Baron Wittback plopped down onto the soft couch and spoke smugly: "Good news? Of course it's great news—huge news!"
"At today's council meeting, I egged old Clayton on to impeach that pretty-boy royal magic advisor in front of the king—and it actually worked!"
His wife paused mid-sip, surprised, and looked at her husband.
"The king summoned that black wizard to the council chamber on the spot, berated him harshly in front of everyone, and even revoked his appointment." The baron grinned so widely the fat on his face trembled.
He paused, his tone carrying a hint of regret: "Shame, though. That black wizard was so scared he pissed himself and immediately offered up his most prized ritual dagger to Clayton as an apology. You should've seen that dagger—one look and you'd know it wasn't ordinary."
He smacked his lips, the more he thought about it, the more regretful he felt: "If I'd known, I would've gone up myself. Could've gotten a treasure for free."
His wife gently advised: "You shouldn't be so harsh. That advisor looked quite handsome—he didn't seem like a bad person."
Baron Wittback's face instantly darkened.
"Handsome?" He suddenly sat upright, eyes wide. "What do you mean? You were staring at that pretty boy?"
"I… I just meant…"
"Meant what?!" Spit flew as he yelled into her face. "I think you're asking for a beating! Daring to praise another man in front of me?"
Cursing under his breath, he stood up.
"I'm sleeping at Elena's place tonight! Stop getting in my way!"
...
Late at night.
Baron Wittback impatiently pushed open his lover's bedroom door.
His beloved Elena sat on the edge of the bed with her back to him, her golden curls cascading down, stirring his imagination.
"My little darling…" The baron swallowed, lunging forward impatiently.
He wrapped his arms around that slender figure, leaning in eagerly, planting a forceful kiss on that pale neck.
After kissing for quite a while, he suddenly froze.
That sensation… rough, shriveled… and carrying a nauseating stench of rot.
He abruptly raised his head and, by candlelight, saw the face in his arms.
It was a withered, decaying face. The skin was ulcerated, and dry gray strands of hair clung to the scalp in clumps.
That thing split its mouth open, revealing a toothless grin at him.
"AHHH—!!!"
Baron Wittback let out a blood-curdling scream, scrambling off the bed and bolting out the door.
He stumbled into the corridor, gasping for breath.
The familiar hallway now seemed endless. The candlelight on both sides flickered, casting twisted shadows.
Ahead, a figure was swaying as it walked toward him.
Its steps were stiff and unnatural, as if being pulled along by something unseen.
Closer.
Closer.
Wittback saw that face clearly.
It was old Clayton—the noble he had instigated to impeach the black wizard!
Clayton's eyes were hollow, a strange smile hanging on his face.
He held something in both hands, raised high, as if offering a precious treasure.
It was a dagger.
"Y-you… what are you doing?"
Clayton did not answer.
He walked up to Wittback and slowly knelt.
That hollow face lifted, and in a voice that did not belong to him, he muttered strange words—each syllable scraping against the eardrums like a blade.
Then, he raised the dagger.
Aimed it at his own throat.
Shhk—!
Blood gushed out, splattering all over Wittback's face!
Clayton knelt there, a gurgling sound coming from his throat.
"Pu… pull it… out… pull it out… it's yours now…"
"AAAAAAHHHHH—!!!"
Baron Wittback jolted upright in bed, drenched in cold sweat, his heart nearly bursting out of his chest.
It was still before dawn. Outside the window, it was pitch black.
His wife, awakened by him, hurriedly sat up and leaned over in concern. "What's wrong? A nightmare?"
Wittback panted heavily, the terror still lingering in his eyes.
He stared blankly at his hands.
No blood.
It was a dream.
All of it… just a dream…
But he didn't relax.
He suddenly threw off the covers, rushed out barefoot, and shouted into the corridor: "Servants! Servants!!!"
Several half-asleep servants hurried over.
"The letter I sent to old Clayton today—where is it?!"
The servant froze for a moment. "My lord… it was already sent. It was delivered in the evening."
Wittback's face instantly turned deathly pale.
"Get it back!" He lunged at the servant like a madman, grabbing his collar. "Quick! Send someone to retrieve it! Right now!!!"
...
The next day.
Allen, who had used Dream for the first time the previous night—thoroughly scaring a circle of gossiping nobles—woke up refreshed and in high spirits.
The first thing he did after getting up was glance at his status panel.
...
Name: Allen Prestor
Race: Human
Class: Wild Sorcerer
Strength: 14 (A once-in-a-thousand martial prodigy!)
Dexterity: 16 (Who would've thought you were a sickly weakling just a month ago?)
Constitution: 17 (Kid, ever considered making a living by selling blood?)
Intelligence: 28 (The Goddess of Magic, Mystra, will favor you.)
Wisdom: 27 (You perceive the world entirely differently: stones smile, flowers sing, and even the breeze whispers secrets only you can hear.)
Charisma: 32 (Stop. Just stop already.)
Unassigned Attribute Points: 10
Learned Spells: Meteor Swarm, Chain Lightning, Dream, Commune, Polymorph, Dimension Door, Speak with Dead, Knock, Tasha's Hideous Laughter, Grease, Speak with Animals, Shield, Comprehend Languages
Traits: Wild Magic Surge, Tides of Chaos
...
That's right—the newly acquired 10 free attribute points hadn't been assigned yet.
First, he was worried that pushing certain attributes too high might cause issues like what had happened with Arcane Intelligence—almost crippling himself.
Second, he was considering whether to invest in physical attributes, since his only real weakness now was how fragile he was.
Third, the future would bring all kinds of situations. Keeping some unassigned points meant he could adapt to specific circumstances when needed.
Moreover, in the days after unlocking Xal'atath's true form and defeating the Death Knight to gain rewards, he had often felt dizzy, with faint headaches.
After a few days, the symptoms improved significantly.
It seemed his body needed time to adapt to the increase in attributes—especially mental ones.
Closing the panel, Allen picked up his packed belongings and stepped out.
Meanwhile, in the reception hall of Stormwind Keep, the atmosphere was so tense it was almost suffocating.
Morgan stood at the doorway, his mouth wide enough to fit a fist.
He looked at the silver-haired, sharp-eared high elf in front of him, then glanced around, then looked back at her again.
Stella sat in her chair, her little head swaying left and right, scanning the elf repeatedly.
She had always thought she was the only girl in their benefactor's group.
But now…
She looked again at Vereesa.
At her face.
At her figure.
At that bulging purse at her waist.
Stella lowered her head in defeat.
She had lost.
Completely.
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