Chapter 641

Chapter 641: Another Debt

“Ha, you actually remembered what I told you! Others would’ve forgotten long ago or wouldn’t even listen!” The dwarf laughed and continued, “Though my mother changed my name, I always recalled why my father called me that. I knew someday I’d return to Grim Batol as a true Wildhammer warrior. You’ve got more reason than me, eh, Vereesa? I’d waited decades for this day, so when I realized that guy was heading to the Wetlands to die, I knew exactly what he was up to—and I couldn’t stay out of it.”

“Don’t even mention orcs; even Deathwing, ha.” He drained his beer and said, “So what? Damn it, who we’re up against doesn’t matter! If Mosa Woodmane learned I let you risk your life while I hid doing nothing, she’d never marry me. That coward wouldn’t be the Greed Thunderfist she knows.”

Vereesa listened to the dwarf ramble and nodded. “I couldn’t just watch either, Jesse. I truly don’t understand your thinking.”

Jesse stayed silent, but their words hit his mental defenses harder than the black dragon’s threats. Just this brief talk left him feeling close to losing control of his emotions.

He knew if he slipped up—if Deathwing believed he truly meant to free the Red Dragon Queen or destroy the Demon Soul—everything would end too soon.

That black mark still burned on his arm.

“How’d you get here?” he asked.

“Goergette—didn’t you spot him? He’s outside,” Greed said. “I went to borrow a gryphon from Stormwind, and there was Goergette! My bond with him… how to explain? He ignored the gryphon administrator the moment he heard my footsteps. That administrator was a Bronzebeard from Ironforge—he couldn’t grasp the brotherly tie between an old gryphon rider and his mount. Frankly, you wouldn’t get it either, Jesse.”

Ah, Goergette. Jesse had nearly forgotten that gryphon’s name—the massive one that carried Greed and him against the Vile Bats and Doomguard that night.

He should’ve remembered instantly. Maybe he’d avoided memories of Greed and Vereesa, having just accepted he’d face Grim Batol alone.

“Why’d you think I came to the Wetlands with other goals?” he asked.

“Ha.” Greed chuckled. “Only a fool wouldn’t spot it.”

“He said you’d leave all the money to him,” Vereesa cut in.

Jesse recalled his words—they did sound like final arrangements.

But back then, his mind swirled with Deathwing and that Quel’Thalas dream, leaving no room to explain calmly.

“Right, but—”

“Save it, Jesse.” Greed interrupted. “I told that agent to delay the renovations and had your orcish teacher, Master Duchamp in the Mage Quarter, hold the coin. He’s decent, cares about you—trustworthy. I’d considered giving it straight to the king—I’m a Nethergarde hero, he’d definitely help—but I trust Varian Wrynn, not the king’s circle. So the Mage Quarter felt safer.”

Vereesa told the dwarf, “You should’ve taken the money to Quel’danil.”

Greed snapped, “I traveled light—no extras. Goergette’s big, but he flew thousands of miles in ten days! Lugging that coin would’ve cost time. With all that weight, could he’ve reached Menethil Harbor before you left?”

Jesse nodded. “Master Duchamp’s reliable—it’s fine, Vereesa.”

“Fine,” Vereesa conceded reluctantly.

“So,” Jesse said, “you just rode the gryphon to Quel’Thalas?”

“Course.” Greed waved his empty mug northward. “I hit the Hinterlands, had a woman there contact the Windrunner. Only mighty Goergette could’ve done it. Swap gryphons? Not one from Hinterlands or even Alterac could manage it. Not every rider could either. Like I said—it wasn’t you or anything else that brought me. Fate decreed only I can help you. No one else.”

“No one else, huh?” Vereesa said flatly. “Your dear friend Mr. Goergette devoured two weeks of dragonhawk rations at Quel’danil in two days—enough for two dragonhawks! Was that stash for you? Without it, does he have strength to fly back?”

Greed cleared his throat. “Not eating would’ve wasted it.”

“Wasted?” The ranger sighed deeply. “I’ll answer for that when I return. Damn it, I’m about to become Ranger Lord! If this delays or ruins it, I’ll pluck every gray feather off that chicken-headed beast outside myself!”

“Ungrateful,” Greed muttered. “Thought you differed from Quel’Thalas elves.” As the elf bristled, Jesse murmured, “Thank you both.”

“A ‘thank you’ settles it?” Greed jabbed a finger at Vereesa. “Pay Quel’danil back later—don’t wreck her chance at that title.”

“Ranger Lord.” Though Vereesa still fumed, her anger had faded. “Ranger Lord,” Greed echoed.

“Absolutely,” Jesse said.

“Anyway,” Greed went on, “Goergette can’t take us to Grim Batol. Felt him straining on the return—we should switch gryphons… but three of us won’t fit a regular one.”

Jesse said, “Even if Goergette could, we shouldn’t fly. Grim Batol’s swarming with Orc dragonriders. We’d lose airborne, can’t hide our trail, and risk more trouble.”

Vereesa added, “Jesse’s right. Even Goergette’s size won’t handle young dragons—and the Dragonmaw Orcs won’t have just one.”

Greed waved a hand. “Save it for later—drink now.” Vereesa warned, “Our mission’s urgent—and you’re drinking?”

“Know how vast the Wetlands are?” Greed retorted. “Drink up today—once we’re in Grim Batol’s mountains, you’ll forget beer existed.”

He slapped the table and barked, “Boss! Three more dark ales!”

“I’m not drinking,” Vereesa said. “You two enjoy.”

“Then make it four!”