Azeroth Monster Manual

The night in Quel'Thalas was filled with stars, and a cool, comfortable breeze blew through. An elderly elf sat in his small courtyard, puffing on his pipe.

The fine纹路 on the brown pipe had long been smoothed by the elf's years of caressing, and several crooked letters were faintly visible on the side of the pipe.

This was a gift from a dwarven friend he had met a thousand years ago.

Although he didn't like smoking, he had always regarded this pipe as a treasure. When he had nothing to do, he would take it out and play with it for a while, which would remind him of that deep and sincere friendship.

The person was gone, but the feeling had not dissipated…

A violent cough sounded, and Martin's old face turned red. He still wasn't used to the spicy, choking tobacco of Dun Morogh.

This elf was already very old. Although he was only over 2000 years old, his military career in his youth had destroyed one of his legs. Although the leg had been reattached under the priest's healing, it had left him with a lifelong disability.

In addition, some hidden injuries on his body made him prematurely aged, making him look like a dying old man.

He grabbed a flyer from the table, and tears fell from Martin's turbid eyes.

The square flyer did not have any exquisite illustrations or seductive language, but simply posted the elf data of unnatural deaths directly or indirectly caused by blood thistle over the years.

Just simple numbers seemed so shocking, and behind these monotonous numbers were vivid lives.

In the center of the flyer, four characters were written in bright red ink:

"Blood for Blood."

When he saw these four words, the flame that had been extinguished in Old Martin's heart seemed to be rekindled.

He stood up impulsively, tremblingly walked into the hut, picked up the bow and spear hanging on the wall, and was about to rush out to fight those dirty aristocratic masters.

But he hadn't taken two steps when he saw the small figure on the bed.

Under the moonlight, Old Martin could clearly see the sweet expression on the little girl's delicate face, and her two slender, long ears moved unconsciously, which was extremely cute.

The flame that had just been ignited in Old Martin's heart was extinguished like this. He shed turbid tears again. He couldn't, he couldn't let his only granddaughter be implicated.

In the quiet night, there was a slight "crackling" sound from the burning tobacco and Old Martin's violent coughing in the small courtyard from time to time.

Until the sky turned fish-belly white, Old Martin had not moved at all, but the "bloody" flyer on the table quietly disappeared.

…

Under the bloodshot pupils were dark circles under his eyes, and the pipe in his hand had long been extinguished. If it weren't for the slightly undulating chest, if someone saw Martin's current appearance, they would definitely think that this elf was dead.

Martin's heart was indeed dead. His children died in their own farm because they refused the noble's contract to buy the farm, leaving him only a lovely granddaughter…

He had a sea of blood and deep hatred buried in his heart, but he did not dare to take revenge. The old soldier's bloodiness could no longer be seen in him.

Just as Martin was immersed in his memories, a crisp "tuk tuk" sound rang out.

Ignoring the knock, he just sat quietly in the courtyard.

"Who is it?"

A soft voice sounded, and the little girl walked out of the hut sleepily.

"Jennifer, go back quickly!"

Old Martin shouted, and limped quickly to the little girl, grabbing her forearm.

"Grandpa… you're hurting me."

The little girl's crying voice awakened the restless Martin.

"Go back quickly, close the door, Grandpa will protect you."

Martin knelt down with difficulty, looking at his granddaughter's timid little face as if he were looking at a treasure. He tremblingly kissed the little girl's forehead.

The little girl was very sensible. Under Old Martin's gaze, she hid in the hut and locked the door.

She knew that those bad uncles were coming again.

After seeing the little girl hide in the house, Old Martin quickly grabbed the bow and spear on the ground, and then carefully opened the door.

Unexpectedly, it was not the nobles' lackeys outside the door, but an elf who was even older than him.

After looking at him for a while, Martin was stunned in place, and even the spear in his hand fell without bringing him back to his senses.

"Martin, I didn't expect you to be here."

The old elf hugged Martin and laughed loudly.

"Barton… Legion Commander."

The dark eye sockets became red, and turbid tears fell again. Martin swore that this was the day he had cried the most in a thousand years.

Martin invited Barton to his hut. Under the little girl's fearful gaze, Barton picked her up and stuffed the magic crystals in his pocket into the little girl's pocket until she couldn't fit any more.

"Legion Commander, what are you doing? Such precious…"

Barton smiled and put his arm around Martin's shoulders, signaling him not to get excited.

The little girl stood there blankly, at a loss. Although she was still young, she still knew how precious the magic crystals in her pocket were.

'These magic crystals can buy several farms as big as mom and dad. With these crystals, grandpa will no longer have to limp to hunt, and I can go to the Falseline Academy to attend the magic enlightenment class.'

The little girl covered her pocket and thought happily.

Seeing that he couldn't persuade his former old superior, Martin sat back down.

The two excitedly talked about the great war a thousand years ago, sometimes talking about how many troll trash they had killed, and sometimes talking about who was a pus bag, and peed his pants for the first time on the battlefield…

Barton sighed silently as he looked at Martin's lame right leg.

Martin moved back embarrassedly, not knowing what to say.

"I'm sorry, Legion Commander, if it wasn't for my leg being so useless, that encounter…"

Barton grabbed Martin's hand and said with red eyes:

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"Don't say such things. The Farstrider Legion was able to win that difficult war because of your contribution and efforts. After the war, I have been looking for you…"

"Legion Commander…"

After the two exchanged greetings for a while, Martin finally couldn't help but ask:

"Legion Commander, I heard that after you retired, you went back to the Salona family as a butler. How do you have time now…"

Barton smiled without saying a word, and took out a flyer from the space backpack, which was exactly the same as the "Blood for Blood" flyer on Martin's table yesterday.

"You…"

Martin was stunned.

…

On this day, several great nobles not only sent evil slaves, but also sent thousands of private troops to the village to continue intimidating and abusing them.

Although they didn't know what the young man was going to do, taking away people's wealth was like killing their parents. Since they had torn their faces, don't blame others for revenge. These civilians were just appetizers. If the Salona family didn't stop, then…

Several stewards rode tall striders and rushed into the village first, but the villagers seemed to have been notified, and the entire street was empty.

The steward sneered, thinking that hiding at home would be fine?

The large troops behind followed closely. These private soldiers were well-equipped and could even be compared with those Farstrider Legions and Windrunner Legions stationed on the border.

Just as the steward led several evil slaves to rush into a villager's house to vent their anger, an unknown object was thrown out of the hut.

"Sir, look…"

The evil slave picked up the paper ball on the ground, held it over his head with flattering hands, and handed the paper ball to the steward.

When the paper ball was opened, it was exactly the flyer that the villagers received yesterday.

The steward looked at the flyer in his hand in astonishment, and then laughed out loud.

These civilians were afraid. After rampaging yesterday, they actually took the initiative to throw out the flyers today, which meant that the master's plan had succeeded.

Thinking of the master's instructions before leaving, the steward thought for a long time and decided to give up this house and change to the next one.

But strangely, when he led the evil slaves and private soldiers to the next commoner's house, the same scene as just now reappeared.

…

The steward's face hesitated, and the evil slave's arms were already full of flyers.

"What a fucking bad luck, let's go!"

The steward slapped the bird's back angrily and left with the evil slaves and private soldiers behind him.

Eir and Kael'thas stood in the air, watching everything that happened below. Not only this village, but the same thing was happening all the time in the entire South Eversong Woods.

Kael'thas looked sadly at the scattered flyers on the ground, wondering what he was thinking.

'Is this the human heart?'

Eir looked at the apprentice beside him, just smiled, patted Kael'thas on the shoulder, and the young man said softly:

"At nightfall, you and Barton each take 500 employees of Salona to set fire."

Kael'thas looked at the young man in astonishment.

"Mentor… if we do this, won't those nobles know that we are personally involved? Then what about your industry and family?"

The young man's mouth had a hint of disdain.

"It doesn't matter, let the flyers fly for a while longer."