"Sons of Lothar?"
Hearing that name, Wren's expression visibly shifted. He slightly turned his face away, his gaze drifting toward the roadside bushes, as if that patch of grass had suddenly become particularly interesting.
Even Varian's expression turned a bit unnatural. He inwardly complained: How did I forget about this?
Of course he knew that recently the Sons of Lothar were marching toward the Blasted Lands to build a fortress there. Duskwood was indeed on the way.
The group continued along the muddy road. To ease the awkward silence, Allen casually asked: "Why would the Sons of Lothar be here?"
Morgan answered honestly, "That I don't know. I heard it's because of the Dark Portal."
"The Dark Portal?" Varian feigned ignorance. "Wasn't it already closed?"
Of course, he knew the truth. Recently, large numbers of orcs had begun appearing again in the Blasted Lands. Who knew what hole those green skins had crawled out of?
Following Archmage Khadgar's suggestion, the Alliance had decided to build a fortress in the Blasted Lands to completely suppress the orcs' activities.
But these were military secrets, not suitable for open discussion.
Listening to their conversation, fragments of memory faintly surfaced in Allen's mind.
Eight years after the Dark Portal…
This time period seemed to be just about to connect with the plot of Warcraft III. Ner'zhul of Draenor was plotting to reopen the Dark Portal—could it be related?
But he quickly shook his head.
No matter what, this kind of high-level power struggle wasn't something a small fry like him, who had just transmigrated, could get involved in.
He just wanted to find Stalvan, fulfill his promise to Milana, and then quietly lie low in Stormwind. Or maybe buy a piece of land in the countryside, farm a bit, raise some chickens, and stay far away from all those world-ending disasters… at least for now.
"Ahem," he coughed lightly. "We're just heading to Duskwood to deal with some small matters. We should… probably avoid disturbing the heroes of the Sons of Lothar."
Wren nodded vigorously. Varian also nodded vigorously.
Wren was afraid of running into Alleria Windrunner, while Varian was afraid of meeting Turalyon.
As for the former, no explanation was needed—Wren had snuck out behind her sister's back, determined to prove she could become a qualified ranger through her trial.
As for the latter, Turalyon, as the Alliance's current supreme military commander, was essentially Varian's guardian. It was Turalyon who had escorted the displaced Varian back to Stormwind to inherit the throne, and even the regency council ministers had been arranged by him.
If Turalyon found out that Varian had secretly slipped out of Stormwind and run to this remote place to investigate some massacre case…
After emerging from the forest, Allen, Stella, and Wren returned to the carriage.
Morgan walked ahead, leading the way, deeply conflicted.
What should he do?
Judging from their reactions, these people seemed… suspicious!
That one named Mathias looked uneasy the moment he heard "Sons of Lothar." And that one named Wren was clearly avoiding something.
Could they be criminals? Could they have committed some crime in Stormwind and fled to Duskwood to lie low?
As a righteous paladin, if he discovered they were criminals, he ought to arrest them and hand them over to the local sheriff.
But…
They had just saved his life! If it weren't for them, he would have already become Lupus's meal.
Morgan fell into an intense internal struggle: repay kindness, or enforce the law? That was the question.
Just as he was deep in his internal struggle, something happened ahead on the road.
A checkpoint blocked the way. Several soldiers wearing standard Alliance armor were inspecting passersby.
Next to the barricade stood a wooden sign that read: [Military Control Zone. Please Cooperate with Inspection.]
It was too late to avoid them—the soldiers had already noticed their group.
Morgan could only steel himself and lead everyone forward.
A soldier who looked like a sergeant stepped forward, his gaze sweeping over them as he spoke in a routine tone: "Where are you coming from? What business do you have in Duskwood?"
Allen thought, fortunately, they had just saved a local from Duskwood—a paladin, no less. With him as a guarantor, it shouldn't raise unnecessary suspicion.
"Ahem, um… sir, I-I am Morgan Ladimore, a paladin of the Holy Light." His voice tightened, his tongue practically tying itself in knots. "Th-these people are, are my… well… lifesavers. They're good people, definitely not bad. I can swear by the Holy Light—although sometimes the Holy Light isn't very accurate—but I think they should be good people…"
The soldiers' expressions gradually turned subtle.
An older soldier frowned. "So… who exactly are they? Where did they come from? What are they doing in Duskwood?"
"They're from, from…" Sweat beaded on Morgan's forehead as he realized he didn't actually know where they came from. "Anyway, they came from over there! And they're here in Duskwood to, to…"
The soldiers exchanged glances.
"Have the people in the carriage step down," the sergeant's tone grew stern. "Inspection."
Varian, who was on horseback, was the first to be checked. A young soldier stepped forward and began a routine search.
Varian cooperated helplessly, raising his hands and allowing the soldier to pat him down.
When the search reached his waist, the soldier's hand suddenly froze.
From the inner side of Varian's belt, he pulled out an exquisite signet ring. On its face was the golden lion crest of Stormwind, surrounded by intricate script.
The soldier's hands began to tremble.
He stared at the ring in disbelief, turning it over three times before shakily raising it to show his companion.
The companion leaned in for a look—and was equally stunned.
The two fell into completely different lines of thought.
The young soldier's heart pounded wildly, his mind filled with a single idea: Th-th-th-this… there's actually a thief bold enough to steal the king's signet ring?! A once-in-a-lifetime achievement right in front of me! Catch this thief, and promotion and wealth are within reach!
His hand quietly moved toward the hilt of his sword.
The older soldier's heart also pounded wildly, but his thoughts were entirely different: Th-th-th-this… King Varian is actually traveling incognito and has personally come to Duskwood?! A once-in-a-lifetime opportunity right in front of me! If I perform well before His Majesty, promotion and wealth are within reach!
They exchanged a glance and nodded, each thinking the other understood.
Just as the older soldier was about to step forward and salute, he suddenly felt…
Huh? Why is my neck suddenly itchy?
He instinctively turned his head—just in time to see the young soldier's hand already gripping the sword hilt, body leaning forward, eyes locked on Varian's back, ready to draw his blade and seize this audacious "thief."
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