Azeroth Monster Manual

After the 2V2 arena match, there was a one-day buffer period. At this time, Aire was sitting by Kael's bed, discussing some matters regarding the 3V3 arena match the next day with Romans and Kael'thas.

"Ugh..."

A weak groan sounded, and Kael's bloodshot and swollen eyelids twitched slightly.

"Tch."

Romans snorted disdainfully, but stared unblinkingly at the elf lying on the bed.

The complex look in his eyes was evident, and Romans didn't seem to know or want to admit that...

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This tenacious "pariah" had already gained his approval.

Kael's pupils were bloodshot, his eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. After a long time, he seemed to regain his senses and finally saw the group of people by the bed.

"Aire... Lord."

He struggled to get up, but his fractured limbs had already been put in casts.

Aire gently pressed on his shoulder and shook his head. There was relief and appreciation in his eyes.

"Lie down first. It's a pity that there are no priests in such a large Dalaran. I have already sent someone to the nearest church to invite a priest to come. Please bear with it a little longer..."

"Lord Aire, I..."

Kael was a little excited. The slightest movement tore the newly stitched wound on his chest, and bright red bloodstains spread on the white bandage.

"Hiss!"

The elf, who was fearless in the arena, was now wincing in pain, which made the group of people find it a little funny.

"I order you to lie down, Kael Sunflame."

"Yes... Yes, Lord Aire."

Aire ignored him and beckoned everyone to turn around and leave. Just as he was about to walk out of the door, he suddenly turned his head and said with a smile to the frustrated elf:

"Our cause needs warriors like you. Your life is no longer your own from the day you swore to follow me, understand?"

"Yes!"

Kael shouted loudly, his eyes a little moist. Lord Aire's words made everything he had sacrificed worthwhile. He had finally proven his value.

...

"Lucky kid."

The group of people walked slowly on the streets of Dalaran, like tourists visiting.

Romans walked impatiently behind Kael'thas. He couldn't get a word in edgewise during the conversation between the prince and Aire, so he could only mutter to himself in a depressed voice.

"He's not a lucky kid. He's ten thousand times stronger than that incompetent softie you sent."

Hemit, who was also following behind Aire, retorted disdainfully.

"You uncouth dwarf..."

Romans was furious. He had been feeling very frustrated these past few days. The old dwarf's words reminded him of Quinthas's tragic death and the predicament he faced when he returned to Silvermoon City, which made him feel very ashamed and afraid.

As the Grand Magister, second only to one person, after arriving in this unfamiliar city, it seemed that everyone was targeting him: Antonidas, Aire... even that lowly commoner mage.

And now, this uncouth, lowly dwarf could actually bully him?

"Hm?"

Hemit rolled up his sleeves, and gray stone skin quickly covered his entire arm.

The already unusually thick arm swelled up instantly, becoming taller than Romans's entire person in the blink of an eye. The dwarf's short body paired with such a large and frightening arm was indeed a bit comical.

The Grand Magister, who was originally bursting with anger, seemed to have been splashed with a basin of cold water and immediately withered.

Can't afford to provoke, can't afford to provoke.

The moment he saw the stone arm, Romans seemed to recall something and his heart began to beat wildly. With his vast knowledge, he naturally recognized what it was.

'Damn it, where did that greenhorn bookworm find so many monsters? First, that unkillable cockroach, and now this dwarf with Bronzebeard bloodline. What's even more outrageous is that this dwarf is actually a Mountain King?'

"Hmph, keep your eyes open in the future, long ears. Old Hemit isn't someone to be trifled with."

The old dwarf put his arm back to its original shape as soon as he achieved his goal. He scratched his nose triumphantly and made a rude gesture to Romans.

Romans quickly followed Aire and Kael'thas, who were completely unaware. The moment he turned his back to Hemit, he unobtrusively wiped the cold sweat from his forehead.

When Romans was 500 years old, he was still a young elf. Fearless and unafraid, he began his adventure traveling the Eastern Kingdoms.

→

1000 years ago, the dwarves had not yet experienced the War of the Three Hammers. The Bronzebeard, Dark Iron, and Wildhammer clans had not yet separated. That was the most prosperous and flourishing era of the dwarves.

His curiosity piqued, he wanted to learn about dwarven culture, so he came alone to the snow-covered Dun Morogh, preparing to witness the splendor of the city of miracles - Ironforge.

Romans would never forget that day. A shadow that blotted out the sky swept over his head, and black, fiery breath was unreservedly spewed onto the gates of Ironforge.

It was a crazed black dragon.

Romans's legs went weak, and he stood abruptly on the spot, unmoving.

The adult black dragon quickly spotted him, ignoring the already melted stone gates and the dwarven guards scattering and fleeing.

Romans tried to slap his disobedient thighs, but to no avail. He was frightened by this behemoth and completely forgot that he was still a mid-level mage.

The elf, trembling like a sieve, quickly despaired. The huge red pupils and the black scales the size of shields were clearly visible. The adult dragon was already very close to him.

"Hah!"

Just as Romans closed his eyes and waited to die, a deafening roar startled the elf.

A gray figure, even larger than the dragon, appeared in Romans's eyes. The ground rumbled and shook, the sound of a giant running wildly.

...

The dwarf grabbed the dragon's neck and began to tear at the behemoth's wings.

The dragon struggled frantically, spewing out a torrent of dragon breath, but the giant continued to exert force as if unaware.

'Magic... magic immunity'

Romans sat slumped on the ground in stunned silence. In reality, the demigod only had higher magic resistance, but the elf, who had already lost his ability to think, mistakenly believed that the giant possessed magic immunity.

...

The battle ended quickly. The giant snapped the dragon's neck, and amidst the cheers of the guards and civilians who had rushed to the scene, the giant returned to its original form. It was actually a dwarf covered in blood!

Romans stared blankly at the dwarf being tossed up and down again and again by the dwarves, listening to the people shouting the name "Bronzebeard."

He would never forget that day, never forget that dwarf named Bronzebeard, never forget the mournful wail of that adult dragon as it died, never forget the huge dragon head stuck on the wooden stake at the gates of Ironforge, never forget...

...

Kael'thas turned his head back with some displeasure. Romans was too close to him, but he quickly noticed the problem. The Grand Magister's forehead was covered with sweat, and his lips were trembling slightly.

"Romans, Romans?"

"Ah? Your Highness?"

Romans was startled and reflexively raised the magic wand at his waist. When he saw that it was Kael'thas calling him, he belatedly hid the magic wand behind his back.

"You..."

The prince looked at him suspiciously. The Grand Magister's panicked appearance was a bit suspicious.

"I'm just a little worried, yes, I'm just a little worried about tomorrow's 3V3 arena match."

Romans laughed and said reluctantly.

"This kid was scared out of his wits by old Hemit's strength. Show me some respect when you talk to me in the future, got it? Brat."

Hemit crossed his arms akimbo, pretending to be imposing, and said loudly to the prince. His smug appearance made Kael'thas's blood pressure gradually rise.

"Haha, that's the funniest joke I've ever heard. What makes you so conservative even in your dreams, huh? Old Hemit."

"Bullshit, I'm a Mountain King, demigod, you know? That's a special skill that only real men can have. Someone delicate like you should just go home and play with your dolls."

...

The tall and short figures hurled trash talk at each other without any regard for their image.

Aire helplessly covered his forehead. Kael'thas, who had just been discussing tactics, had been led astray.

Even Aire thought that Hemit, the bragging king, was exaggerating. How could an earthling who had just had a bloodline reversion scare Romans, the newly promoted Grand Magister.

Logically speaking, you should at least follow the basic rules when bragging, right?

Aire thought to himself, but he didn't notice that the panic in the Grand Magister's eyes had increased. Perhaps that undefeated giant from 1000 years ago had left an indelible psychological shadow on Romans, who was still very weak at the time.