Chapter 631

Chapter 631: Quel’Thalas

Returning home at night and opening the door, Jesse found the succubus sitting on the bed. She appeared ready to speak but seemed to notice something, ultimately staying silent as she quietly rose to make space for Jesse by the table.

The imp poked its head from the bag, observing its master’s every move. Jesse entered, lay on the inner side of the bed, and turned his back to the room.

The imp glanced at Molofeel, who returned the look—neither willing to break the silence. Jesse stared at the wall, his thoughts a whirlwind.

Should he tell Greed? Should he tell Vereesa?

Somehow, only he remained for the journey to Grim Batol.

Of course, even in Rhonin’s case, Vereesa and the dwarf leader Falstad Wildhammer hadn’t originally been part of the mission. Vereesa’s role was merely escorting Rhonin through the perilous Wetlands, while Falstad’s involvement was nearly accidental.

Like Jesse, Rhonin had been forbidden to disclose mission details. Initially, everyone believed Rhonin was simply sent by the Kirin Tor to scout for Orc traces in the Wetlands.

But why hadn’t Krasus mentioned escorts to Jesse? Was it because he hadn’t agreed yet? No, that couldn’t be it.

In another timeline, Vereesa was just a rookie fresh from Farstriders training—cooped up in Quel’Thalas for years, nowhere near becoming Ranger-General.

She’d missed the Orc War and the Alliance’s counteroffensive. Escorting Rhonin was her chance to prove herself as a true Windrunner, not some useless noble hiding in Silvermoon City during wartime.

Here, she stood on the verge of promotion to Ranger Lord. She needed no validation now.

Vereesa Windrunner—slayer of Gorefiend, the Burning Legion’s scourge at Nethergarde. And she’d just completed the Reliquary’s grueling mission. Another feat like this, and Sylvanas’s position as Ranger-General might shake.

Would a Ranger Lord even handle such dirty work? The Farstriders and Quel’Thalas royalty would never assign an escort mission to one.

Moreover, Krasus explicitly ordered Jesse to keep this secret—even from those closest to him.

Truthfully, Jesse already hesitated about telling Greed and Vereesa.

This mission bordered on suicide. Their foe wasn’t some exiled warlock or fugitive Orc necromancer, but Deathwing himself!

Rhonin’s success relied on bizarre coincidences… With nearly every element altered now, could Jesse replicate that outcome?

Bringing them along meant dragging them to their deaths. The thought made Jesse shove his face deeper into the pillow.

Could he refuse? If not him, then who? Rhonin?

In that other timeline, without Vereesa’s aid and trust, would Rhonin have survived the Wetlands?

Even if Rhonin were sent now, his escort wouldn’t be Vereesa. Besides—where the hell was this timeline’s Rhonin? Dalaran?

Jesse felt utterly lost.

He’d no idea how long he’d lain there wide-eyed, afraid to check his pocket watch. Sleep wouldn’t come tonight, yet he knew insomnia would wreck tomorrow. "Molofeel."

"Master."

"Put me to sleep… Wait."

"Hmm?"

"If I march to my death, will you follow?"

Molofeel chuckled. "To die is no great oath for a demon. Still, I’ve no wish to part from you."

"Your word suffices. Now make me sleep."

"As you command, Master."

Under Molofeel’s spell, drowsiness swiftly claimed him.

Jesse surrendered to her magic, closing his eyes peacefully… Soon, faint whispers seemed to coil around him. Then, as if startled by some unseen force, he jolted awake.

Cold… extremely cold.

Jesse instinctively recoiled and realized he was lying by a small stream, his hands soaked in the clear water.

Where was this?

He cautiously turned to look around but found his limbs stiff, his head throbbing and dizzy, unable to move at all.

Could someone help him?

The icy water flowing over his legs made him tremble, and it seemed that was why his legs felt frozen in place, losing all control.

He wanted to shout for help but only managed a faint “Ha… ha…” that quickly turned into a series of harsh coughs. “Jesse… Jesse!”

After a series of splashes, two slender arms wrapped around Jesse from behind, and a gentle voice said, “Be careful, Jesse, don’t fall.”

Was that Vereesa’s voice?

It sounded a bit different from the familiar Vereesa—this one was steadier—but he could still recognize it. “You zoned out again. You had been doing that a lot lately, dreaming strange things. Don’t think too much about it; it’s not good for your health.” Jesse tilted his head slightly, catching a glimpse of Vereesa’s silver hair falling beside her. His neck ached painfully, preventing him from turning to see her face. Meanwhile, his peripheral vision caught sight of the stream below.

In the rippling water, he saw a familiar face; Vereesa looked as soft and warm as ever, dressed in a deep blue gown, rolled sleeves revealing her pale arms, exuding happiness.

But the person she was holding, this unfamiliar old man, reminded him of the twisted gray trees in the Burning Steppes. Staring at the bark-like face, Jesse swallowed hard, feeling his throat burn like fire.

What made him feel worse was that the reflection’s neck twitched, almost like a sick crocodile blinking its eyes.

This was him, Jesse Seso, without a doubt.

“Did you catch anything, Jesse?” Vereesa whispered in his ear. “The kids in the garden are still waiting for the fish you caught.”

Jesse rubbed his eyes and glanced at the empty golden cage in his left hand. With great difficulty, he turned his neck to look toward the faint outline of the garden’s wooden wall.

“No, not yet.”

His voice sounded hoarse and weak.

“What’s wrong? You seem upset,” Vereesa leaned her head on his shoulder and asked. The rushing stream and the children’s laughter filled their surroundings; Jesse’s feet felt numb from the cold water. He lowered his head and said, “I’m just a bit tired. Go play with those elven kids; I’ll try again.”

“No rush, Jesse,” Vereesa smiled and replied. “The kids and I are quite patient. Those fish will listen to you. Also… remember not to use Shadow Magic to cheat.”

Jesse nodded, watching her swiftly run up the bank, like a graceful little deer.

He stared for quite some time until the leaping blue figure disappeared among the flowerbeds, unable to hold back another gulp. Just this simple action made the tearing sensation in his throat make him frown again.

He had an intense feeling—he was close to death.

This decaying body could barely support his soul; as a warlock adept in Black Magic, he was all too aware of it. But what on earth was happening?

Was it because he was too old… that he experienced intermittent memory loss? Alzheimer’s?

As Vereesa said, was he starting to see visions again, to daydream again, to babble nonsense again?

Jesse tried to recall where he was before, but his mind labored like gears of a Titan temple that hadn’t moved in hundreds of years, shaking off layers of dust.

Was this Stormwind? The Garden District? No.

Golden woods, a deep white sky.

Under the delicate floating clouds, orange and red dense canopies, and hints of blue and golden spires peeking through the trees, adorned with beautiful wing-like eaves.

Quel’Thalas.