The moment he came back to his senses, Khadgar was already gone.
The tavern was still dim. Those few patrons were still slumped over their tables, dozing, as if nothing had happened.
But none of that mattered anymore.
He had an entire day… to become a god.
Allen slowly stood up, his gaze sweeping across the tavern floor.
He saw it.
On the floor by the tavern entrance, there was a string of footprints. They had been trampled by those who came later, almost impossible to make out—yet in his eyes, they were as clear as if they had just been left.
The owner of those footprints had lingered at the doorway. The soles carried mud from Elwynn Forest, mixed with… blood.
The trail of footprints moved toward the bar, then sat down on a chair in the corner.
Fibers remained on the chair, along with a faint trace of a bloody smell.
It was him.
Stalvan Mistmantle.
He had sat there, ordered a drink. Allen could see him finishing it, standing up, and walking toward the door.
Allen stood up and pushed open the tavern door.
Outside, the street was still bustling. Soldiers passed in small groups, vendors shouted their wares, children chased one another.
But Allen's gaze cut through all of it, following that trail of footprints only he could see.
That direction…
He frowned.
That direction is… wait, I feel like I've seen something there before?
…Now I remember.
Found you.
I'll tear you to pieces with magic. Effortlessly.
The corner of Allen's lips curled into a smile. He lifted his foot, about to give chase—
Suddenly, the world in his eyes began to shatter.
BOOM—!!
Heaven and earth collapsed.
The world-ending dragon, Deathwing, plunged down from the clouds. His body was forged of magma and iron; every beat of his wings stirred apocalyptic storms.
Dragonfire rained from the sky. Golden flames swallowed the entire street—soldiers, merchants, children—reduced to ash in an instant.
The earth split apart.
Lava burst from the fissures, devouring the houses of Darkshire one by one.
In the distance, a tsunami surged forward. Black waves blotted out the sky, drowning everything in despair.
And deeper underground, something was awakening.
An unspeakable existence—vaster than mountains, older than time.
Countless tentacles burst from beneath the earth. Each one was covered in thousands upon thousands of eyes—
Those eyes all opened at once.
All stared at Allen.
Use Meteor Swarm!
Now!!
Allen raised his hand, trying to call upon the ninth-circle spell he had just obtained.
Wait! I can't use Meteor Swarm!
This is all an illusion—it isn't real. I can't cast Meteor Swarm here.
I'll destroy Darkshire with my own hands.
I can't…
At that moment, those familiar figures crawled out from the ruins.
Half of Varian's body was charred, ghostly blue flames burning within his eye sockets.
Wren walked toward him step by step, the arm she extended already reduced to bare bone.
Stella's small body twisted into something grotesque, crawling toward him in a mechanical motion.
They all reached out their hands.
Grasping for him.
Reaching—
"Every eye has opened."
"And yours… was the first."
Allen saw it—
Another him, identical, lying in the middle of an endless sea of blood, looking at him, reaching out, whispering something.
"We are all walking toward that future."
Cough.
Allen began to cough violently.
He lowered his head, spreading his hands—
A large pool of blood filled his palms.
Warm. Viscous. A blinding red.
"AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!!"
A wretched scream tore through his throat. It felt as if countless hands were ripping his brain apart from within—every cell dissolving—
Thud.
He collapsed to the ground.
The world fell into darkness.
...
When he woke up again, Allen found himself lying on a soft bed.
Above him was an unfamiliar ceiling. Dim daylight filtered in through the gap in the curtains.
His head… didn't hurt anymore.
That strange feeling of controlling the world had completely vanished as well.
Allen suddenly sat up and pulled open the system panel.
The Arcane Intellect buff… was gone.
What?! I was unconscious for an entire day?!
What a loss!
Allen felt heartbroken—he hadn't even had time to enjoy it!
Although reason told him that continuing in that state might have led to worse consequences, he still couldn't help but regret it.
That feeling of omniscience and omnipotence… gone just like that, slept through!
He took a deep breath and, with trembling fingers, opened the skill panel.
Meteor Swarm—ninth circle—lay there quietly, emitting a faint golden glow.
Allen let out a long breath.
Good. It wasn't a dream.
However, he could clearly feel that after losing 100 Intelligence, with his current body, he likely couldn't cast a spell of that level for the time being.
Even if he could… it would probably—
"You're finally awake."
A familiar voice came from beside the bed.
Allen turned his head and saw Wren sitting on a chair by the bedside.
A newly finished cloak was spread across his lap—silver-gray fur, supple and thick, gleaming faintly under the sunlight.
It was made from Lupos' hide.
Wren gently stroked the fur, his movements as tender as if he were petting a living creature, a rather proud expression on his face.
"Looks like you really are short on sleep," he joked. "Since I met you, you've already fainted three times."
Allen was momentarily speechless. After thinking for a bit, he said helplessly, "Three times? …Oh, right. The first time we met, I was already unconscious."
Wren looked at him with clear satisfaction. "After spending these days with you, I've improved too. For your habit of collapsing at any moment, I've already come up with an excuse for you. I said our young lord has a hereditary condition—he faints easily. How about it? Thoughtful, right?"
Seeing Wren's expression that clearly asked for praise, Allen clapped lightly in resignation. "Thank you, Wren. How long was I out? The Sons of Lothar—"
Allen wanted to go find Khadgar again and freeload another Arcane Intellect. But this time, hopefully Khadgar would tone it down—just ten or twenty Intelligence would be enough.
Wren shook his head. "You were out for more than a day. The Sons of Lothar just set out—they're heading for the Swamp of Sorrows."
Too bad. If the Sons of Lothar were gone, Khadgar was definitely gone too.
"Where did Stella and Mathias go?" he asked.
"Stella went to find an engineering supplier. She said she needs something… a clockwork camel, I think." Wren shrugged. "Mathias? No idea. That kid's always secretive—slipped out early this morning. Morgan's downstairs, guarding you. Hasn't left your side."
Allen braced himself against the bed and sat up, his expression suddenly turning serious.
"Call them back. Just in case."
The smile faded from Wren's face. He frowned slightly. "Why? What danger?"
Allen sighed.
He had relied too much on his knowledge of future plotlines. In World of Warcraft, Stalvan did indeed hide in that abandoned house north of Darkshire—but that was many years later. Right now, it was only Year Eight after the Dark Portal. Stalvan had only just committed his crimes—he might not have gone there yet.
Which meant… Stalvan could be anywhere.
When he had been in that omniscient state and rushed out of the tavern, what he saw wasn't traces of Stalvan fleeing somewhere in panic—
What he saw was…
Allen raised his head and looked straight into Wren's eyes.
"I saw Stalvan Mistmantle himself," he said, his voice low and certain.
"He's in Darkshire."
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