"It seems the problem lies here. Should we go in and take a look?"
Although Allen was still asking with his mouth, his body had already started walking toward the room.
Farley followed behind while answering, "But after the last incident, we thoroughly cleaned this room. We didn't find anything strange."
Stella's big eyes looked timidly at that room, clearly afraid. She fumbled around on herself for a moment and pulled out two goblin grenades.
Weighing the two grenades in her hands, the fear in her heart was instantly dispelled by quite a bit, and she hurriedly caught up.
Allen was the first to walk in. Unexpectedly, everything inside the room was completely normal. It was just an ordinary guest room, except for…
In the very center of the room, on the floor, there lay a purple cloth bag.
Seeing this ordinary purple bag, Farley reacted as if he had seen something terrifying. He took two steps back, his face changing drastically.
"I remember now—th-this… this is the bag that messenger used to carry letters!"
Hearing this, Stella's small face stiffened. Her blue eyes blinked rapidly as she silently took a few steps back and retreated outside the door.
Although Allen was also quite scared, he still couldn't help stepping closer to the purple bag.
"Are you sure?"
"I'm sure! He's the only one around here who uses a purple mailbag! We thought he disappeared along with it. Turns out the bag was here the whole time."
Stella poked half her head out from behind the door and asked weakly, "Could this bag be cursed?"
Allen drew his short sword, crouched at a distance, and poked it with the tip. Nothing happened.
Stella slowly extended her whole head back in, and Farley also leaned closer to Allen.
"Who would be bored enough to curse a pile of letters?"
Seeing that nothing happened, Allen had already picked up the bag and started rummaging through it.
"Maybe one of these letters is tied to something shady."
[Perception Check: 19 — Success]
[The texture of the bag is unexpectedly fine. Its deep purplish-blue color stands in stark contrast to the rough letters inside.
At this moment, a luxurious letter catches your attention. The envelope is bound with a faded silver thread, and at the end of the thread hangs a cat's-eye gemstone bead, faintly emitting an ominous phosphorescent glow.
The instant you touch it, a cold prickling pain spreads across your fingertip, like being pierced by a fine needle.]
With the system's spoiler, Allen picked up the out-of-place letter. The envelope was made of thick parchment, and at its center was pressed a vertical eye weeping tears of blood.
[Religion Check: 1 — Critical Failure]
[You do not recognize this symbol, but it carries a certain profane distortion. The blood tears seem to be slowly sliding downward.
Most unsettling of all… that eye is looking at you.
No matter how you tilt the envelope, the pupil of the emblem remains locked onto your face.
The lighting in the room does not change at all, but you swear the vertical pupil is slowly contracting, like a predator adjusting to the darkness.
A chill seeps from the envelope into your fingertips, climbing along the veins of your arm, stirring in your ears a distant wail, like something crying deep underwater.
The surroundings suddenly become too quiet.
Thunder, wind, the rustling of leaves in the distance—all vanish.
Just as your fingers pinch the edge of the envelope, about to pull it out, the air suddenly freezes.]
As the narration whispered, six or seven new wraiths abruptly appeared in the room, baring their fangs and claws.
"AAAAAHHHH!!!"
Stella was still screaming, but with the system's warning, Allen had already begun chanting the spell for Grease. A large mass of pig fat splashed down at once.
However, only two of the wraiths slipped. The rest of the ghosts lunged toward them violently.
Allen felt it was over. He should never have let curiosity get the better of him. This wasn't a game—this was Azeroth, full of dangers. Old Gods, undead, demons—countless evil existences could take his life at any moment.
Stella raised her grenade, ready to pull the pin, screaming, "Run!"
Farley raised his gun, sparks flying. Time seemed to freeze…
No.
Time really did freeze.
Allen had just turned around when he realized he couldn't move. Then, he felt a woman whisper in his ear.
"Darling, you're about to die."
For a moment, Allen couldn't tell whether this was his system or some other being speaking.
"I can't bear to watch you die like this, darling. Come… give everything to me. Your name, your soul, your body and heart—offer them all to me. Serve me for the rest of your life, and I will grant you endless… power!"
"Who are you?"
"Who am I? I am your lover. I am your eternity. I am your love that transcends all things. I am your… master…"
Hearing this insane whisper, Allen immediately knew this was not a being he should borrow power from. He had no desire to turn into some indescribable horror in Azeroth.
So what should he do?
Let Stella detonate the grenade and die together with these ghosts?
But would the grenade even harm them?
At that moment, Allen saw it.
In the shadows of the corridor outside the door, a familiar figure.
Time began to flow again.
A rough voice shouted, "Run!!!"
Allen used all his strength to sprint forward, tackling Farley to the ground while grabbing Stella's ponytail. Stella was dragged along like a doll, screaming incoherently.
Right in front of them, Wren arrived. He stepped out from behind the doorframe, a light bow in hand, blazing with scorching flames!
"LTAKA!"
Explosive Shot!
A dazzling burst of fire shot out from the bow. Flames surged like serpents, igniting the grease on the ground. Magical fire soared into the air and exploded violently.
A massive shockwave blasted Allen and the others away.
Under the burning flames, the wraiths scattered like smoke, wailing and screaming as they vanished from the room.
Allen, thrown into the corridor, ignored the pain. Gritting his teeth, he rushed back into the raging fire, grabbed the unique envelope, then leapt forward and crashed into Wren's arms, burying his face in his chest and passing out.
Wren… godfather… dad!
You finally came!
W—Windrunner—no, Wren originally wanted to slap Allen away, but remembering her persona—she was Allen's retainer—she forcibly held herself back.
Farley, meanwhile, dropped to his knees, wailing loudly: "Put out the fire! Put out the fire! My inn—AAAHHHHH!!!"
...
When Allen woke up again, he saw bright sunlight outside the window.
"He's awake! Young Lord Allen is awake!"
A strange man shouted in surprise and opened the door.
He was Farley, the tavern owner of the Lion's Pride Inn.
Before long, a group of people rushed in.
Wren stood expressionless at the side. Stella was the first to throw herself beside Allen's bed, her ponytail bouncing as her face filled with joy.
"Benefactor! You're awake!"
Two days had passed since that rainy night.
The night before yesterday, Wren had captured the unlucky guest who had fled the inn in terror, only to find that he had already become a madman who spoke nothing but nonsense.
When she returned, she happened to witness the final moment before Allen was blown unconscious and saved them.
At the time, Allen had used his body to shield Farley and Stella, taking the brunt of the explosion. Afterward, he had rushed back into the fire to retrieve the letter, suffering burns of varying severity. Innkeeper Farley had specially invited Anita, a priestess from Northshire Abbey, to treat him.
Learning that he had been unconscious for two days, Allen couldn't help but feel that eleven Constitution was still too weak.
But Farley and Stella didn't think so.
In their eyes, Allen had taken a massive explosion head-on, yet woke up after just two days in bed and was already this energetic. His body was simply too tough—practically inhuman.
"The letter—where's the letter?"