Allen looked at the emaciated, almost unrecognizable Varian in front of him and couldn't help frowning.
"Brother, are you even holding up?" His tone was full of disdain. "I told you again and again—my sister is dangerous! Very dangerous!"
At the mention of that, Varian's face instantly darkened.
"You should be asking Shaw that!" His voice was hoarse and weak. "What the hell has he been doing? The head of SI:7, and he gets replaced that easily!"
As they spoke, Wren and the others squeezed their way in as well.
Allen helped Varian stagger to his feet.
Once steady, Varian suddenly grabbed Allen's arm, his eyes filled with urgency: "Tiffin! My wife! Have you seen her?"
Allen quickly patted the back of his hand.
"Calm down, calm down—we'll go find her right now."
At that moment—
Bang!
The door was violently pushed open.
A maid stood at the doorway, gripping a long spear.
She froze for a split second upon seeing the uninvited group inside. Then a flash of killing intent crossed her eyes, and she lunged forward with her spear.
Allen reacted instantly, raising his hand and pointing.
Tasha's Hideous Laughter!
[Saving Throw: Failed]
The maid froze mid-charge.
Looking down at her maid outfit, she suddenly found it absurd—utterly ridiculous—and burst into uncontrollable laughter.
The laughter grew louder, more hysterical, so much so that she could no longer maintain the magic transformation that required concentration.
Amid that laughter, her body began to twist and swell.
Something writhed beneath her skin, stretching it until the maid dress tore apart.
Her body grew taller, bulkier. Jagged bone spikes rose from her back, her face elongated, fangs and scales emerging.
A grotesque draconian stood before them, laughing madly.
Arcane Shot!
Wren reacted the fastest. A streak of light shot from her hand, striking the draconian squarely in the chest.
But its skin was as hard as iron. The arrow pierced only an inch before stopping completely.
The sharp pain snapped the draconian out of its laughter.
With a roar, it gripped its spear and charged at them.
Having climbed up in a hurry, Morgan wore no armor and carried no shield. In desperation, he grabbed a solid wooden cabinet nearby, hoisted it over his head, and met the spear head-on!
Bang!
The spear pierced into the cabinet door, wood splinters flying everywhere. Gritting his teeth, Morgan pushed forward with the cabinet.
Stella had also left many of her engineering gadgets behind. Panicking, she began chanting a spell.
With a rustling sound, a pile of steaming magical bread appeared out of thin air, stacking into a small hill.
Fortunately, the magical bread wasn't completely useless. The moment Varian saw it, his eyes lit up.
He was too weak—so weak he could barely stand. He grabbed a piece of bread and stuffed it into his mouth, devouring it as he rasped: "Allen! Give me a weapon!"
Allen drew the short sword at his waist and tossed it over.
Varian caught it. The moment the hilt settled in his hand, the fire in his eyes reignited.
Wren kept firing, each arrow precisely aimed at the draconian's eyes, throat, and the gaps between its scales.
Morgan, his body blazing with Holy Light, slammed the shattered cabinet down—
Judgment Strike!
Bang!
The cabinet completely shattered, yet the draconian merely staggered, growing even more enraged.
At that very moment, Varian moved.
Rage burned in his chest.
Rage toward the black dragon, rage at being controlled, rage at everything—
All of it condensed at the tip of his blade.
With a roar, he surged forward like an enraged lion, leaping high into the air!
Thunder Clap!
Wrapped in overwhelming force, the blade came crashing down from above, piercing straight into the draconian's skull and driving through.
The draconian's roar cut off abruptly.
Its massive body swayed twice before crashing heavily to the ground.
Varian panted heavily, staggering a step, nearly collapsing. Allen quickly caught him.
"Let's go," Varian said, pushing him away. His voice was hoarse but resolute. "Find Tiffin."
The group rushed out of the room.
In the adjacent chamber, Tiffin Wrynn lay quietly on the bed, as if asleep.
Her face was pale, her brows tightly knit, as though trapped in a nightmare.
Varian staggered to her bedside, grasping her hand, his voice trembling: "Tiffin… Tiffin! Wake up!"
"Let me."
Morgan stepped forward.
Standing by the bed, he took a deep breath, clasped his hands together, and prayed softly: "O Holy Light, you are the bane of all corruption, the end of all darkness. Hear your servant's prayer. With your radiance, cleanse this body of all that does not belong to her."
Golden light flowed from his palms like a warm tide, gently enveloping Tiffin's entire body.
The moment the light touched her, strands of black mist seeped out from her mouth, nose, and ears, dissipating within the Holy Light.
Her eyelashes trembled.
She opened her eyes. The first thing she saw was Varian's gaunt, anxious face.
"Varian…" Her voice was weak, yet carried a gentle smile. "You're alright… that's good…"
Varian pulled her into his arms.
"I'm fine. You're fine… everything's fine now…"
Tiffin raised her hand, gently touching his face.
"As long as you're alright," she whispered. "That's all that matters."
The warm moment had just begun—when shouting and the clash of steel erupted outside.
Blades collided, roars and cries echoed through the night, coming from elsewhere in Stormwind Keep.
Allen suddenly stood up.
"It should be Teron Gorefiend. He's been lurking in Stormwind. My guess is—he's after the Book of Medivh."
Wren glanced at Allen. This was the first time he had suddenly brought up the Book of Medivh as a theory.
Allen looked at Varian: "You're in this condition. Better give me a signet ring or something—let us handle it."
Varian raised his head.
"No."
"What, that stingy?" Allen raised an eyebrow. "It's not like I won't give it back."
"No." Varian braced himself against the bed and slowly stood up. "What I mean is—I'm going too."
Allen sized him up from head to toe.
"In your condition?" he said bluntly. "Aren't you afraid your royal expedition will end with you dead halfway there?"
Varian shot him a glance, a hint of disdain in his eyes: "Then maybe you should look at yourself. You look exactly like an evil black mage. If you show up wearing my signet ring, who exactly are my soldiers supposed to attack?"
Allen was momentarily speechless.
Tiffin gently held Varian's hand, looking at him tenderly.
"Go," she said softly but firmly. "Don't let your people worry. I'll be here, waiting for you."
Varian leaned down and placed a kiss on her forehead.
Then he straightened, his gaze sweeping across everyone present—finally settling on Morgan.
"Morgan."
Morgan stiffened. "Yes!"
"Can you carry me down?"
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