Chapter 674

Chapter 674: The Influence Beyond the Flames

The next morning, Jesse stood in the Mage Quarter garden waiting for Professor Duchamp. He kept recalling how he’d burned the Felhound with the Scorch Curse yesterday.

He couldn’t summon demons again for a while. As Erlan Drudgemoor said, constantly summoning demons would let the Void corrode his mind into shadowy sludge… no laughing matter.

Yet staring at the winter-yellowed plants around him, he felt a faint urge to devour everything in flames… Lost in thought, Jesse suddenly smelled burning.

What the hell?

He panicked, frantically checking his hair. Then he spotted a hole burned into his linen shirt sleeve, a tiny ember still glowing.

Jesse pinched out the spark with his fingers. The searing heat on his fingertip… brought a flicker of pleasure. What had Alexstrasza done to him?

Just as he marveled at the fire element affinity from the Red Dragon Queen’s essence, a familiar figure passed nearby.

Caro Duchamp often visited The Blue Recluse around noon for coffee and reading, especially after morning classes. Jesse had frequently seen him rushing toward the tavern before, and today was no different.

He followed into The Blue Recluse. Duchamp already sat in a corner with coffee and two croissants, reviewing parchment documents. Jesse quietly paid Duchamp’s tab with the barkeep before approaching his Orcish teacher.

"Good afternoon, Master Duchamp."

Caro Duchamp glanced up. "Ah, it’s you, Jes… wait, your name—"

"Jesse Seso, Master." Jesse smiled. "You forgot my name."

"Not your name." Duchamp pointed opposite him. "Sit. I forgot that dwarf-language name of yours."

Jesse pulled out the chair. "That doesn’t matter, Master."

"Long time no see. You’ve changed, Jesse. Youth shifts daily." Duchamp lifted a croissant. "Hungry?"

"Ate at The Gilded Rose." Jesse shook his head. "Actually, I came to—"

Duchamp sipped his coffee, then brightened. "Right! Your money’s still with me. Your dwarf friend Greed Thunderfist asked me to safeguard it. I’ll take you to my place later."

"Thank you, Master." Jesse nodded.

"How’s your Orcish practice?" Duchamp asked. "That language will grow more important. A waste to abandon it."

"I have." Jesse answered truthfully. "Practiced just days ago."

"Rare dedication." Duchamp sighed. "I used to arrange shelter visits for students. But in Lordaeron, Orcs bribe humans with stolen gold to contact shelters and plan jailbreaks. Such opportunities vanish now. Real conversations accelerate learning."

"Couldn’t agree more, Master."

Jesse meant it—though he’d never seek such "intensive practice" again. Elven Sayaad Language? Maybe. Orcish? No.

After retrieving his coin chest—over sixty gold pieces, plus contracts and deeds—from Duchamp’s Wizard’s Sanctum residence, Jesse felt life returning. Next stop: decent clothes.

He entered Larson’s shop clutching his chest. Mr. James Larson dozed at the counter, chin propped on his hand, blinking sleepily at the newcomer.

"Good afternoon, young sir. A mage?"

Old Larson clearly didn’t recognize him. "I need regular clothes—no robes. A loose silk or Mageweave shirt and coat, plus matching trousers." Jesse shrugged. "I’m clueless about fashion, Mr. Larson. Visiting my parents soon. Want them to see I’m doing fine… without showing off."

"Understood." Larson stepped out. "May I measure you?"

"Please."

Truthfully, Jesse wanted to check his height. Ursula’s basement glances made him wonder how much the Red Dragon’s essence had altered him. That black dragonlet blood had added centimeters; a Red Dragon’s direct blessing…

In the corner, Larson measured him. Jesse tensed watching the old man squint at the ruler.

He glimpsed himself in the mirror: messy hair, scarred and burned face. Still thin, but healthier now—like those Hillsbrad War veterans he’d seen in Southshore after leaving home. Survivors crawling from blood-and-fire hills scorched by Red Dragons.

"Just under six-one, sir. But I’ll call it six-one—it’s close."

"Sure?"

"Positive."

If true, he’d hit 1.85 meters!

Jesse froze. No wonder Ursula scrutinized him. Over ten centimeters in two years.

His growth spurt matched his early teens, though after arriving in Stormwind, it’d slowed. This surge was supernatural…

Another realization: the weak black dragonlet blood boosted him 5-6 cm, while the Red Dragon Queen’s essence added only 5 cm. Proof that dragonlet blood paled against a Dragon King’s power.

Even if natural growth continued at twenty, strength’s effect on height seemed to diminish. Further blessings might never push him past two meters.

"I’ll fetch clothes to try, sir."

Jesse cycled through colors and styles, twisting before the mirror. Had Kalimdor’s ordeals and the Red Dragon’s blessing broadened his shoulders? Muscle growth?

He considered sword training with Greed to test it.

…Better not. Fighting that metal-and-stone battle whirlwind? Remembering how Greed effortlessly lifted rubble off him made Jesse’s scalp prickle.

Now he wore a pale-blue Mageweave shirt, sky-blue wool coat, light-gray silk trousers, and black boots.

"This set, Mr. Larson."

"Certainly. Two gold, thirty-two silver, young sir."