Chapter 65: We Have an Awesome Party—Guess Who Wasn't Invited? |
Count Berto's manor sat at the highest point of Menethil Harbor, commanding the best view of the entire city.
In front of the three-story main building was a garden, with a fountain spraying colorful mist under the sunlight.
The banquet hall was on the second floor, with massive floor-to-ceiling windows facing the harbor, offering a panoramic view of the entire bay.
The long table was covered in snow-white tablecloths, adorned with fresh flowers.
Guests chatted in small groups, discussing the latest court gossip and territorial affairs.
Jaina sat at the seat of honor, but she wasn't listening at all to the noblewoman beside her.
Her eyes wandered everywhere—completely unladylike.
From the door to the windows, from the windows to the corridor, and from the corridor back to the door.
Nothing.
She poked Paval's arm behind her and lowered her voice:
"Where is Mr. Allen?"
Paval paused, a hint of awkwardness creeping onto his face.
"My lady... it seems Mr. Prestor wasn't invited."
Jaina's brow furrowed.
Just then, Count Berto, who happened to overhear the conversation, turned his head with a well-mannered smile. But the moment the surname "Prestor" reached his ears, his expression froze.
Prestor?
That Prestor family from Alterac?
Countless images flashed through his mind in an instant—Lord Daval Prestor, that nobleman who had been all the rage at the Lordaeron court lately.
Elegant, wise, charismatic. They said even King Terenas spoke highly of him.
All the nobles of Lordaeron were fawning over him, considering it an honor to attend his banquets.
And that young man...
The one he had thought was a country bumpkin from Stormwind—casually dressed, unrestrained in manner, standing on the dock like an inconspicuous attendant—
He was the young master of the Prestor family?
Count Berto's face changed color in an instant.
His mind raced back through the image of that young man—that casual stance, those seemingly lazy yet deep eyes, that effortless composure... That wasn't some country bumpkin at all; that was genuine aristocratic bearing, a temperament inherited from Lord Daval himself!
He had left the young master of the Prestor family stranded at the dock?
A thin layer of sweat formed on Count Berto's forehead.
He quickly forced a smile, his voice tinged with barely concealed panic:
"Oh my, oh my... this, this must have been a mistake by the staff below! To have overlooked the young master of the Prestor family is truly unforgivable! I'll send someone right away to invite Mr. Prestor over!"
-----------------
Meanwhile, on the streets of Menethil Harbor.
Allen stood before that building, his gaze fixed on the bleeding eye.
[Side Quest Triggered: The Bleeding Eye]
[You've discovered this bleeding eye again. If I were you, I'd find out where it came from.]
[Quest Objective: Uncover the truth behind the blood-eye markings in Menethil Harbor]
[Quest Rewards: Random Low-Level Spell x1, Free Attribute Points x2, 1 Profession Level Up]
Allen stared at the system prompt, his brow tightly furrowed.
How was this possible?
Another mark of Teron Gorefiend.
But he was already dead.
The system had confirmed that.
So who left this mark?
Were there remnants of Teron Gorefiend's followers in Menethil Harbor?
That dream surfaced in Allen's mind again—the orc shaman, muttering anxiously. He said it was too late, they had to...
Had to what?
If that was Ner'zhul, if he had glimpsed a fragment of true vision...
Was it because of Gorefiend's death that the Horde, desperate to obtain the three artifacts, had started going to extremes and seeking alternative paths?
At the Menethil Harbor inn.
Morgan was at the counter, pulling a few silver coins from his pocket and handing them to the innkeeper. Allen glanced at his own money pouch, but as soon as his hand reached inside, a pang of reluctance surged up.
Just then, Stella actually pulled out some money for once—a rare sight.
She stood on tiptoe and slapped a few silver coins onto the counter. Seeing Allen's astonished expression, her little face flushed red.
"I'm not a beggar, okay?! I can support myself now, so of course I'm paying my own way!"
The three of them each went to their rooms. Allen tidied his luggage a bit, told Morgan and Stella he wouldn't be eating dinner, and then went downstairs alone.
He returned to that street.
That corner, that bleeding eye, looked particularly eerie.
Allen swept his gaze over it without drawing attention, then naturally walked toward the tavern across the street.
It was an unremarkable little tavern, its sign rusted and worn by the sea breeze.
He pushed the door open and sat down at the bar.
"A cup of honey mead."
The innkeeper responded lazily and handed him a drink.
Allen took his cup and moved to a seat near the door. That spot offered a clear view of the opposite corner without seeming too deliberate.
He took a sip and fixed his eyes on the mark.
Waiting.
If this mark was a signal, it was meant for someone.
He just needed to wait.
Time ticked by, second after second.
No one came.
But a stray dog ambled over, walked up to the corner, and lifted its leg to pee.
Afraid the shallow mark might be ruined by dog urine, Allen raised his hand.
Polymorph!
Command would require speaking, which would look suspicious. Polymorph would shrink it into a smaller animal, so it couldn't pee on the mark.
The instant he cast Polymorph, his left wrist burned intensely.
The stray dog seemed to sense some danger, dropped its leg, and bolted without looking back.
[Wild Magic Surge Triggered!]
[Dice Roll Result: 33]
[Effect Activated: Change the target of your spell to yourself]
The innkeeper looked up from behind the bar and glanced at the door.
No one.
Where was that young man?
He bolted to his feet, rushed to the door, and looked around.
"Damn it!" The innkeeper's face turned purple. "Young people these days have no shame! Skipping out on the bill?!"
-----------------
At the inn, Count Berto's attendants ran in, out of breath.
"Excuse me! Is the young master of the Prestor family staying here?"
They asked their way up and knocked on Morgan's door. Morgan, looking confused, told them Allen had gone out and he didn't know where.
The attendants were drenched in sweat, frantically searching every street and alley in Menethil Harbor.
They asked at every shop and finally got a tip from a little tavern—a young man had been there, ordered a drink, and then vanished.
"And he still owes me for the drink!" the innkeeper grumbled indignantly.
The attendants quickly paid the bill and returned to report, crestfallen.
When Count Berto heard the report, his face turned ashen.
He was doomed.
He had offended the young master of the Prestor family.
That Lord Daval was riding high in Lordaeron—what was a mere count like him supposed to do to make amends?
Sure, he was a noble too, but compared to that Lord Daval Prestor, he was nothing!
-----------------
When the luncheon ended, Jaina still hadn't seen Allen.
She felt a bit disappointed.
After the meal, she declined Count Berto's offer of an escort and, with only Paval and a few personal guards, decided to take a walk around Menethil Harbor.
This port city was completely different from Kul Tiras.
She wandered aimlessly, but that face kept surfacing in her mind.
Why had he given her that money pouch?
Her fingers unconsciously brushed the small pouch at her waist.
Just then, she stopped in her tracks.
At a street corner, a black cat sat there.
The cat was pitch-black all over, its fur gleaming like satin in the sunlight.
It sat upright, its tail elegantly curling around its front paws, its amber eyes quietly fixed on her.
Comments 2