Chapter 59: How Do You Cast Frostbolt? Just Press 1111119 |
Stella giggled, mumbling, "Hehe, now I think this little miss being a bit impolite is totally understandable."
Morgan frowned in disapproval. "I don't agree. The Light teaches us that justice and kindness are our most precious treasures."
Stella immediately covered her ears, her little face screaming "here we go again." "Oh no, oh no, Uncle Morgan's about to start preaching again! Stop it, stop it!"
Morgan's face turned red. He wanted to argue but didn't know where to start, so he just glared.
Allen watched the bickering pair, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
Actually, he agreed with Morgan. Justice and kindness were indeed precious treasures.
It's just that this cruel reality always forced people to adapt.
So, if he was going to be a good man—
He'd have to be a good man worse than all the bad men.
That thought crossed his mind, and Allen laughed to himself.
After saying goodbye to Varian, everyone boarded the ship.
It was a massive warship, with a deck wide enough to race horses. Sailors darted between the rigging.
A Kul Tiran fleet sailed majestically out of Stormwind's harbor.
Varian stood on the dock, watching the receding ships, almost shedding tears.
Damn it, I really wanted that fleet so badly...
Uh, no.
I'm just really going to miss Allen.
Onboard.
Allen and the others were on the same flagship as Jaina.
They'd met the fleet's commander, Captain Daelin, when they boarded, but Jaina hadn't shown her face since.
With free time, Morgan stood by the ship's railing, the sea breeze ruffling his hair.
He pulled a letter from his chest—one from his wife and daughter.
It said that Darkshire's security had improved a lot lately, and the house was safe. The money he'd sent back had also made their lives much better. She urged Morgan to stay safe and not let his comrades down. They were always proud of him.
Morgan pressed the letter to his chest, gazing at the endless ocean, a tender smile on his lips.
Stella, meanwhile, was wandering all over the ship. She'd never seen such a luxurious vessel—it was so impressive. The staircases, the hallways, the hanging oil paintings, the doorknobs carved with sea monsters...
She pushed open the door to her room and froze.
There was a bathtub in the room.
A real, full-sized bathtub!
As for Allen, he was meditating in his room.
He sat cross-legged on the bed, eyes closed, struggling to recall every detail of the game from his past life.
Lately, that's all he'd been doing—recalling. Word by word, frame by frame, digging up those long-buried memories and chewing them over again.
Sometimes, a flash of insight would hit him, and some forgotten plot detail would suddenly resurface.
Now, he was racking his brain over how the Eye of Dalaran had actually been lost in the game.
Teron Gorefiend was dead, but the Horde wouldn't let things slide. Who would take his place as the executor to steal the Eye of Dalaran?
And what kind of spell would meet the system's requirements for a "great spell"? Once he completed this main quest, he could unlock another subclass sequence, and then he could unlock Dragonblood Warlock.
As he thought, he suddenly heard something.
A distant, deep sound from the depths of the ocean.
It sounded like waves, but it wasn't waves. It had its own rhythm, its own melody, like an ancient ballad.
Allen opened his eyes.
His gaze seemed to pierce through the floor of the room.
He saw someone in the room below, soaking in a bathtub, their figure shrouded in steam, letting out a contented sigh.
He saw sailors on the deck running back and forth, pulling ropes, adjusting the sails.
He saw soldiers in the cabins below the deck, some resting, some working—someone polishing a weapon, others whispering to each other.
He saw beyond the hull, the surging sea. Waves crashed against the ship, sending up white spray.
All kinds of sea creatures swam by—silver schools of fish, giant sea turtles, and occasionally sharks.
Further down.
Deeper.
The pitch-black, fathomless depths seemed endless.
And in that boundless darkness—there was a small fish.
A very ordinary little fish, mixed in with the school, completely unremarkable.
Except for its eyes, which glowed with an eerie light.
The glow grew brighter.
Closer.
A voice echoed in Allen's mind.
It surged from all directions, deep, ancient, carrying a seductive power:
"You saw..."
"You saw what should not be seen..."
"Your eyes... are interesting..."
"Want to see more?"
"Want to see fate?"
"Want to see... the truth?"
The voice drew nearer, louder, crashing in like a tide, drowning Allen.
"Mortals always walk through life with their eyes closed..."
"But they don't know... when their eyes are closed... the darkness is always watching them..."
"You're different..."
"You opened your eyes..."
"You'll regret it..."
"But you can't stop..."
"Because the truth... is more tempting than lies..."
Allen's head started to hurt.
He wanted to struggle, to block out the voice, but it seemed to come from deep within himself, inescapable.
"Come on..."
"Look a little deeper..."
"See what's waiting for you in the abyss..."
"See what your fate..."
Bang bang bang!
A knock at the door.
Allen snapped his eyes open.
Sunlight streamed in through the porthole, the waves gently rocking, everything so calm.
Only the urgent knocking and the voice from outside:
"Mr. Prestor? Mr. Prestor?"
Allen took a deep breath, steadying himself.
"I'm here."
The person outside seemed to sigh with relief. "It's like this, Mr. Prestor. I'm Lady Jaina's personal guard. Lady Jaina says she'd like to consult you about some magic. Would you be available this afternoon?"
Allen was taken aback.
This little girl Jaina, is she really treating me like her bodyguard and private tutor?
She didn't even say hello before, and now she's ordering me around like this.
Still, she'd stumbled into a lucky break. Her guard had woken him up at just the right creepy moment.
"No problem." Allen stood up. "Please wait for me outside for a moment."
He walked to the porthole and looked out at the endless ocean.
Was all that an illusion just now...? Had he caught the attention of an Old God?
Or was it because his perception was too high, making it easy to see and hear things he shouldn't?
Allen shuddered.
Damn it, I don't dare wear gear that boosts perception anymore. But to improve my willpower save, I need to raise perception, and the higher my perception, the easier it is to see the Old Gods. I'm really stuck between a rock and a hard place.
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Jaina's room was the most comfortable on the entire fleet.
Right now, the room was bustling with activity.
Maids were meticulously putting makeup on Jaina.
One held her face, another gently dabbed on powder, another was brushing her long blonde hair.
The coat rack was hung with one exquisite dress after another, awaiting final selection.
Jaina sat in front of the vanity, hands clenched tightly on her skirt.
She was a little nervous.
Just now, she'd even taken a bath.
Even now, she kept sniffing herself to check for any lingering odor—the sea environment was harsh, damp, and salty, with a persistent smell.
But she sniffed and sniffed and only caught the fresh scent of rose soap.
"Miss, how about this one?" A maid held up a light blue dress.
Jaina glanced at it and shook her head.
"What about this one?" Another, a pale purple one.
Still a shake of the head.
"This one..."
"Too flashy."
"This one..."
"Too plain."
The maids exchanged glances.
Jaina bit her lip, her gaze falling on the dress hanging furthest inside—a moon-white gown adorned with tiny pearls, the collar and cuffs embroidered with delicate silver patterns.
"That one."
The maids hurriedly took it down and helped her put it on.
Just then, a report came from outside:
"Mr. Allen Prestor has arrived."
Jaina's face instantly flushed red.
She grabbed her skirt tightly.
"Please..." Her voice was a little shaky. "Please ask him to wait in the drawing room for a moment. I'll be right out!"
So Allen sat in the drawing room with a black face, waiting for twenty minutes.
Twenty minutes.
He looked at the huge oil painting on the wall, depicting a Kul Tiran fleet sailing through a storm.
He examined every ship, every wave, every cloud.
Then he counted the patterns on the carpet.
Then he studied the origin of the teacup.
Just as he was about to fall asleep, the door finally opened.
Jaina walked in.
She wore a moon-white gown that trailed the floor, her long blonde hair carefully styled into thin braids, pinned at the back of her head, revealing her fair neck and delicate collarbones.
She had light makeup on, which made her pale blue eyes even brighter.
But she kept a cold expression, her face blank, like an exquisite porcelain doll.
"Mr. Prestor." Jaina nodded slightly, her voice flat and distant. "Sorry to keep you waiting."
Allen stood up, nodded back expressionlessly.
The two sat down on the sofa in the drawing room, and a maid served tea and snacks.
After some simple pleasantries—though they could hardly be called that, just Jaina asking "Is the journey comfortable?" and "Is the room to your liking?"—Allen answered each one.
Finally, Jaina threw out her question.
"Mr. Prestor." Her tone was still that flat, distant one. "I recently learned Frostbolt. But I'm having some trouble casting it smoothly. Could I ask for your advice?"
Allen was dumbfounded.
Frost...
Frostbolt?
I don't know how to do that!
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