Stalvan?
The moment he heard that name, something seemed to explode in Allen's mind.
He remembered.
The legend of Stalvan.
A horrifying story of madness, obsession, and annihilation of an entire family.
Stalvan was a teacher.
He had been hired by a noble family as a private tutor for a young noble lady.
In their day-to-day interactions, this middle-aged man developed inappropriate feelings for his young student.
Even more tragically, he deluded himself into believing that the young lady reciprocated his feelings—interpreting every polite smile and every ordinary greeting as a sign of love.
In his heart, he had already pledged himself to her for life.
Until that day.
The noble lady brought a young man home. She held his arm, smiling brightly as she walked up to Stalvan.
She said, "This is my tutor, Mr. Stalvan. He's a nice old man."
Old man.
In that instant, all his illusions shattered.
She had never seen him as a lover, never as a future husband—only as an older man.
Nothing more.
On some night afterward, Stalvan picked up the butcher's knife.
He slaughtered the entire noble family—the young lady who had "deceived" his feelings, the master who had hired him, the madam who had never given him a proper glance, and the innocent servants…
Not a single one was spared.
Afterward, Stalvan fled to Darkshire, hiding in a dilapidated shack.
Later, he became an undead.
Allen's thoughts raced like lightning.
If that was the case, then Stalvan had most likely learned necromancy through some means, and that letter might very well have been sent by him.
In World of Warcraft, this was a classic quest in Duskwood. Back then, whenever Allen did this quest, he would just spam-click through the dialogue, skipping everything and never reading the descriptions—only caring about experience and rewards. That was why he hadn't reacted at all earlier.
Although Allen had already locked onto the true culprit through his knowledge of the game's plot, he couldn't just tell Varian outright. So he remained silent and continued cooperating as they dug up other graves.
Shaw once again found the tombstone of a servant from the De Montmorency family. Holding up his lantern, he illuminated the crude wooden marker, preparing to call everyone over.
Allen's gaze fell on the tombstone.
He froze on the spot.
[Milana
May she rest in peace]
No surname. No position. No dates of birth or death. Only a name, and a brief blessing.
But Allen knew her.
At Goldshire, in the Lion's Pride Inn—the banshee who had let him go.
Her pale face, her hollow eyes, and those tearful eyes resurfaced vividly in his mind at this moment.
She had said her name was Milana.
She had said she had no wish of her own.
She only wanted to fulfill her lady's wish—to let her and her beloved be together.
So she had been a maid of the De Montmorency family?
Just because of such a selfish, such a beastly reason, she had been slaughtered along with the entire family by Stalvan?
And even after death, her soul had been tormented by him—turned into a dreadful banshee, forced to wander that inn day after day, unable to find peace…
Diligent as ever, Shaw had already hoisted his shovel and was about to dig when Allen grabbed his wrist.
"Wait."
Shaw turned back in confusion. "What is it?"
"Pick another one." Allen's voice was slightly hoarse. "Someone else."
Stella, standing to the side, blinked her bright blue eyes. Seeing Allen's reaction, she seemed to realize something.
"No way…" she whispered, covering her mouth with her small hand.
Wren had chased after something earlier and hadn't witnessed that scene in the inn. He looked at Stella in confusion, his eyes full of question marks: what happened?
But Allen spoke first.
"I owe the person in this grave a favor," he said softly, yet firmly. "I haven't repaid it yet. I don't want to disturb her now."
Varian looked at him.
Under the moonlight, the expression of this peer of his was completely different from before. Something in his eyes had sunk down, like a stone dropping into deep water.
Varian didn't ask further.
"It's fine," he said, patting Allen on the shoulder. "Then we'll choose another one."
Shaw nodded and continued searching with the lantern. After a moment, he stopped in front of another mound.
"This one," he said. "Emily Buck—also a maid of the De Montmorency family. According to the examination records, she was basically the last to be killed. We might be able to see more."
Everyone gathered around.
Another round of digging began. The shovel struck the soil, the coffin was pried open, and the corpse was exposed under the moonlight.
Allen took a deep breath and once again chanted that ancient spell.
The corpse sat up.
Allen looked straight at it and asked bluntly: "The one who killed you and the De Montmorency family—was it the tutor, Stalvan Mistmantle?"
The corpse trembled violently.
Hatred seemed to ignite in her eye sockets—venomous, seething flames.
"Yes." Her voice was hoarse, each word squeezed out as if through clenched teeth. "I saw it with my own eyes."
The onlookers were all somewhat shocked.
The murderer… was just a tutor?
A mere hired teacher—why would he slaughter seventeen people?
"Why did he do it?"
"Because he had a twisted obsession with the young lady, but she did not love him."
At that point, something Allen had not expected happened.
After identifying the murderer behind the massacre, Shaw did not show any excitement. Instead, he revealed an indescribable expression—there was no joy of solving the case, only… disappointment.
He turned his head and leaned close to Varian, whispering something in his ear.
The night wind howled, and Allen couldn't hear what was said, but he saw Shaw's lips and could guess the content: "What should we do? The killer isn't some Horde remnant—just a tutor."
The implication was obvious.
If the murderer was just an ordinary killer, then this case was just an ordinary homicide.
Not worth the King of Stormwind investigating personally.
Not worth pouring in so many resources.
Not worth spending so much time and effort.
Allen frowned, staring at Shaw in disbelief.
But then he saw—
Even in Varian Wrynn's eyes, there was a deep sense of disappointment.
"…Are you going to withdraw?"
Allen fell silent for a moment.
Then he let it go.
Indeed, from the very beginning, it had been his own deduction that misled Varian.
He was the one who said the letter involved necromancy, suspecting the De Montmorency family of harboring Horde remnants. He was the one who suggested the case might involve orc warlocks or death knights.
The reason Varian had invested so much enthusiasm—why he had formed a special task force under pressure, why he had personally come to this mass grave in the middle of the night—was because he thought there was a shadow of the Horde behind it.
If uncovered, it would have been a case capable of shaking all of Stormwind.
Now that the truth was revealed, and the culprit was merely a deranged man who slaughtered a family out of unrequited obsession, Varian's disappointment was only natural.
Allen took a deep breath. The night wind poured into his lungs, cold and biting.
He remembered the pale face of the banshee in the Lion's Pride Inn, and the last words she had said—Thank you… thank you, Allen Prestor.
He had promised Milana that he would fulfill her wish.
Her Lady Tilloa had already died tragically at Stalvan's hands.
The only thing he could do now was to make Stalvan pay—to avenge them.
Allen raised his head and looked at Varian.
The moonlight fell on his face, his expression unnaturally calm.
"It's alright," he said softly, yet with unquestionable resolve. "Thank you for all your help along the way."
He paused.
"From here on, I will bring justice to these victims."
His gaze passed over Varian, over Shaw, and landed on the crude wooden marker in the distance—Milana's resting place.
"I will personally kill… that bastard, Stalvan Mistmantle."
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