Wouldn't that match perfectly with the bones left behind in that ritual?
In an instant, cold sweat broke out across Allen's back. Several cases in Goldshire that had seemed unrelated—some minor, some serious—were now all pointing toward a single evil ritual, and a single vicious culprit.
Although four children were still missing, Allen had a strong premonition: the truth was absolutely tied to these cases.
Such a small place like Goldshire—and yet it concealed so much evil.
Dughan, what the hell have you been doing as sheriff?! No wonder after all these years, even in WoW Classic, you're still just a sheriff!
"Wren! Wren! I found it!"
He shot to his feet, waving excitedly toward Wren.
A withered hand landed silently on his shoulder, followed by a smack to the back of his head.
"Keep it down in the library!!!"
...
The next day, Goldshire Sheriff's Office.
Bang!
Allen slammed his palm on the desk.
"Dughan, what have you been doing?!"
Early that morning, they had rushed back to Goldshire. Holding the token Varian had given him, Allen was now throwing his weight around and berating Sheriff Dughan.
Might as well use it.
Dughan shrank like a quail, obediently taking the scolding.
"Alright, fine. I'll give you a chance to redeem yourself. Right now—immediately—give us a detailed report on every single case."
Dughan nodded repeatedly, cleared his throat, and began flipping through the files on the desk.
"Uh… let's start with the livestock disappearance. About a month ago, old Barnes from town said his cow went missing. He searched the entire pasture but couldn't find it. He suspected some wild beast from the mountains carried it off."
He turned to the next page.
"Then there were those two children… the blacksmith's twins, a boy and a girl. About a month and a half ago, they said they were going to visit a friend. After they left, they never came back."
He set the file down and shook his head.
"But honestly, those two were pretty precocious. People in town have been whispering, saying maybe they…"
Allen cut him off. "What else?"
"And then there's this wanted criminal…" Dughan pulled out a crumpled wanted poster. "His name is Patte Skinner, a skinner. Three months ago, he got into an argument at a tavern while drinking, stabbed someone to death in a fit of rage, and then fled. Still hasn't been caught."
Allen and Wren exchanged a glance.
Dughan kept rambling, "Speaking of which, his wife, Heleni, really has it rough. Her husband ran off, and with the family's backbone gone… I don't know how she's managing. Raising four kids alone, living out in such a remote place…"
"Wait."
Allen suddenly raised his hand.
Dughan froze. "Huh?"
"What did you just say?"
Dughan said cautiously, "I said… she lives pretty far from town?"
"The sentence before that."
"Hel—Heleni has four kids to raise?"
Allen and Wren looked at each other.
Four children.
Plus the two missing from town.
That made six.
"Has anyone in town seen Heleni recently? Where does she live?"
"No… no, not really. Come to think of it, it's been a while since anyone's seen her in town. She lives by Crystal Lake—just follow the northern path straight and you'll get there. Sigh… I really worry about her. With her husband gone, and murlocs appearing around Crystal Lake… I don't know how a woman alone can protect herself and four children… Eh? Where'd you go? You're not asking anymore?"
Dughan was still rambling when he realized the people in front of him were already gone.
Allen and Wren had rushed out of the office.
...
Stella was squatting by the roadside, holding a box of honey-roasted muffins, her face greasy as she ate. Morgan stood by the blacksmith's shop, watching the smith at work with great interest.
"Get in the carriage!"
Allen grabbed Stella and stuffed her into the carriage.
The carriage sped off, kicking up a trail of dust.
Inside, Allen and Wren spoke in low voices.
Crystal Lake—the bones had been buried there. And Heleni lived there as well. Wren couldn't help but worry about her safety.
The carriage raced along the main road, weaving past clusters of trees, gradually leaving Goldshire behind. The road grew narrower and rougher, and dense branches on both sides nearly blocked out the sky.
At last, the view opened up.
Crystal Lake appeared before them.
In daylight, it looked completely different from that stormy night. Sunlight shimmered across the water, sparkling like a mirror nestled among the mountains. Occasionally, water birds skimmed across the surface, sending ripples outward.
The carriage continued forward, drawing closer to the lake.
A burst of noisy shouting shattered the calm.
Ahead on the road, dust billowed. A group of short, blue-green figures rushed out from the forest, waving crude weapons and blocking the road.
Murlocs.
There were twenty or thirty of them. They babbled loudly, and the leader—taller than the rest—had a string of gleaming shells around its neck and was gesturing wildly.
Everyone looked at each other.
What were they… doing?
Allen stared at the group for a moment, thoughtful.
"They're not… robbing us, are they?"
No wonder this was before the Defias Brotherhood rose—turns out the ones doing this kind of work were murlocs.
The "murloc leader" kept gesturing—pointing at Allen and the others, then tapping its palm with a wooden club. The meaning couldn't be clearer.
Morgan looked at Allen. "What do we do?"
"Drive them off." Allen waved a hand. "They didn't just charge straight in to attack, so they're already a relatively polite and civilized bunch—for murlocs."
Morgan nodded and dismounted.
He strode to the center of the road, raised his greatsword, and murmured a prayer. Golden Holy Light surged from his body, rippling outward.
Consecration!
The Holy Light spread across the ground, turning into a blazing field of radiance.
The murlocs shrieked as the light touched them, smoke rising from their bodies.
They scrambled and rolled backward in panic, dropping their weapons.
The leader was the fastest, vanishing into the forest in an instant, leaving behind a series of panicked, garbled cries.
The others were quite surprised. Only now did they realize how powerful Morgan's Holy Light was—after all, before this, he had either been getting beaten or completely missing the fight.
The carriage continued on.
At last, the cabin came into view.
It was a crude wooden house, sitting at the edge of the lake, where it met the foot of the mountain.
But now, a group of small figures surrounded it.
Kobolds.
There were about ten of them, dressed in tattered cloth, wielding rusty weapons, frantically smashing against the cabin door.
"Give us the candle!"
"Hand over the candle!"
Their eyes glowed faintly yellow in the dim light, like a pack of starving beasts.
They noticed the approaching group and all turned their heads at once.
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