Stella giggled foolishly and muttered, "Hehe, now I think… it's actually understandable for that little girl to be a bit rude."
Morgan, however, frowned in disagreement. "I don't agree. The Holy Light teaches us that justice and kindness are our most precious virtues."
Stella immediately covered her ears, her small face full of a "here we go again" expression. "Ahhh, here it comes again, Morgan, you're starting your sermon again! Stop, stop!"
Morgan flushed red, wanting to argue back but not knowing where to begin, and could only glare helplessly.
Allen watched the two bickering, a faint smile at the corner of his lips.
In truth, he agreed with Morgan.
Justice and kindness were indeed precious.
But this cruel reality always forced people to adapt.
So, if he were to be a good person—
Then he would have to be a good person worse than all the bad ones.
Of course, it was also possible he wasn't a good person at all.
The thought flashed through his mind, and even Allen himself chuckled.
After saying goodbye to Varian, the group boarded the ship.
It was a massive warship, its deck wide enough to race horses on, sailors moving back and forth among the rigging.
A Kul Tiras fleet set sail in grand formation from Stormwind Harbor.
Varian stood on the dock, watching the ships grow distant, nearly brought to tears.
Damn it, I really want that fleet…
Uh, no.
I really can't bear to part with Allen.
On the ship.
Allen and the others were on the same flagship as Jaina.
After boarding, they met the fleet's leader, Captain Dylan, but Jaina never showed herself again afterward.
Once they were free to move about, Morgan stood by the railing, the sea breeze lifting his hair.
He took out a letter from his chest—it was from his wife and daughters.
The letter said that security in Darkshire had improved a lot recently, that things at home were safe. The money he had sent back had also improved their lives. She urged him to stay safe and not let down his companions. They would always be proud of him.
Morgan pressed the letter to his chest, gazing at the boundless ocean, a gentle smile on his face.
Stella, meanwhile, wandered all over the ship. She had never seen such a luxurious vessel—it was simply magnificent. The stairs, the corridors, the hanging oil paintings, the door handles carved with sea monsters…
She pushed open the door to her room—
And froze.
There was a bathtub inside.
A real, big bathtub!
Meanwhile, in his own room, Allen was meditating.
He sat cross-legged on the bed, eyes closed, trying hard to recall fragments from his past life's game.
Lately, this was what he did most—recall. Word by word, frame by frame, digging out long-buried memories and chewing over them again and again.
Sometimes, inspiration would strike, and a forgotten plot detail would suddenly surface.
And right now, he was trying hard to remember—how exactly was the Eye of Dalaran lost in the game?
Teron Gorefiend was dead, but the Horde wouldn't give up so easily. Who else would take over as the one to steal the Eye of Dalaran?
And what kind of spell would satisfy the system's requirement for a "Great Spell"? As long as he completed that main quest, he could unlock another subclass path—he could unlock Dragonblood Sorcerer.
As he thought, he suddenly heard something.
A distant, deep sound, coming from the depths of the ocean.
It sounded like waves—but not quite. It had its own rhythm, its own melody, like an ancient song.
Allen opened his eyes.
His gaze seemed to pierce through the floor of the room.
He saw the room below—someone soaking in a bathtub, their figure shrouded in steam, letting out a contented sigh.
He saw the deck—sailors rushing back and forth, pulling ropes, adjusting sails.
He saw the compartments below the ship—marines resting or working, some polishing weapons, others speaking in low voices.
He saw the ocean outside the hull. Waves crashed against the ship, splashing white foam.
All kinds of marine creatures swam past—schools of silver fish, giant sea turtles, and occasionally sharks.
And deeper.
Even deeper.
The pitch-black abyss of the ocean floor, seemingly endless.
And there—in that boundless darkness—
There was a small fish.
An utterly ordinary fish, blending in with the school, completely unremarkable.
Only its eyes—
They glowed with a strange light.
The glow grew brighter.
Closer.
A voice sounded in Allen's mind.
It came from all directions, deep, ancient, carrying a seductive force:
"You have seen…"
"You have seen what should not be seen…"
"Your eyes… are quite interesting…"
"Do you want to see more?"
"Do you want to see fate?"
"Do you want to see… the truth?"
The voice drew closer, louder, surging like a tide, drowning Allen.
"Mortals walk through life with their eyes closed…"
"But they do not know… that when their eyes are closed… the darkness has always been watching them…"
"You are different…"
"You have opened your eyes…"
"You will regret it…"
"But you cannot stop…"
"Because the truth… is more tempting than lies…"
Allen's head began to ache.
He tried to struggle, tried to block out the voice, but it seemed to come from deep within him—there was nowhere to escape.
"Come…"
"Look a little deeper…"
"See what awaits you… in the abyss…"
"See your fate… how…"
Knock, Knock, Knock!
A knock sounded at the door.
Allen suddenly opened his eyes.
Sunlight streamed in through the porthole, the sea swayed gently—everything was calm.
Only the urgent knocking, and the voice from outside: "Mr. Prestor? Mr. Prestor?"
Allen took a deep breath and steadied himself.
"I'm here."
The person outside seemed relieved. "It's like this, Mr. Prestor. I'm Lady Jaina's bodyguard. Lady Jaina would like to consult you about some matters of magic. Would you be available this afternoon?"
Allen froze for a moment.
Jaina, this girl—has she really taken me as her bodyguard and private tutor?
Didn't even greet me before, and now she just orders me around like this.
Still… he really got lucky. Her bodyguard happened to wake him up at that exact eerie moment.
"No problem," Allen stood up. "Please wait outside for a moment."
He walked to the porthole and looked out at the endless sea.
Was that just now an illusion…?
Had an Old God set its sights on him?
Or was it because his perception was too high, making it easier to see and hear things he shouldn't?
Allen shivered.
Damn it… from now on, I won't dare take perception-boosting gear anymore. But increasing willpower resistance requires increasing perception… and increasing perception makes it easier to notice Old Gods… I'm completely screwed either way.
...
Jaina's room was the most comfortable place in the entire fleet.
At this moment, it was bustling with activity.
Maids were carefully applying her makeup.
One held her face, another dabbed powder lightly, another was arranging her golden hair.
Dress after dress hung on racks, waiting for the final selection.
Jaina sat before the vanity, gripping her skirt tightly.
She was a little nervous.
Just now, she had even taken a bath.
She kept sniffing herself repeatedly to check for any strange smell—the environment at sea wasn't good, damp and salty, always carrying a lingering scent.
But no matter how much she sniffed, she could only smell the fragrance of rose soap.
"Miss, how about this one?" a maid held up a light blue dress.
Jaina glanced at it and shook her head.
"What about this?" another one in pale purple.
Still a shake.
"This one—"
"Too flashy."
"This one—"
"Too plain."
The maids looked at each other helplessly.
Jaina bit her lip, her gaze falling on the dress hanging at the very back—a moon-white gown, dotted with tiny pearls, with delicate silver embroidery at the collar and sleeves.
"That one."
The maids hurried to take it down and help her change.
At that moment, a voice came from outside: "Mr. Allen Prestor has arrived."
Jaina's face instantly turned red.
She grabbed her skirt tightly.
"Ask him…" her voice trembled slightly, "ask him to wait in the sitting room for a while. I'll be there soon!"
And so, Allen sat there with a dark expression in the sitting room—for twenty minutes.
Twenty minutes.
He looked at the huge oil painting on the wall—it depicted the Kul Tiras fleet sailing through a storm.
He examined every ship, every wave, every cloud.
Then he counted the patterns on the carpet.
Then he studied where the teacups were made.
Just as he was about to fall asleep, the door finally opened.
Jaina walked in.
She wore the moon-white gown, the hem trailing along the ground. Her golden hair had been carefully arranged, braided into thin strands and pinned at the back, revealing her fair neck and delicate collarbones.
Her face carried light makeup, making her pale blue eyes appear even brighter.
But her expression was cold and distant, like a finely crafted porcelain doll.
"Mr. Prestor." Jaina gave a slight nod, her voice calm and aloof. "Sorry to have kept you waiting."
Allen stood, his expression blank, and nodded.
They sat down on the sofas in the sitting room, and the maids served tea and snacks.
After some brief small talk—though it barely counted as such, as Jaina only asked things like "Is the journey comfortable?" and "Is your room satisfactory?"—Allen answered each one.
Finally, Jaina brought up her real question.
"Mr. Prestor." Her tone remained calm and distant. "Recently, I've just learned Frostbolt. However, I always feel something isn't quite right when casting it. May I ask for your guidance?"
Allen froze.
Frost…
Frostbolt?
I don't know how to cast that shit!
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