"Congratulations, warrior! Heroic battles deserve rewards. Come on! Open your spoils, you magnificent, slightly singed hero!" For some inexplicable reason, the voice of the colossal stone statue, moments ago a booming harbinger of doom, suddenly became as sweet as a freshly baked strudel, practically cooing into Duke's ear.
The elite soldiers of Stormwind, who just seconds ago were fighting with the desperate, wild-eyed ferocity of cornered wolverines, were now a little… uncomfortable. This sudden, almost polite victory felt suspiciously easy. However, since their boss, the legendary Lothar, had just single-handedly turned the other side's boss into a fine, orcish dust, the victory was, regrettably, unquestionable.
Almost everyone was breathing like they'd just run a marathon while wearing full plate armor, except for Duke, who looked as calm and composed as a cucumber in a freezer.
To Duke's utter surprise, the system AI, usually a pedantic nag, actually flattered him: "Oh, my dear host, your performance was truly outstanding! A masterclass in strategic boss-killing! How did you know that merely decapitating Blackhand would definitively lead to such a glorious victory?"
"Hey, hey! I was a great guy who cleared the Karazhan chess level solo, thank you very much!" Duke replied with an arrogant, almost theatrical sniff, but in his heart, he was screaming: Hey! Should I tell you that when I played this level in the game, the other nine bastards were either drinking water, going to the toilet, or, heaven forbid, farting, and I was the only one actually, you know, playing?!
Over time, when solo play becomes a deeply ingrained, slightly traumatic habit...
Alas, it's all tears if I talk too much. So many tears.
However, Lothar, ever the practical one, was thoroughly puzzled by the rather ostentatious treasure chest that had spontaneously materialized next to the gigantic chessboard, glowing with an almost suspicious aura of loot.
"Will there be a trap?" Lothar frowned, his brow furrowed deeper than a goblin's debt.
"No!" Duke and Garona declared in unison, their voices a strangely harmonious chorus of certainty. Duke blurted out his answer with the comedic timing of a seasoned stand-up, while Garona, ever the pragmatic assassin, came to her conclusion after a quick, almost imperceptible review of the surrounding area for hidden tripwires or explosive runes.
Lothar tilted his head, his facial muscles twitching in a way that suggested he was trying to decide between exasperation and a mild aneurysm. He looked at Duke: "You come and I come?"
Seeing Duke take a terrified half-step back, practically vibrating with a primal fear of loot boxes, Lothar knew the answer: "Okay, I'll do it. Someone has to be the adult here."
Lothar genuinely couldn't fathom Duke's peculiar behavior. In Lothar's seasoned opinion, Duke was a walking, talking, slightly glowing contradiction. He was so ridiculously young, yet possessed combat experience that would make grizzled veterans weep into their ale. He was utterly fearless against demons who could rip you in half with a single glance, yet he was apparently terrified of examining his own spoils? What kind of utterly bizarre quirk was that?
Well! Mages, Lothar mused, seemed to be a universally mysterious and perpetually neurotic bunch. Probably had something to do with all that arcane energy messing with their brains. Compared to Duke's minor, albeit baffling, flaws, Lothar could almost regard Duke as a perfect saint. A slightly odd, loot-averse saint, but a saint nonetheless.
Lothar didn't even have to reach out his hand. The brown wooden treasure chest, inlaid with gems that probably cost more than a small kingdom, opened with a dramatic CLICK! all by itself, revealing the glistening, glorious goodies inside.
A sword.
A ring.
One rather fetching leather shoulder armor.
First, the sword. As soon as Duke's eyes landed on the peculiar, scimitar-like shape and the alarming shade of red on the blade, he guessed it was almost certain – the King's Guardian. A one-handed sword that, to the eternal chagrin of lore enthusiasts, did not appear in "History" but inexplicably popped up in the game. And to add insult to injury, a scimitar was classified as a sword, which made countless players complain so vehemently it probably caused minor earthquakes. This one-handed sword, oddly favored by defensive warriors, still made Duke feel that Lothar's hands were truly, ridiculously red with luck.
What's even more interesting, and slightly infuriating, is that among so many battle-hardened fighters in the audience, not a single one was willing to take it.
"What!? You don't want it?" Duke blurted out, genuinely stunned.
Lothar, ever the traditionalist, raised the mighty Sword of Kings in his hand, its ancient steel gleaming. "A warrior's weapon is the most important," he declared, his voice resonating with conviction. "We will not change our weapons at will unless it is absolutely necessary. Between life and death, the slightest difference in the feel of your blade is fatal. It's like trying to fight a demon with a wet noodle if you're not used to it."
The other soldiers nodded in solemn agreement, probably picturing themselves flailing uselessly with a new, unfamiliar blade.
Well, okay, what you said makes sense, Lothar. So, as a mage, I will not hesitate to shamelessly steal the equipment. I can give it to Windsor to show off! Anyway, there's no such thing as "bind on pickup" in this world, thank the Holy Light! Duke grandly, almost ceremoniously, hacked the defensive warrior's treasure and, with a flourish, stuffed it into the space bag he'd acquired at an utterly extortionate price.
Yes, that's right, there are space bags in this world. But they are so ridiculously, offensively expensive!! A linen space bag, lovingly crafted in Dalaran, that can only hold eight dead objects weighing no more than 10 kilograms in total (so, basically, a few very light sandwiches and a feather) costs a staggering 100,000 gold coins. A fixed price, no bargaining allowed! Damn it, if Duke didn't need the gold coins urgently, he would definitely exchange them all and crush that profiteer to death under a mountain of worthless currency. I must practice the Tailoring skill later, Duke vowed to himself, a new, vengeful glint in his eye.
There was also a rather stylish leather shoulder armor, the Cruel Shoulder Blade, which naturally belonged to Garona. The fierce female orc, with a satisfied grunt, immediately ripped off her clunky metal shoulder armor and replaced it with this sleek, new leather piece. She then struck a pose that clearly screamed, "Try to steal this, and I will personally introduce your spleen to your eyeballs."
"Okay, okay, take it if you like it," Lothar said, with the long-suffering patience of a parent dealing with a particularly demanding toddler. He clearly had no temper whatsoever when it came to Garona.
The last item, a rather elegant ring, the Ring of Cycles, was a typical mage ring, practically humming with arcane energy. When Duke slipped the ring onto his left thumb, he felt an immediate, exhilarating expansion of his magic circuit, like a superhighway suddenly appearing in his brain. A new, small circuit was built, and the magic seemed to flow into the ring through the very artery of his finger. After being amplified by the ring's intricate enchantments, it flowed back from the vein with a more surging, almost tidal feeling.
The system prompt, usually so dry and technical, practically sang:
"You are wearing a magic item Ring of Cycles that is far beyond your strength. Apparently the maker of this ring is also quite friendly to low-level spellcasters, perhaps they had a soft spot for underdogs. Its peaceful magic circuit gain allows you, as an Earth Mage (bless your little heart), to get a 30% bonus to the original attributes of the ring. The damage caused by your magic effects and the chance of magic critical strikes are slightly increased. You're basically a walking, glowing cheat code!"
Looking at the Evil Star Corset on his waist, the Capacitor practically vibrating with stolen energy on his hip, and the Ring of Cycles now gleaming on his hand, Duke's desire for promotion became more urgent than a goblin's need for gold. He didn't know what the higher-level magical world was like. Obviously, it was a world he could not possibly imagine, a world of pure, unadulterated magical chaos.
There was no logical reason for it, it was just a gut feeling – a deep, primal hunch – that if he defeated Medivh, he would be promoted. That's what the very breath of fate, probably smelling faintly of old books and arcane dust, told Duke.
At this opportune moment, Lothar sauntered up, looking surprisingly refreshed. "Did you alarm Sargeras just now?" he asked, his voice low.
Duke shook his head. "Probably not. Big shots like Sargeras are also very busy, you know. World domination takes a lot of paperwork. After returning from the chess space, I sensed several interstellar communications across the world. Don't forget, Sargeras is the boss of the Burning Legion! He's got a lot on his plate."
Lothar nodded slowly, a grim expression settling on his face. The enemy was too powerful, powerful enough to make most mortals spontaneously despair. Ten thousand years ago, it took almost all the powerful people on the entire planet Azeroth, probably including a few very angry squirrels, to destroy the portal and drive away Sargeras. Can they do it now with just the number of people they have? The hesitation was short-lived. Lothar quickly shook his head, physically dislodging the bad idea from his brain. He turned to his men and said, "Gentlemen, the road ahead is still difficult, probably filled with more demons and existential crises, but I believe we can overcome it. In order to prepare for the upcoming battle, let's rest for fifteen minutes and then continue on our way. No complaining about sore feet!"
None of Lothar's men were killed in the battle just now. The worst-hit guy was only moderately injured, probably just a nasty bruise. With the priest's healing, he barely recovered his combat effectiveness, looking a bit wobbly but ready for more. In any case, this result was already very remarkable, almost miraculous. After defeating a demon boss one after another and breaking through a strange chess level, everyone's morale was greatly boosted, probably to unhealthy levels.
"What's next?" Lothar asked, looking at Duke expectantly.
"I don't know," Duke shrugged, a flicker of genuine uncertainty in his eyes. "The space in Karazhan is messed up. Like a toddler's toy box after a sugar rush. If we're lucky, we'll end up in Medivh's bedroom or study. If we're unlucky... well, let's not think about that."