The older soldier's heart nearly leapt out of his throat.
He suddenly reached out, grabbed the younger soldier by the throat, and yanked him backward with force!
"Ugh!"
The younger soldier couldn't make a sound as he was choked, his whole body dragged back step by step.
The older soldier leaned close to his ear and, in a voice only the two of them could hear, ground out through clenched teeth: "If you've got a death wish, don't drag me down with you! That's the King!!!"
The younger soldier's eyes shifted. He looked at the signet ring, then at Varian's face, and finally realized what was going on.
His legs went weak, and he almost dropped to his knees on the spot.
The older soldier held him tight, forcing an awkward, almost tearful smile as he frantically nodded and saluted Varian.
Meanwhile, Morgan was being searched, watching the two soldiers act inexplicably strange—he didn't recognize the King's signet ring at all.
At this moment, Allen, Wren, and Stella also got down from the carriage.
What they saw was a group of soldiers who, in an instant, had become extremely respectful.
Two soldiers rushed to help the coachman hold the horses: "As defenders of Stormwind, we'll take care of this!"
The younger soldier eagerly brushed the dust off Allen's clothes: "You must've had a tough journey, sir. The roads through Duskwood aren't easy."
The older soldier was clearly more experienced. He jogged forward and personally picked up Stella's bulging engineering backpack: "Oh my, miss, that's quite heavy—why didn't you say so earlier? Come, come, let me carry it for you. I'm Corporal Sally of the Sixth Legion, Fourth Squad!"
The officer waved his hand: "Let them pass, let them pass! These folks are clearly decent people! What are you all standing around for? I, Sergeant Thomas, commander of the Sixth Legion's Fourth Squad, order you to move the barricade!"
The soldiers quickly cleared the obstacle, lined up in two neat rows, and stood at attention, their posture like they were seeing off some great figure.
Completely confused, everyone mounted their horses or got back into the carriage and passed through the checkpoint under the soldiers' overly enthusiastic send-off.
The others were baffled, unable to make sense of it. Wren guessed that Mathias had used his status to do something. Only Allen understood the truth—he glanced at Varian with a faint, knowing smile.
...
They finally arrived at Darkshire.
The town was livelier than expected. The army of the Sons of Lothar was stationed nearby, bringing along plenty of logistical personnel.
The first thing Allen and the others did was go to the sheriff to claim the bounty. Lupos had been jointly wanted by Darkshire and Goldshire.
The sheriff's office was located in the center of town. When they pushed the door open, they found no one sitting in the sheriff's chair. Instead, behind a nearby desk sat a clerk, bent over his work.
Hearing the noise, he looked up.
He appeared to be about thirty years old, wearing gold-rimmed glasses, with a refined and scholarly air about him.
"How can I help you?" he asked politely, setting down his pen and adjusting his sleeve.
Varian placed the wolf's head, wrapped in coarse cloth, onto the desk.
"To claim the reward," he said. "Lupos's bounty."
The clerk carefully unwrapped the bundle. When the massive wolf's head was revealed, his eyes lit up.
"This… this really is Lupos?" His tone was full of amazement. "You are truly brave warriors! This beast has plagued us for a long time. I never expected you'd be the ones to deal with it."
"Please wait a moment. The reward money needs to be retrieved—I'll go handle it right away." He wrapped the wolf's head again and made a note in his ledger. "By the way, where are you staying? We can arrange a time—once the money is ready, I'll deliver it to you so you don't have to make another trip."
Wren gave the name of the inn in Darkshire. As expected, they would be staying there tonight.
The clerk nodded, closed the ledger, and bowed slightly.
"Understood. Once again, thank you for ridding Darkshire of this menace."
After that, Morgan first brought everyone to his home.
It was a simple yet cozy wooden house, with a few rose bushes planted at the entrance.
Morgan's wife was standing at the door to greet him. Seeing her husband return safely, her eyes reddened slightly. Their three children rushed out of the house and threw themselves into Morgan's arms.
Allen stood to the side, watching the scene, feeling a bit moved.
Morgan crouched down, hugging each child in turn, then stood up and gently wrapped an arm around his wife's waist, placing a kiss on her forehead.
A moment later, Morgan straightened up and said a few quiet words to his wife. She nodded—though there was worry in her eyes, she did not stop him.
Then, just like that, Morgan walked toward Allen and the others.
"Let's go," he said. "I'll go with you to hunt the fugitive."
Along the way, Allen and the others had mentioned that they came to Darkshire to pursue a fugitive, but they hadn't expected Morgan to assume he would be joining them.
Allen had thought Morgan had only brought them here as guests.
"Uh… Morgan, don't you need to stay with your family?"
Morgan shook his head, his tone firm.
"You saved me. Of course I have to help. Duskwood is full of danger—I'm willing to accompany you and protect you. Besides—" he glanced back at his home, a trace of tenderness flashing in his eyes, "they'll understand."
Varian stepped forward and gave Morgan a solid pat on the shoulder.
"Good!"
Allen watched the scene and thought to himself: Kid, your future's secured now.
As the "project leader" of this trip, the wealthy Wren booked several rooms at the inn in Darkshire, though Varian insisted on paying his own share.
After settling their belongings and heading downstairs, they found Morgan waiting at the entrance.
Wren's first instinct was to take out the wolf pelt they had skinned from Lupos and find a leatherworker in Darkshire.
Allen and the others didn't recognize its value, but this was top-quality fur—it would be a waste not to turn it into fine leather goods as soon as possible.
Since they had to wait for Wren anyway, the others decided to split up and ask around town for clues about Stalvan.
Allen deliberately separated from the group.
He actually already knew that Stalvan was hiding in an abandoned house north of Darkshire, but he couldn't say that outright. He would pretend to gather information on his own, then later return and reveal the correct answer.
He walked along the stone road in the center of town and eventually stopped in front of a slightly run-down tavern.
The sign creaked in the wind, depicting a crooked mug. Allen pushed the door open and stepped inside.
A few scattered patrons sat around. When they saw him enter, they only gave him lazy glances.
Allen's gaze swept across the tavern and quickly settled on a corner of the bar.
There sat an old man with a full head of white hair, drinking in silence with his head lowered.
Allen's eyes flickered. He walked over and sat on the high stool beside him.
"Sir," he said, trying to sound casual, "sorry to bother you."
The old man didn't look up.
Allen continued, "I'm from out of town. I'd like to ask about someone. Do you know if there's a man around here who recently came from elsewhere? Probably in his thirties, looks refined—like a scholar…"
The old man still didn't raise his head, but his hand gripping the cup seemed to tighten slightly.
The silence lasted for a few seconds.
Then, slowly, the old man lifted his head.
Under the dim oil lamp, Allen froze.
Beneath that head of white hair… was an extremely young face.
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