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The undead cannot drown.
In the game that Blake loves and knows so well, undead characters perish if they linger in water too long; that's simply a game mechanic. In reality, the undead aren't fazed by water.
Just like now.
Black Shaw strode swiftly along the seabed, following the route he'd memorized—from the Khaz Modan sea area toward the southeastern wetlands. Though the wetlands, part of the Dwarf Kingdom's territory, are overrun by tribal orcs at this point, it remains the closest land to this naval battleground.
Blake can't stay in the water indefinitely.
He needs contact with people.
Surviving on cursed, evil weapons is just the beginning. If he doesn't want to remain a cursed undead forever, he must find a skilled Holy Light priest.
He needs this curse lifted.
The tainted Eye of Paris may have saved Blake from certain doom, but it certainly wasn't a gift. While it pulled him from the edge, it also instilled indescribable changes. Moments after leaving the war zone, he felt its dark magic seep into him.
It was quietly corrupting him.
Blake touched his forehead again, triggering the dreaded character card display, which hovered before him, translucent, like pressing the "C" key in the game.
Its data had drastically altered:
Character Card: Derek Proudmoore (Black Shaw)
Information: Kul Tiran Human, 19 years old
Status: Mortal body. Shadow curse. Life solidification. Weakness. Magical invasion.
Class: Level 7 Warrior/Level 15 Navigator/Level 5 Rogue
Legendary class: none
Mythical class: none
Title: Prince of Kul Tiras
Equipment: Tainted Eye of Paris
Talents: Child of the Sea, Shadow Affinity (Basic), Proudmoore Bloodline (Seal of Hate)
Skills:
Kul Tiran Military Swordsmanship (Basic)
Fatal Throw (Basic)
Tidal Fist (Adept)
Navigation (Mastery)
"???"
The undead Blake's eyes widened.
He could see that wielding the cursed weapon was swiftly lowering his ranks. His warrior class had plummeted three levels in just ten minutes—a severe drop.
The navigator class fell by one level, but his rogue class—known more crudely as the "thief" class—didn't decline, likely because it draws power from the shadows. This was evidenced by the new "Shadow Affinity" added to his talents.
It seems the character card adjusts based on Blake's status.
One more piece of bad news: since his warrior class dropped from level 10 to level 7, he noticed, with dismay, that the "Battlefield Hero" talent had vanished. Additionally, his once-mastered military swordsmanship had regressed to a basic level, and his Tidal Fist skill had dropped to adept.
He felt weakened, as though he'd lost something invaluable, with his hands suddenly feeling limp.
"Shua"
In the next instant, Blake tossed the purple-black crystal ball back into his suitcase, locking it securely. The dark magic ceased emanating, and his character card changed again.
The magical invasion status was removed.
But the shadow curse and life solidification remained, along with the entry-level shadow affinity gifted by the dark magic—perhaps a small consolation.
Yet if he continued to hold the cursed weapon, he'd be further weakened, from promising recruit to powerless trash.
A priest must cleanse this curse quickly!
"Bloody stuff!"
Blake muttered under his breath.
He tied the magic suitcase to his waist with a strip of cloth and continued walking briskly along the seabed. After nearly four hours, with night falling completely, he finally set foot on the coast of the wetlands as the tide receded.
"Snapped"
The moment his foot touched the muddy shore, Blake collapsed onto the beach, limbs spread wide as though he were a drowned man unwilling to move a muscle.
Indeed, the undead cannot die.
But the undead can grow tired.
Not just bodily numbness, but soul-weariness, like he'd stayed awake for days. All he wanted now was a deep, restful sleep.
So, as the tide ebbed, he closed his eyes, drifting to sleep, a swirl of fragmented memories filling his mind.
The water ebbed, accompanied by his quiet snoring.
——
"Huh? The timeline is fluctuating?"
In a distant, untamed continent across an endless sea, hidden within an infinite desert lies a mysterious, legendary place spoken of only among spellcasters.
In a cave, ten thousand years old, surrounded by the light of time and space, a sound emerged as if something had just awoken.
Nestled comfortably in a cozy nest, an elegant creature raised its head, dazed.
It had a serpentine head.
Eyes like a snake's.
Its body was covered in fine bronze scales, and it bore bat-like wings—broad and foldable.
Its belly was slightly plump, but its neck was slender, as was its tail, which was also adorned with bone spurs.
And four sharp claws lay hidden beneath its body.
It could effortlessly pierce wood, steel, or flesh with its claws.
Its body curled up like a cat, clearly just waking from a deep slumber. As it raised its elegant neck, five long horns on its head shimmered with a metallic sheen.
This was a dragon.
Measuring nearly 30 meters, it wasn't as large as the three red dragons currently rampaging in Khaz Modan's waters, and this size marked it as a young dragon—not yet fully grown.
But it was already a member of the distinguished bronze dragonflight.
Although young and weak, it couldn't join the revered Quicksand Scale, serving under the great Lord of Time, His Majesty Nozdormu, to uphold Azeroth's time network.
But it had its own work.
Time is an unseen force.
But in a Bronze Dragon's eyes, it flows like a river they can enter and exit at will. Azeroth's timeline, however, is unique, structured as a mesh.
Every pivotal moment intertwines. If disrupted by outside forces, the timeline could veer off course.
Such disruptions create time tributaries.
Most don't impact the main timeline, but if too many nodes are disrupted, grave problems ensue.
The job of young dragons like it is to stabilize specific time nodes, watch for interference, and swiftly clean up "time residue" causing chaos.
For millennia, this job has been simple, but recently, it's grown difficult.
An unfamiliar force has begun subtly infiltrating minor time nodes, like small pranks.
Yet it has raised the Bronze Dragonflight's vigilance, leaving the elite Quicksand Scales constantly busy, flitting from node to node.
Even "beginners" like this young dragon have felt the strain.
"The time fluctuations in Khaz Modan's sea aren't strong enough to disturb the time nodes, but let's check it out."
Following the timeline's ripples, the young dragon tracked the source of the fluctuations.
It moved its massive form sluggishly, emerging from its lair. The once-bustling Cavern of Time, headquarters of the Bronze Dragonflight, now lay mostly empty.
Apart from a few hatchlings playing under the watchful eye of dragonfolk, everyone else was away on duty.
This sacred place glowed with a crimson energy—the manifestation of time's power, like rainbows or auroras, stretched across every dusty path.
The massive cave housed "doors" to various crucial time nodes.
But only the elite Quicksand Scales may enter those major nodes; young dragons like it aren't yet allowed to guard those significant events.
This isn't out of disdain.
Nor oppression.
It's careful protection.
"Hey, Sephiel, time to work a bit harder."
The young dragon sighed, its big eyes showing human helplessness. It raised its head and muttered to itself:
"That troublemaker Chromie was only born a hundred years before me, but she's already the youngest member of the Quicksand Scale. I can't be compared to her.
That fool has been snatching my food and bullying me since I was young. I haven't seen her in a long time. Maybe I'll go back or forward in time to play with her later."
A cloud of sand-like bronze light enveloped the young dragon. As it took a step forward, its massive body suddenly shrank.
In an instant, it changed from dragon form to human form.
It transformed into a high elf lady with white skin, a tall figure, clad in a moon-white dress, with long silver-gray hair, and an exquisite blue gemstone ring.
Dragons possess this kind of transformation technique, which is rather simple for those who have mastered the mysteries of magic.
The baby dragon Sephiel hovered a few inches above the ground. She looked around, then summoned a dragon beast and instructed the dragon servants to help tidy up her nest and replace it with crystals and gems.
Just like a mage, she used Flash to quickly leave the inner ring of the Cave of Time. Upon reaching the outer ring, she reverted back to dragon form, flapped her wings, and flew toward the sea of Khaz Modan.
As a young dragon, she couldn't yet use teleportation to cross continents.
Fortunately, even a baby dragon is a legendary creature.
Her flight speed was more than sufficient.
A few hours later, the young dragon Sephiel, looking a little tired from crossing the vast sea, landed on Tide Island at the edge of Khaz Modan's waters.
This was a military port, but it had been completely destroyed and occupied by an orc fleet. When the young dragon arrived, the crude orcs were handling the bodies of the Kul Tiran sailors who had fallen here.
No one survived.
No one surrendered. These soldiers serving Admiral Daelin fought with exceptional bravery, holding on until the last moment, dying heroically.
This is why the fierce and powerful orc tribe took six full years and suffered heavy losses before reaching northern.
They had not faced opponents who could be easily brushed aside.
Especially when human warriors fought to defend their homeland, their courage rivaled that of the orcs. Yet, such emotions held no meaning for Sephiel.
She was a dragon.
Her sense of good and evil differed from ordinary creatures, and her emotions did not align with those of lesser beings.
Sephiel transformed into an elf form and hovered high in the sky. She raised her left hand, releasing the power of time like sand and dust, which coalesced into a delicate hourglass before her eyes.
She closed her eyes, sensing the timeline there.
"The orcs crossed the sea—facts align. The third fleet sank—facts align. The enslaved red dragons took part in the battle—facts align. Derek Proudmoore died in this battle—facts align.
Wait!"
Sephiel opened her eyes abruptly.
She sped toward the sea ahead, transforming into a giant dragon mid-flight, then plunged into the water, creating a huge splash that caught the attention of orc scouts patrolling nearby shattered ships.
But they couldn't track the legendary creature as it entered the water.
Half an hour later, the young dragon Sephiel had searched the entire seafloor of Khaz Modan, carefully examining every shipwreck and every body.
There was a trace of tension and anger in her enormous dragon eyes.
"Derek's body isn't here, and the tainted Eye of Paris is gone. He is certainly dead, but I can't sense his aura.
The timeline is disrupted.
A time remnant is in play!
Are those hidden, cowardly pests at work again? What plot are they brewing? I must report to the Quicksand Scale."
At that moment, the young dragon's thoughts were interrupted.
The Quicksand Scale was busy.
Every member was preoccupied, and Derek Proudmoore wasn't a significant figure in the future timeline.
He was merely an insignificant node.
Far less crucial than his sister, Jaina.
Even if she reported this, no adult bronze dragon would address it anytime soon.
"Then I'll investigate myself."
The young dragon resolved in an instant.
It was a disgrace that the timeline she oversaw was disrupted, and that the time remnants had slipped away.
She would wash away this shame with her own hands.
"I won't let you laugh at me again, irritating Chromie."
The young dragon's body surged quickly out of the water, rocketing into the sky within seconds.
"I will find him!"
"The fragments must be purged!"
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If you enjoy please support me on my patreon Future 80+ chapters at patreon.com/Phoenizbeelze
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