To Allen's surprise, after flipping through it several times, the sheepskin parchment inside was completely blank…
"I still feel like this isn't so simple." Wren frowned tightly. "We've already investigated—Stalvan was originally just an ordinary teacher in Westfall. Why did he turn into the undead? Why did he learn all these forbidden spells?"
"So I suspect there must have been someone guiding Stalvan all along—teaching him these things, even helping him transform into the undead." Wren tapped his fingers against his thigh. "All of this is definitely connected to this letter… and to that strange emblem."
Allen turned the sheet over again, holding it up to the light to examine the back. It was still blank.
"Did you ask around? Has anyone in Darkshire seen this emblem?"
Wren shook his head. "No one's seen it."
Allen sighed and set the paper down. After a moment, he picked it up again, held it over a candle to heat it, then dipped his finger in water and lightly smeared it across the surface. Still blank.
"Forget it." He tossed the paper back onto the table. "We'll check the Stormwind library when we get there."
He looked up. "More importantly… did Stalvan have any other loot?"
Wren nodded, stepped out, and soon returned carrying a large cloth sack. He dumped it onto the table, and a pile of miscellaneous items spilled out with a clatter.
Several bloodstained garments, a few moldy old books, some daggers, and various personal belongings—a worn pipe, half a candle, a roll of bandages, a few empty potion bottles…
Allen's gaze swept casually over the pile, then locked onto a staff.
Following his gaze, Wren reached in, pulled out the staff, and handed it to Allen.
Allen took it and examined it carefully. The shaft had been polished smooth, and it felt warm and refined in his grip.
He turned it over. His eyes fell on a line of small engraved text at the base:
[To an eternal secret.]
Allen's fingers gently traced the words, and his thoughts drifted back to that morning when he left the stable.
He had been in his room packing when a young man suddenly entered. He looked to be in his teens, his face haggard, as though he hadn't slept for many days.
He took a deep breath, trying to steady his voice. "My name is Marduk Hunt. Tilloa… Tilloa De Montmorency… is my fiancée."
"I'm sorry—I overheard your conversation yesterday." He lowered his head, his voice trembling. "I… I… after Tilloa died, the staff I gave her… disappeared."
He raised his head, eyes filled with pleading.
"Tilloa always wanted to study at the Arcane Sanctum in Stormwind. I saved for years to buy that staff… it was a token of our love. I know that compared to what you're dealing with, this is insignificant, but… but it was her favorite thing…"
He bowed deeply.
"Please… if it's possible, can you take me with you? I don't ask for anything else. I just want to get it back."
Allen looked at him.
He thought of Milana, thought of that dissipating banshee, and remembered her words: "my Lady Tilloa."
"I can't take you with us," Allen said.
The young man's eyes dimmed.
"But—"
Allen paused.
"I'll bring it back for you. The staff you're looking for."
Now, Allen held that very staff in his hands, his fingertips gently rubbing over the engraved words.
"I'll take this staff," he said, looking up at Wren. "You can split the rest."
Wren looked at him in surprise.
Since when did this kid become so generous?
...
A week later.
The carriage set off once more, slowly leaving Darkshire along the same road they had come.
This time, Allen had properly rested for an entire week.
During that time, he never again heard the whispers of Xal'atath—it was as if everything that day had only been a dream.
The quest "The Mystery of De Montmorency (II)" had been completed. Allen allocated all 5 reward attribute points into Charisma.
Because he felt that all other attributes could be improved through World of Warcraft equipment or skills—but Charisma was something the game didn't provide at all.
From the two random spell draws, he obtained the 1st-level spells Command and Feather Fall.
Command allowed the caster to issue a one-word order to a creature; if the saving throw failed, the target would obey.
Feather Fall could alter the speed of a falling object.
That's right—two more support spells. Allen was starting to suspect there was something fishy going on. Why couldn't he ever roll an offensive spell?
At that moment, inside the carriage, Allen looked at Morgan Ladimore—who seemed slightly uneasy but unusually resolute—and asked a question straight from the soul: "Morgan, shouldn't you be at home with your wife and kids?"
Morgan flushed red as he explained, "Last time… I didn't really help. I didn't repay the life-saving grace, and I even took a share of the money. I just… I can't feel at ease about it."
He raised his head, his gaze firm.
"I also heard what was said in the room—there are still evildoers hiding within Stormwind's borders. Let me help! Let me go with you and punish evil! I don't want any reward!"
Allen looked at him, calculating inwardly.
Morgan Ladimore. Paladin. Solid combat ability. Reliable character. High loyalty…
And if he stayed in Darkshire, he would eventually follow the Knights of the Silver Hand to Lordaeron, endure unbearable suffering, and ultimately become Mor'Ladim, wandering Raven Hill.
If he comes with us… maybe his fate can change.
"Alright." Allen nodded. "You can come along."
Morgan's eyes lit up, and he nodded vigorously.
...
The carriage traveled north, crossing the border of Duskwood and reentering Elwynn Forest. The sky gradually darkened as clouds gathered from all directions, as if a storm were brewing.
They stopped at the stable in eastern Elwynn Forest.
Marduk Hunt was working in the stables. Hearing the carriage, he looked up—and when he saw Allen step down, he froze.
Allen walked up to him, holding the staff in both hands, and handed it over.
"Your item. I brought it back."
Marduk looked at the familiar staff, and in an instant, his eyes reddened.
He reached out with trembling hands and took it. The moment his fingers touched the engraved words, tears burst forth.
He lowered his head, clutching the staff. No sound came from him—only tears, falling drop by drop onto the shaft, sliding slowly along the engraved line.
"Thank you… thank you, Mr. Prestor."
Allen said nothing.
He turned around and silently walked back to the carriage.
The wheels began to roll, and the carriage slowly departed from the stable.
Through the window, Allen glanced back. The young man still stood there, unmoving, clutching the staff. From afar, he could only see his hunched back, his shoulders still trembling.
Inside the carriage, the atmosphere was heavy.
No one spoke.
The sky was thick with clouds, pressing low. No one felt as relaxed as when they had first set out.
To lighten the mood, Allen clasped his hands together with a slap and said in mock annoyance, "Ah, I forgot to ask him for a reward!"
Wren shot him a glance. "We can still turn back."
Allen looked at him resentfully. 'I was just joking, and you had to ruin it.'
...
After hurrying along, the carriage finally reached Goldshire before the storm broke.
The Lion's Pride Inn still stood at the corner of the street. Smoke curled from the chimney, and warm yellow light glowed from the windows, as if welcoming those returning home.
Innkeeper Farley warmly received them.
Allen was now somewhat well-known. Although the people of Stormwind mostly focused on and exaggerated the heroic performance of the "young king" in the Stalvan case, the name Allen Prestor had still appeared alongside Varian Wrynn in the newspapers.
There were also plenty of scattered rumors, but Farley firmly believed in Allen.
After a hearty dinner, Allen returned to his room—the same room as before.
Outside, the rain finally came pouring down.
A thunderclap exploded, and lightning turned the room stark white. Allen lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling, listening to the rain and thunder, a strange feeling rising in his heart.
The coincidences of fate.
Before he knew it, nearly a month had passed since he transmigrated here.
He still remembered his first day—it had also been a stormy night. Back then, he had been alone, picked up by a suspicious "hunter."
Now…
In any case, Stalvan's case had come to an end.
On a moonlit night, he should go visit Milana's grave.
Tell her the good news. Tell her that the Lady Tilloa she had protected all her life—that her beloved has received the token of love.
With that thought, Allen's mind gradually blurred, and he drifted into deep sleep.
...
Late at night.
BOOM—!!
A massive thunderclap jolted him awake.
Allen's eyes snapped open. His heart pounded like a drum. Lying in the darkness, he gasped for breath as his groggy mind slowly cleared.
Then he heard it.
Creeeak—
The sound of a door being pushed open.
Allen was fully awake now, staring toward the doorway.
Lightning flashed, illuminating the room in a ghastly white.
Six children.
Their ragged clothes clung to their thin bodies, their hair dripping in strands, water pooling on the floor beneath them.
They stood silently in a row before the bed.
Slowly… very slowly…
They turned their heads.
And looked at Allen.
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