, she wished to see if she might have the opportunity to join you for lunch tomorrow."
Varian frowned slightly.
"But Allen hasn't returned yet. Tell her another time. We have plenty of time; there'll be plenty of chances later."
That day, Allen had emphasized to Varian multiple times that the reason they'd stumbled upon that scene before was because Allen suspected something was off about his sister and had tested her, which led to the result.
He repeatedly warned Varian never to be alone with her.
But also not to alert the enemy. Allen said he would personally investigate further.
Varian trusted Allen's instincts. All along their pursuit of Stalvan, his hunches had been spot on.
"But..." Mathias's voice hesitated, "Lady Katrana says she has urgent matters to report. Even if she can't join you for lunch tomorrow, she hopes to see you tonight at least."
Varian didn't turn around:
"I'm not seeing her. If it's really urgent, tell her to have her brother come talk to me."
"Sigh—"
A soft sigh.
Varian's pen paused mid-stroke.
That sigh was gentle, plaintive—it wasn't Mathias's voice.
"Why bother, little king?"
The voice continued.
"Can't you just cooperate with me nicely?"
Varian snapped his head up.
He saw Mathias Shaw's form twisting and blurring.
That face rippled like a reflection on water, and then, an enchanting figure emerged from within.
Katrana Prestor stood there, her purple dress trailing on the floor, her smile seductive.
"Where's Shaw?" Varian's voice grew tight.
His hand was already on his sword hilt, and he shouted:
"Guards!!!"
But those guards stood as still as statues carved from mud and wood.
Katrana let out a soft laugh.
The shadowy light at her fingertips moved like a living thing, slowly spreading toward Varian.
Varian tried to draw his sword, but his arm felt as heavy as lead.
He tried to shout, but his throat felt like an invisible hand was strangling it.
His body was slowly pressed back into the chair.
"Don't struggle, little king."
Katrana walked up to him.
"Just go to sleep nicely. When you wake up..."
She paused, her smile growing even more seductive.
"...everything will be different."
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