In World of Warcraft, even a random green weapon from a newbie village could grant as much as +2 Strength.
Unlike the DnD system, where attribute values normally capped at 20, attributes in Warcraft were counted in the hundreds or even thousands…
That said, what would happen if attributes in the DnD system were stacked all the way to 100?
Wren slapped Allen on the back, snapping him out of his thoughts.
"What are you spacing out for? Get in already!"
With that, Wren flashed a grateful smile and pushed the door open, entering first.
Allen quickly followed. A wave of heat rushed toward him, accompanied by the innkeeper's enthusiastic greeting—
"Oh! Come on in, lads! A storm's about to break—grab a seat by the hearth and make yourselves comfortable!"
For some reason, the scene felt both warm and strangely familiar. Before he knew it, Allen had already taken a seat by the fireplace.
The innkeeper walked over, but before he could speak, Wren had already opened his big mouth: "Boss! Got any Sunblessed Vintage here?"
The innkeeper rubbed his bald head and clicked his tongue. "Heh, that's quite the peculiar taste. Sunblessed Vintage? That's the kind of cheap swill those Quel'dorei pointy-ears up north drink. We Stormwind folk don't touch that stuff."
Wren slammed his hand down on the table. A shimmering, radiant gold coin landed with a gleam.
"So—do you have it or not?"
My god, one gold coin!
Allen watched as the innkeeper snatched the coin at lightning speed and stuffed it into his pocket, swallowing hard.
"Ha! I've always said the customer comes first! Esteemed guest, just a moment—Sunblessed Vintage, coming right up!"
Before long, the perceptive innkeeper laid out a full table of fine food and drink. Allen didn't hold back. Ever since transmigrating, he'd felt like he'd been starving for ten thousand years—he devoured most of the dishes like a whirlwind.
At that moment, a Stormwind soldier who had just come off duty from a nearby table eyed the suspicious pair—dressed like rustic hunters, yet spending lavishly—and asked, "You two don't look like locals. Where are you from?"
With the system's prompts and Wren's full-of-holes disguise, Allen naturally knew he wasn't just an ordinary hunter.
But considering Wren had saved him, spent generously, and that he himself wasn't exactly clean either, Allen wasn't stupid enough to expose him.
So he stepped in to cover for him.
"Honorable warrior, greetings. I am Allen Prestor, from the Kingdom of Alterac. This is my retainer, Wren."
[Deception Check: 20 — Critical Success]
[The Prestor family—great nobles of the northern kingdom of Alterac. Fortunately, as someone raised in modern comfort, your mannerisms naturally carry a noble bearing. People instinctively accept your claim.]
"Esteemed Lord Prestor, I've heard of your family's renown. I pay my respects to your ancestors."
"Stormwind welcomes your arrival. And as for that 'Mad King' betraying the people of your kingdom… you have my deepest sympathies."
The inn's patrons immediately accepted this narrative, their attitude toward Allen turning respectful in an instant.
Only Wren's expression looked a bit off—but he didn't object.
Allen speculated that Wren saving him might not have been entirely pure. Perhaps he'd intended to blend in more easily by rescuing a local… only to find that the person he saved was also an "outsider with ulterior motives."
Allen had chosen to fake the identity of a "Prestor" noble because Alterac was far away—difficult to verify.
Besides, in World of Warcraft, impersonating members of the Prestor family was practically a time-tested scam.
After eating and drinking his fill, Allen sat by the window, watching the heavy rain outside. The excitement of truly being in a fantasy world refused to fade.
"Looks like we'll have to stay here for the night."
At some point, Wren had come up behind him, gazing out at the rain. The innkeeper trailed behind, all smiles and flattery.
"Honored guests, your rooms are already prepared—the finest luxury suite for your rest."
Allen, who had been freeloading the entire time, felt a bit embarrassed. Scratching his head, he leaned close to Wren and whispered, "Uh… no need to book two rooms, right? I can just make do—sleep on a chair in your room or something."
Wren's ear twitched. He shot Allen an annoyed glare but didn't explode. Instead, he murmured quietly, too low for the innkeeper to hear: "No need."
With that, Wren turned and headed straight upstairs to the guest rooms.
Allen watched his back, lost in thought.
Wren's peculiar taste… and that purple orb…
Allen recalled that in World of Warcraft, there was indeed an item shaped like a purple orb—Orb of Deception, capable of disguising the user as another race.
Putting it all together, Allen couldn't help but suspect—
Could the other party actually be a Quel'dorei high elf spy in disguise?
He hadn't really been trying to save Wren money earlier—he was probing something else.
Thinking this, Allen followed the innkeeper back to his room.
Looking at the luxurious, warm, and comfortable suite—paid for entirely with Wren's money—Allen quickly reached a conclusion.
Forget it. Whatever Wren is, he's definitely a good person!
After enjoying the room for a while, the excitement faded, and unease crept in.
Azeroth was not a kind place. It was fraught with danger—one misstep, and the conflicts of powerful figures could crush him to dust.
Outside, the storm intensified. The wind howled through the forest like an unseen beast breathing heavily.
Each flash of lightning illuminated the room in stark white for an instant before it sank back into dim yellow gloom.
Allen's heart skipped a beat.
Just now… was there something outside the window?
He hurried over and threw the latch open. The wind rushed in, sending a chill through him.
Leaning out, he saw only a pitch-black curtain of rain swallowing everything. The distant trees were nothing more than clawing silhouettes.
Just an ordinary rainy night.
At that moment, Allen remembered the worn dagger he had picked up in the grass earlier.
He carefully took it out. Under the dim firelight, he could see ancient patterns carved into the sheath. The grip's wrapping was tattered, and it felt unusually cold.
No matter what, a dagger that had triggered a system Religion Check couldn't be anything ordinary.
Allen tried to draw it—but the blade seemed rusted into the sheath. No matter how hard he tried, it wouldn't budge.
"Is my Strength too low? Did I fail a Strength check?" he muttered, panting as he gave up, staring at the mysterious dagger.
It seemed that if he wanted to uncover its secrets, he would first have to grow stronger.
After washing up, Allen lay down on the soft, silk-covered bed, forcing himself to sleep.
His body was exhausted, but his mind was abnormally alert. Thoughts churned endlessly—he tossed and turned, unable to fall asleep.
It went on until late into the night. Half-asleep and half-awake, he suddenly heard—
creak…
Did the door just open?
Allen jolted awake. Holding his breath, he lay perfectly still, eyes wide, staring toward the door.
But the room was pitch-black. He couldn't see anything.
Just as he wondered whether he was hallucinating from staying up too late, lightning flashed—followed by a thunderclap.
For a brief instant, the room lit up.
Six children stood silently at the foot of his bed.
Their faces were pale. Their bodies were drenched.
They stood in a row.
And slowly… they turned their heads to look at him.