Chapter 64: Flashback |
Stella nodded vigorously beside him. “That’s right, my benefactor is absolutely not someone petty!”
Pawal straightened up, his face still carrying a hint of unease.
Allen thought for a moment, reached into his pocket, and pulled out a piece of Malachite.
“This is for you.” He pressed the stone into Pawal’s hand.
Pawal looked down at the emerald-green stone, stunned for a moment.
“This… this is…”
Allen said very seriously, “This gem has been with me for a long time. I’m giving it to you as a symbol that I forgive you.”
Pawal looked up, his face full of flattered disbelief.
“Mr. Prestor, this… this is too precious…”
Every word he said was true—a pouch of Malachite had indeed been sitting on him for ages, and he still hadn’t gotten rid of it all. This stuff really wasn’t valuable.
Pawal clutched the Malachite tightly in his hand and nodded firmly.
“Thank you, Mr. Prestor. I will treasure it well!”
Allen smiled but said nothing more.
Just then, the ship gave a gentle shudder.
They had docked.
On the pier, a squad of soldiers was already lined up, waiting.
They wore neat uniforms with the emblem of Lordaeron embroidered on their chests.
Leading them were two men. One was a middle-aged man in a naval dress uniform with gold oak leaves on his shoulder boards—Admiral Edmund West of Lordaeron’s navy, the garrison commander of Menethil Harbor. The other wore an ornate silk robe and a feathered hat, clearly a Lordaeron noble.
The fleet’s gangplank lowered, and the first to step off were Captain Daelin and several officers.
Daelin strode forward and shook Admiral Edmund West’s hand firmly.
“Admiral West, long time no see.”
“Daelin.” The old admiral smiled and patted his arm. “Your fleet gave us quite a scare. Three massive ships—I thought an enemy had arrived.”
Captain Daelin gave a wry smile. “We were attacked by Naga last night. The main ship was damaged, so we had no choice but to bother you.”
“Naga?” Edmund’s brow furrowed. “In these waters? I’ve never heard of such a thing…”
“I’ll explain later.” Captain Daelin turned and gestured behind him. “First, meet our young lady.”
Jaina slowly descended the gangplank.
She wore a light blue dress today, her golden hair cascading over her shoulders, a composed smile on her face.
Edmund West hurried forward.
“Lady Jaina, Menethil Harbor welcomes your arrival.”
The noble also stepped forward to bow, his movements elegant and restrained.
“Lady Jaina Proudmoore!” His voice was booming. “Welcome to Menethil Harbor! I am Count Maris Berto.”
Jaina stepped off the gangplank and nodded politely in acknowledgment.
After a round of pleasantries, Count Maris Berto spoke up.
“I hear Lady Jaina is heading to Dalaran?”
Jaina nodded.
“What a coincidence.” Berto’s smile grew warmer. “Our Prince of Lordaeron, His Highness Arthas, happens to be in Dalaran right now. If you two have the chance to meet, I’m sure you’ll get along well.”
Jaina gave a polite smile but said nothing more.
Berto’s gaze lingered on her for a moment, then swept over Allen, Morgan, and Stella behind her.
“And these are?” he asked.
Just as Jaina was about to introduce them, Allen spoke up first. “My name is Allen. I’m the Royal Magic Advisor of Stormwind, traveling with Lady Jaina by chance. These two are my friends.”
The closer they got to Lordaeron, the less Allen dared to boldly throw around the name Prestor. If he ran into his supposed “father,” he’d be done for.
Before he even finished speaking, Berto had already looked away.
His lips curled downward slightly, a barely concealed disdain flickering in his eyes.
Stormwind?
That southern backwater?
He turned to say something to another noble beside him in an ancient language.
It was Thalassian. In Lordaeron, many learned people studied Thalassian to delve into older, more powerful magic. Many nobles also used it as a way to maintain a sense of superiority.
Allen’s brow twitched.
He raised his hand, and a faint light flickered at his fingertips.
[Tongues]
The words suddenly became crystal clear.
“…a country bumpkin from Stormwind.” Count Berto’s voice was low, but the contempt was unmistakable. “Look at that outfit—no taste at all. And that Gnome—they’re traveling with a Gnome? Is that a pet?”
His attendant chuckled quietly.
“And he claims to be a Royal Magic Advisor?” Berto’s tone grew even more dismissive. “What kind of decent mage could come out of a place like Stormwind? They’re just a bunch of savages who found a few old books in the ruins and dared to call themselves magic advisors.”
“You’re right, my lord,” the attendant chimed in. “If it weren’t for Lordaeron helping them rebuild their kingdom, they’d still be wandering around homeless.”
“Exactly.” Berto snorted. “A country that’s fallen once—what else can you expect from it?”
Allen stood there, expressionless.
Jaina was swept forward, surrounded by the nobles and officers. They chatted animatedly, gradually widening the distance between her and Allen’s trio.
She turned back several times, trying to introduce them, but never managed to get a word in.
After a moment, Allen, Morgan, and Stella stood where they were, exchanging glances.
Count Berto had invited Jaina and the others to dine at his estate.
But the three of them hadn’t been invited—they were left standing there, abandoned.
Allen was silent for a moment.
“Let’s go.” He sighed. “We’ll find an inn and sort ourselves out.”
Just as they were about to leave the pier, Allen suddenly spotted a small boat slowly entering the harbor.
Was that boat the tiny black dot he had seen on the horizon earlier?
The person on board was dressed very warmly, and there was a cargo crate almost as large as the boat itself sitting on deck. Dockworkers walked over, shouting offers to help unload, but the person on the boat kept shaking their head and waving them off.
“Benefactor! Let’s go already—it’s my first time in Menethil Harbor!”
Stella’s voice snapped Allen back to attention.
The three of them walked along the streets of Menethil Harbor.
This port city was bustling with activity. Streets were lined with shops, people coming and going. Merchants with various accents hawked goods from all over.
They passed one street after another.
Allen was still mulling over what kind of first-rate nightmare to arrange for Berto tonight.
Suddenly, he stopped in his tracks.
He stared in shock at a corner of a building, at an inconspicuous spot. He saw… a mark.
The carving was shallow, blending into the weathered wall. If you didn’t look closely, you’d never notice it.
But Allen saw it.
He had seen it again—the same one as every time before.
It was a vertical-pupil eye, weeping a single trail of blood.
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