Cheers surged like a rising tide, echoing beneath the vaulted ceiling of the hall.
Those who had been neglected for too long, suppressed for too long—people who had never found a place for themselves in this city—were now applauding with fervor. Some were even in tears.
At last, they had a name.
The Cult of the Damned.
A name that belonged to them.
Among the crowd, Kel'Thuzad froze for a moment when he heard it.
Not a bad name.
Allen stood before the stone platform. Only after the cheers subsided somewhat did he speak again.
"In times of crisis, no one can afford to retreat." His gaze slowly swept across the hall. "In that case, I'll be the one to step forward. I volunteer myself—I am willing to become the leader of the Cult of the Damned."
Emmy sat on a stone bench, her face as pale as paper.
She stared at the man standing on the platform. He was smiling—a calm, gentle smile, as if he had been born to stand there.
Her heart sank.
Was this infiltration… or walking straight into the jaws of death?
Stella leapt from Allen's shoulder, flapping her wings as she circled above the hall.
"Make him the leader! Make him the leader!" she shrieked, her voice sharp and piercing as it echoed throughout the chamber.
"I propose," Allen's voice rang out again, carrying an unquestionable certainty, "that we first eliminate all members of the Council of Six. Then gather the remaining mages who oppose our ideals and confine them in one place for unified management. And after that—"
"Wait, wait." The man in the dark red robe finally couldn't hold back and interrupted him. He still wore a smile, but it had grown stiff. "This new brother or sister—may I ask your name?"
Allen turned his head, his gaze settling on him. "My name is Ner'zhul."
"Alright, Ner'zhul." The man cleared his throat, trying to sound more amicable. "I think you may be a bit too excited. You've just joined us—you should probably first—"
"Good!" Allen's voice suddenly rose, cutting him off. "To show my sincerity, I'd like to share an interesting spell with everyone. I believe we should all exchange knowledge… By the way, do you have a corpse here?"
The man in the dark red robe glanced at Kel'Thuzad. The latter gave a slight nod, and the man immediately sent someone out.
Moments later, several people returned carrying the corpse of a middle-aged man and placed it on the platform.
"We pursue truth, yet we're told that certain domains must not be touched. We seek power, yet we're taught that some powers must never be used." Allen raised his hand. Necromantic energy coiled around his fingertips like black flames. "Death is merely another form of life. And we—are qualified to understand it."
He bent down, placing his palm on the corpse's forehead.
Necromantic power surged from his hand like a black tide, enveloping the entire body.
The wall lamps in the hall dimmed simultaneously. A cold wind, from nowhere, swept through the room, brushing across every face.
Then—
The corpse opened its eyes.
It slowly sat up, like someone awakening from a long sleep.
Allen straightened, spreading his arms as his voice echoed through the hall: "This is our potential! Even death cannot refuse us!"
Silence lasted less than three seconds.
Then applause and cheers erupted all at once.
"The dead hold no secrets from us!" Allen's voice rose above the clamor.
"Good!"
The crowd roared in approval!
Emmy's face was deathly pale, filled with despair.
It was over. No matter how she looked at it, he was a truly evil necromancer.
Allen turned to face the reanimated corpse.
"Your name?"
"Edwin Moore."
"How did you die?"
The corpse paused briefly. "I… accidentally fell to my death."
Allen nodded. So it was a stolen body.
He asked a few more trivial questions. Then, with a wave of his hand, the corpse slowly lay back down, returning to stillness.
The atmosphere in the hall was completely ignited.
Dozens of people crowded forward, firing questions one after another, their eyes burning with fervor like pilgrims.
"What kind of magic is this?!"
"What's the principle behind it? Can you demonstrate it again?!"
"I've never seen such powerful necromancy…"
Allen raised his hand, signaling for silence.
The noise gradually subsided, and dozens of eyes looked at him with eager intensity.
"Calm down, everyone, please calm down. I never keep things to myself. Once I officially become a member of our Cult of the Damned, I will share everything I know with all of you."
The man in the dark red robe pushed his way to Allen's side. The smile on his face was far more genuine than before.
He extended an arm and enthusiastically draped it over Allen's shoulder, then turned to face everyone present.
"Brothers and sisters!" His voice was brimming with excitement. "I have another announcement to make! In three days, something major will happen in Dalaran—the time has come to prove ourselves!"
The crowd fell silent, all eyes fixed on him.
"If fortune favors us," he lowered his voice, though he couldn't suppress the excitement in his tone, "we may be able to overturn the current decaying order."
He released Allen's shoulder and began assigning tasks.
On that day, three days from now, something significant would take place in Dalaran—but what exactly it was, they were not yet allowed to know.
And the newly formed Cult of the Damned would act at that very moment.
"Many people are still absent today," the man said in conclusion, his gaze burning with intensity. "But when that day comes, I want everyone to take part in the operation."
Watching the crowd break into heated discussion, Allen nodded repeatedly.
Excellent. This is perfect. Keep discussing, keep planning to overthrow everything—gather all of them together. When the time comes, we'll wipe them out in one sweep.
...
The three days passed quickly.
During the day, Allen received direct instruction from Krasus, racking his brain to master a single spell—Arcane Intellect.
At night, he showed up in the sewer hall on schedule.
Standing on the stone platform, he spoke eloquently, sharing his "insights" on necromancy.
Most of those insights were completely fabricated. He let them foolishly study them, and when they failed to replicate the results, he could simply blame it on their lack of talent, poor pronunciation of incantations, insufficient sincerity, or incorrect posture.
But Allen hadn't expected that the very next day, the red-robed man would come to him in excitement, saying that after following his theories and experimenting all night, he had finally succeeded in extracting a faint trace of life energy from a rose.
Allen was stunned.
"What's your name?"
"Araj," the man replied, his tone humble, almost overwhelmed with honor.
Allen fell silent for a moment.
Araj… that name sounded familiar. In the Western Plaguelands, there seemed to be a lich by that name.
He looked at the man in front of him and sighed inwardly.
Kid… no wonder you end up becoming a lich in the future.
From that moment on, his status within the Cult of the Damned soared.
More and more people began calling him "Master Ner'zhul." His suggestions were adopted, his opinions valued—he even began participating in decisions regarding the timing and location of operations.
Only Kel'Thuzad changed.
From initial admiration and excitement, he gradually became calm, then silent, then withdrawn. Eventually, he simply watched them in silence, arriving late and leaving early, and finally stopped coming altogether.
But Allen's rise within the Cult of the Damned had become unstoppable.
If Allen hadn't already secretly arranged for Emmy Malin to meet with the Council of Six, she would have feared that she might not be able to stop herself from bringing him to justice.
On the final day before the operation, Allen even sent a letter to Vereesa Windrunner. He was thinking that perhaps there was no need to wait for her to come to Dalaran—they could regroup directly in Stormwind instead.
...
Three days had passed.
The sewer hall was packed with people. Compared to three days ago, the crowd had more than doubled, a dense sea of heads stretching from the stone platform all the way to the tunnel entrance.
They had given this operation a name:
"The Day of Rebirth."
It was Master Ner'zhul's suggestion. Today, Dalaran would be reborn.
This was the final rally.
Also proposed by Master Ner'zhul.
However, when the rally began, someone suddenly noticed—
"Huh? Why isn't Master Ner'zhul here?"
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