Chapter 671

Chapter 671: Return to the Basement

Upon returning to Stormwind, Jesse’s first stop was to see the house he’d just bought from Lescovar.

He crossed the trade district to the northern canal, and by afternoon, he realized the walk from the city gate through the market hadn’t taken as long as expected. Getting to the Cathedral from here would take less than half an hour. The location was perfect—no wonder he’d chosen this place after careful thought.

The Garden District was awful. It wasn’t close to the Cathedral district, lay far from the trade market, and was nowhere near the city gates. Sure, it was closer to the harbor…

Worst of all, too many elves lived there, and Jesse disliked living alongside them. Thinking of Vereesa made his self-justification feel hollow.

But the deed was done. The Garden District’s proximity to the harbor meant trouble if Kul Tiras ever warred with the Kingdom of Stormwind and blockaded the port—coastal areas would be risky, right?

Satisfied with his reasoning, Jesse opened the door and entered his new home.

Molofeel appeared beside him, perching on a wooden chair by the fireplace and crossing her legs. "Is this the master’s new house? So big and beautiful."

"Needs renovations," Jesse said. "Once we clean it up and fix the broken parts, it’ll look better. Oh, I still need to collect my gold from Master Duchamp. It’s late now—I’ll bother him tomorrow morning."

"Are we sleeping here tonight, dear?" Molofeel asked, propping her chin on her hand.

"No," Jesse replied. "This house is for my parents someday. You staying here would harm their health."

"How sad," Molofeel sighed.

"Did you forget you’re a demon?" Jesse stared at her.

"She’s too into her role, master!" Saenor darted into the fireplace, glanced up, and turned. "She almost thinks she’s mortal now. Ha!"

The succubus whispered, "If the master let me taste some Red Dragon essence, maybe I’d believe I was a female Red Dragon too. I wouldn’t mind—Miss Molofeel’s just a carefree Sayaad Demon."

"The Life-Binder’s essence," Jesse murmured, eyeing the long-unlit firewood in the hearth as he slowly extended a finger.

Then he remembered: no fire magic here. Who knew what might go wrong?

He clenched his fist. "Not tonight. I’m saving my magic for a spell in the basement. I’m not rejecting you, Molofeel. Honestly, I’m grateful. Without you, we’d never have finished that trip to Grim Batol."

"No thanks needed. I only follow your orders, master." Molofeel kept her steady smile.

Jesse nodded. "Let’s leave. Back to the old place. Saenor, get in the bag."

"Why not buy your own house in Stormwind, master?" Saenor scampered over. "One with a dungeon—a big hall for summoning powerful demons, cells for demonic runes to trap Twisting Nether invaders…"

"…and an enchantment room where you could practice fire or shadow magic without wrecking the walls. No more sneaking to the forest or that cramped basement to test spells!"

"That’s not a house—it’s a castle," Jesse said. "I can’t afford that, Saenor. Even a place like this couldn’t handle demon summoning or dark magic. It’d be no better than my rented room. Forget it."

Saenor climbed Jesse’s chest and leaped into the open purple bag. "You killed the great black dragon! Saved the Red Dragon! Stormwind’s boy-king should reward you with a castle!"

"Even if he offered, I’d refuse," Jesse said. "The upkeep would bankrupt me unless the Red Dragon Queen paid me with gems from her crown. For now, I’ll fix up this house."

After settling the demons at home, Jesse changed into plain clothes, grabbed his Robe of the Void, and headed to The Slaughtered Lamb.

The robe needed serious repairs. Deathwing’s Shadow Flame and Grim Batol’s fires had only caused minor damage—a miracle, really.

But "minor damage" was fine among weary travelers. In Dalaran, or visiting his parents? Unacceptable.

He’d buy normal clothes for Lordaeron and leave the robe with Jalane for mending.

The Mage Quarter was as quiet as when he’d left a month earlier. News of the Red Dragon hadn’t arrived yet.

Greed had flown him back on a gryphon. The Khaz Modan messenger reporting Grim Batol’s orc situation might’ve been slower—few dwarves in Ironforge rode gryphons better than Greed.

At The Slaughtered Lamb’s entrance, Jarel wiped the door. Spotting Jesse, he said, "Hey, Jesse! Feels like weeks since you showed up."

Jesse watched him work, unfazed. Only a month had passed, yet it felt like a lifetime.

"Had business up north," Jesse said. "Came to test spells in the practice room. By the way—did Zardeth try summoning a Demon Guard?"

Jarel answered, "Demon Guards? No. Zardeth thought it unwise without you here. But they summoned another demon, bound it with your magic circle. It’s locked in a basement practice room now. Nobody can enslave it, but the circle holds it. Zardeth sealed the door with Dark Iron Dwarf runes, and Ursula’s Felhound Basadre is guarding it. Things haven’t spiraled out of control."

"Honestly, Jesse, I’m not even sure it’s a demon. Haven’t seen it myself, but Ursula says it’s just… a shadowy mass."

A Netherwalker?

They’d summoned a Netherwalker?

Netherwalkers were like shadow "elements"—chaotic energy tethered to reality.

Calm and steady, they repaired their forms by absorbing nearby shadow power. Unless obliterated instantly by overwhelming force, they were nearly impossible to kill.

Jesse had never seen one here. His curiosity flared.