Chapter 737

Chapter 737: Trust

Although it was harder than expected, Jesse sensed from the excitement of the Stonewatch Keep soldiers that this fight might go much smoother than they thought.

Because Jesse broke through the tower’s defenses, the soldiers in the assault could block the Gnolls trying to rush in from outside, so no one died. The worst hurt was a warrior who fell two stories after getting hit by a Gnoll’s Curse of Weakness high up, but a priest saved him, and he just pulled through.

Jesse helped carry the wounded into the tower to rest. Being so busy reminded him of his time in the Dark Portal campaign, helping Stromgarde soldiers move supplies at Stonard.

He really liked this life: staying busy and doing what he could.

Soldiers who reached the tower top were telling those at the bottom what happened up there, and they kept glancing at Jesse.

The scary Felhound corpse still lay there. Seeing their shocked faces, Jesse felt like he was caught red-handed.

“Master Seso,” a priest came over and said, “I saw you were hurt in the tower. Do you need…” Jesse turned, and the priest looked at his face, eyes wide in surprise.

“Maybe I was wrong…”

“You weren’t wrong.” Jesse touched his face, feeling a dull ache.

He thought he’d never get used to the odd feeling after healing wounds with Life Drain. The skin was whole, no bleeding or cuts, not even itching, but a dull pain lingered, like phantom pain.

The priest made a knowing sound and said softly, “It’s that life-draining magic, right? The Black Magic Orcs use. I feel the dark energy.”

The priest from the Cathedral of Light, in gray robes, calmly called out Jesse’s Black Magic without anger or blame, making Jesse uneasy.

He remembered he should visit the cathedral priests soon; after all, it was the King of Lordaeron’s order, and delaying too long wasn’t good.

Of course, if Archbishop Alonsus Faol stayed away from Stormwind, that was just bad timing.

“Since all’s fine, Master Seso,” the priest glanced at distant soldiers, rolled up his sleeves, and sighed. “I’ll help others now; many are hurt. Speak up if you feel anything wrong.”

“Sure, thanks for your work, priest.” Jesse nodded a little.

Hearing this, the priest gave Jesse a strange look but nodded back and went to other wounded.

Jesse could only help with moving supplies for the injured. Now that they were settled and helpers rested, Jesse looked up at the Mage Tower, sizing it up.

The tower seemed about fifteen meters tall. Without details on the Wizard’s Sanctum, Jesse couldn’t be sure. It stood on high ground and was thicker than a normal watchtower, so it looked short.

From the base, it felt bigger than when he saw it from high on a gryphon.

On the bottom floor, if they tore out the middle stairs and put in spiral ones along the inner wall, keeping the top the same, Kallez might fit in the center.

Of course, the two-meter tower door wouldn’t let a Doom Lord in, not even a Doomguard—that would be tough.

So the only way to get Kallez inside without wrecking the tower was a summoning ritual in the Mage Tower to bring the Demon Lord from the Storm Altar.

But Jesse wasn’t sure the weak Ley Line under the tower could handle it.

Summoning Kallez from the Storm Altar was way easier than pulling him from some Twisting Nether corner, so it wouldn’t need as much power.

If energy ran low, Jesse thought about summoning a Netherwalker, using the Gnoll’s trick to power the tower, then sacrificing the Netherwalker to call the Doom Lord…

Thinking this, he climbed up. The middle stairs were shaky and worn but didn’t seem about to collapse.

At the top of the Tower of Ilgalar, Jesse saw a blood-written message on a bookshelf, made from blood of some beast or humanoid.

The dark red magic circle, its strokes connected to the sigils on the tower walls, linked to a small, dimmed magic stone at the tower’s peak. The stone rested in a metal holder, resembling a shard of broken glass.

The symbols drawn by the Gnolls were crude, like schoolchildren’s scribbles on a blackboard, yet functional. That small magic stone, barely the size of a cup, seemed pitiful compared to the colossal one the elves had brought to Nethergarde’s Mage Tower.

Still, it drew power from the Netherwalker through the circle, fueling the spellcasters within. But this tower was too dilapidated. Significant repairs were needed before summoning Kallez here. It didn’t need Antonidas’s study-level luxury, but basic cleanliness was essential. After multiple battles and long occupation by Gnolls and Orcs, the place reeked of foul odors.

He kicked a shattered tile, stirring up dust. Regardless, this tower would soon be his. Caring for it would start with a thorough cleaning.

Back at Stonewatch Keep that evening, Jesse drank with the soldiers in celebration. Veterans tossed him into the air repeatedly at the feast. His bravery—charging the tower under Gnoll spells and arrows—spawned three or four exaggerated versions among the drunks…

At first, Jesse tried correcting the wildest claims: no apocalyptic fire annihilating Gnoll ranks, no ice wall sealing their entire army, no mass teleportation hurling them into the Dark Portal. But he soon gave up, overwhelmed by constant toasts and unable to steer conversations.

“…Halt, monster! Turn around, back to the mountains!

Don’t bring trouble to Elwynn! Refuse to cease?

My blade shall aid you! The Holy Light shall aid you!”

Soldiers bellowed Gnoll War ballads. Jesse hummed the simple tune, unfamiliar with the lyrics.

Captain Troteman approached. “Word of Stonewatch’s victory will reach Stormwind soon, Master Seso.”

“Just Jesse, Captain.” Jesse replied. “I’m no match for the true masters in the Wizard’s Sanctum. Shadow magic feels little different from a Gnoll’s club—I just wield it to hurt more efficiently.”

“Even club-wielders who excel earn the title ‘weapon master’.” Troteman raised his tankard. They clinked and drank deeply. “But as you wish, Jesse.”

Jesse eyed the soldiers. “How do they view me, Captain?”

“The Black Magic?” Troteman said. “Most prefer a warlock on our side rather than with Gnolls or the Horde. But claiming no one has concerns? Impossible.”

Jesse nodded. This exceeded his expectations.

Late that night, in the Wizard’s Sanctum quarters, Jesse recalled his last stay next door. Celebrations still echoed from the hall below—songs and shouts. He sat at the desk, laying out paper.

A letter to Vereesa Windrunner.

Capturing the tower, the Fear spell’s visions haunted him still. Was it dread of an uncertain future, or simple longing? At the feast, he’d yearned for this moment—to write as promised. He penned the first line in Thalassian:

—Greetings, Esteemed Ranger Lord of Quel’Thalas, Lady Vereesa Windrunner.

He scrutinized the sentence, doubting grammar and script. But Vereesa wouldn’t nitpick such things. Smiling, he left it unchanged and continued in Common:

“Or good evening, depending on when this finds you. Limited resources mean no Thalassian dictionary; forgive any informality in salutation.”

Next, Jesse summarized his recent endeavors. Regarding demon summoning with warlocks—to avoid prying eyes—he hinted:

“My research on Ered’ruin Demonic is complete. Your assigned task yields more optimism than expected. If time permits, perhaps we might discuss details in person.”

He signed off, adding in Thalassian: “Eagerly awaiting your reply.”

After folding the letter neatly into his pack, Jesse lay down pondering Vereesa’s response, and soon slept.