But then—who exactly was that friend of Varian who was also heading to Dalaran?
Varian's friend…
Thinking about it, he pulled up the system interface.
His subclass still hadn't been chosen.
He had simply been too busy during this period—so busy he hadn't even had the time to sit down and think it through properly.
Now, at last, he had some breathing room.
Allen took a deep breath and summoned that familiar interface.
Three options lay there quietly, radiating an enticing glow.
[Draconic Sorcerer]
[Wild Sorcerer]
[Storm Sorcerer]
He stared at them for a long while.
Draconic Sorcerer—awakening draconic bloodlines, breathing fire, growing wings, and eventually transforming into a dragon… what man could refuse becoming a dragon?
Storm Sorcerer—wielding lightning, commanding wind and rain. That bolt of thunder he had called down when fighting the Death Knight—the feeling of controlling heaven and earth… that had truly been exhilarating.
Wild Sorcerer—full of uncertainty, yet also full of miracles. A spell might blow himself up… or it might turn the tide entirely. The romance of a gambler—those who know, know.
Allen sank into deep indecision.
"This is so hard to choose," he muttered. "Can't I just take them all?"
The system fell silent.
A moment later, that gentle yet hollow female voice echoed in his mind:
[Do you remember what I said? A sorcerer's charm and confidence can, at times, bend will into reality—forcing magic to yield to your body, even making the world itself favor you.]
"So—"
Allen froze.
[You can obtain the inheritance of all three subclasses at the same time. And in the future, you may even unlock more classes.]
"What?! That's actually possible?!"
[However—] the system paused, [you can currently only unlock one subclass sequence. Therefore, for now, you must still choose one to unlock first.]
Allen's eyes lit up.
If he could eventually unlock all of them, then what was there to hesitate about?
Pick the one he wanted the most first!
The upper limit of the draconic bloodline for a Draconic Sorcerer was merely the Five Dragon Aspects; the elemental source of the Storm Sorcerer ranked even lower than the Aspects in the Warcraft world; as for the Wild Sorcerer—sometimes it was born from exposure to certain forms of primal magic, and the primal magic of Azeroth…
Without hesitation, his finger pressed the second option.
[Wild Sorcerer Unlocked]
At that instant, Allen felt the entire world spin.
His consciousness was violently dragged into an unfamiliar space—there was no up, no down, no left, no right, no time, no space—only endless chaos churning.
Blinding light surged from all directions.
It was too bright—so bright he couldn't open his eyes. Yet even with them shut, he could still feel it.
Something was watching him.
It was a presence.
A presence so vast it defied description, lurking in the deepest depths of chaos.
It cast him a casual glance.
And that single glance was like countless stars collapsing at once, carrying the weight of eternity and the indifference of the cosmos.
Just one glance.
And then—
Allen was thrown out.
He snapped his eyes open, gasping for breath, only to find himself still sitting in his room. Outside the window, the night remained calm and quiet—everything as it had been.
But something inside him had changed.
A wild surge of magical energy coursed through his veins, roiling and churning like a beast trapped in a cage, ready to break free at any moment and roar.
That power did not obey control, did not follow rules—it longed to be unleashed, longed to destroy, longed to turn everything upside down.
[Trait Unlocked]
[Wild Magic Surge: When you cast a spell, there is a chance to unleash unshaped magical surges. Based on the result of a d100 roll, a random wild magic effect is triggered.]
[Tides of Chaos: You can harness the forces of chance and chaos to grant advantage on one roll of your choice. After using Tides of Chaos, your next spell will automatically trigger a Wild Magic Surge.]
Allen stared at the two traits, his lips curling upward uncontrollably.
In simple terms—Wild Magic Surge meant opening a blind box when casting spells, randomly producing strange effects. For example, your weapon might suddenly gain life, or you might suddenly grow fur all over your body.
As a sorcerer, what he needed to do was—
Let it surge!
Leave everything else to luck!
A truly powerful sorcerer had to have this kind of confidence!
[Main Quest Triggered: Greatness Needs No Words!]
[Fully explore the wild power within you! A sorcerer must put on a grand performance!]
[Objective: Cast one great spell 0/1]
[Reward: Random Mid-Tier Spells x2, Unlock 1 Subclass Sequence]
Allen's smile froze on his face.
Another abstract quest?
That last "weave a great lie" had taken him how long? From Goldshire to Darkshire, from Stormwind to Crystal Lake—lying to the heavens, the earth, and even a mother dragon.
And now this—"a great spell"?
What kind of spell even counted as "great"? Would a ninth-circle Meteor Swarm be enough? But he couldn't cast that yet. So what would qualify?
Allen scratched his head and decided not to think about it for now.
He stood up and put on a deep black cloak. With the hood drawn, most of his face was concealed.
Tonight, he still had something important to do.
...
Outside, the moon shone bright and the wind was gentle.
Allen slipped silently out of Stormwind Keep, passed through the empty streets, and used Dimension Door to leave the city.
The public cemetery in the northern outskirts of Stormwind looked especially quiet under the moonlight.
Allen Prestor, clad in black robes, walked alone among the rows of gravestones.
He did not hesitate. His direction was clear.
At last, he stopped before a simple grave mound.
Under the moonlight, a crude wooden marker stood quietly.
[Milana]
[May she rest in peace]
No surname. No dates. Just those simple words.
Allen stood there for a while, then took out a shovel.
He began to dig.
His movements were light, slow—as though afraid of disturbing the rest beneath the earth. Shovelful by shovelful, the soil was turned over and piled to the side. The moonlight stretched his shadow long behind him.
After digging for a long time, the shovel struck the coffin.
It was a crude, thin wooden coffin—not even painted, the wood already beginning to decay.
Allen gently pried open the lid, revealing the skeleton resting inside.
He took a deep breath and raised his hand.
Speak with Dead!
The familiar incantation flowed from his lips, ancient syllables drifting through the night wind.
The skeleton trembled.
Then slowly, it sat up.
And the moment it saw him, something that could only be described as "joy" seemed to appear on its face.
"Prestor… young lord…" the voice was hoarse and faint, yet filled with genuine happiness. "You…"
"Milana," Allen said, his voice calm and gentle. "I've come to fulfill my promise."
Within the hollow eye sockets of the skeleton, something seemed to flicker.
"Your wish—I've fulfilled it. The one your lady loves has received their token of affection. He will live well. They will be happy."
Milana's skeleton trembled slightly.
"So…" Allen's voice softened, "hearing this news—are you happy, Milana?"
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