Chapter 645

Chapter 645: Legacy of the Battlefield

Venturing deeper into the Great Wetlands, Jesse found himself far more at ease than during his last journey.

He knew this stretch of road well—the "main path" linking Menethil Harbor to Dun Algaz. But this time, they wouldn’t turn south toward Dun Algaz. Instead, before the bend, they’d push eastward into swamp depths untouched since the Wildhammer Dwarves abandoned Grim Batol over a century ago.

Neither the northern Stromgarde Kingdom, the southern Ironforge, nor even the departed Wildhammer Dwarves spoke openly of this place. Even the Explorer Association rarely surveyed these mountains.

Perhaps only invaders from another world would deem it fit for settlement.

After five days in the marshes, the group left the road, their boots sinking into mud as they advanced through fog-shrouded emerald gloom.

Years earlier, Orgrim Doomhammer’s Horde had clashed here with Anduin Lothar’s Alliance forces. Standing amid the silence, Jesse could almost hear phantom echoes—steel clashing, Orc roars, soldiers’ cries.

White mist blanketed everything. The desolate wetlands lay deathly quiet, broken only by the sticky squelch of their footsteps.

*Are those souls whispering?*

Jesse glanced at Greed and Vereesa. Neither seemed troubled by the swamp’s depths, both trudging ahead wordlessly.

River channels wove through the land, forcing constant crossings. While common even on main roads, most waterways here had dwarf-built stone bridges—or at least wooden replacements where stone had crumbled. Off the path, they waded straight through.

This posed little issue for Jesse and Vereesa, but for Greed, each crossing became an ordeal. Two would grip his arms, bracing against currents threatening to drag him under.

When impassable channels forced detours, their pace halved compared to road travel.

By dusk, their plan dictated finding rest. Yet the great marsh offered only sodden ground, vulnerable to flooding from nearby streams. Not one dry patch lay in sight.

Fluffy reeds towered everywhere, hiding the earth below. None could tell whether concealed waters or solid footing awaited beneath.

Fading sunlight seeped from the northwestern sea, piercing layered mists to drape half the world in shadow. The wetlands grew bleaker, more sinister.

Greed halted abruptly. "I’m walkin’ dizzy here."

"This is Wildhammer homeland, Greed." Vereesa took three steps forward before turning. "Yet you struggle most. Look at Jesse—a human without tough hide or sturdy feet."

Greed jabbed a thumb backward. "Check his sour face! Too worn out to even grumble."

"True enough," Jesse sighed.

Aside from Molofeel—who never tired while magic flowed—Vereesa seemed freshest. Her eyes scanned reeds and ponds before fixing ahead.

"There—a resting spot. Follow me." Jesse squinted where she pointed but saw nothing.

"What’d she spot?" Greed muttered.

"Dunno," said Jesse.

They trailed Vereesa until a slanted shadow emerged—a stone slab jammed into muck, its broken edge slamming earthward to form a platform.

Like a sky-fallen monument, the clearly dwarven-crafted stone lay isolated, no other structures in sight.

Greed scrambled onto it, flopping flat. He yanked off boots and flung them aside. "Feet finally freed! This filth was rotthin’ my toes."

Vereesa scanned the area. "Search for firewood. I’ll hunt food."

Greed cocked his head. "Why not whistle up beasts with that wild-callin’ trick o’ yours?"

"Possible," Vereesa eyed the sinking haze-blurred sun. "But malice hangs thick here. I’d rather not attract attention. A whistle might summon more than swamp creatures—Murlocs, perhaps…"

"Or Mire Beasts," Greed added, stretching out. "Your task then, Elven Wisp. Toads’d be welcome too."

"Can’t hear any toads croaking," Jesse remarked.

Staff in hand, he nudged reeds by a stream, hoping to startle amphibians. Instead, his wand brushed something round and pallid.

The object tugged at his staff—a faint but insistent pull. He tightened his grip.

The white shape swirled in the water, resolving into a human face.

No skeleton—this waterlogged visage had soaked endlessly yet showed no bloating or severe decay. Sunken cheeks framed grotesquely bulging eyes that strained against thin eyelids.

Corpses in marshes were no shock; the war had ended just four winters past.

But Jesse couldn’t tell if it was a burly human soldier or a dwarf—ears gone, hair unidentifiable.

He swallowed. "Greed! Thought you said crocs cleaned the dead here?"

"Eh?" Greed’s voice carried from the slab.

Before Jesse repeated himself, a faint stench wafted—not decay’s reek, but the oily taint of shadow.

Vereesa froze mid-boot adjustment, gaze snapping toward Jesse. He looked back at the head.

*It was now staring directly at him.*

*Undead?!*

Beside it, a rust-caked, slightly curved blade breached the water’s surface—a Stromgarde or Kingdom of Lordaeron infantry sword. Lifted as if by invisible hands, it rose steadily upright.

Vereesa watched the sword emerge, the water itself bulging around an unseen grip.

"What evil is this…" The dwarf sat up, rubbing his eyes.