Chapter 627

Chapter 627: This Is the One

"This house you see is property of the Lescovar family, built during the Troll Wars under King Baelareth’s reign. So it’s a bit older in style than other houses in the trade district. True, it’s a pre-Dark Portal building that doesn’t meet your precise requirements… but first, the wars never touched these homes. It could be fully renovated and repaired. I’d wager craftsman fees and materials won’t run over ten gold coins. After repairs by Mason’s Guild hands, its quality will match any newer part of the trade district, Mr. Jurke."

The man in light-yellow linen shirt and gray trousers was Derret Blaz, the agent from the registry office. He looked about thirty, near Jesse’s father’s age though half-bald already.

Over two days, Jesse had trailed this man along the canal viewing properties. Choices were scarce—this two-story detached house was the second-to-last option meeting his needs. Previous houses disappointed: too distant from the cathedral or barely passable.

The final house stood nearer the Cathedral of Light but lay in the Garden District. Hearing its location, Jesse had dismissed it outright.

So this was his last hope.

It faced the canal. A wall breach nearby led straight to the trade district. Westward, the cathedral’s massive white walls rose behind high fortifications. Beyond stretched Stormwind Harbor—gulls gliding past sails in a breathtaking vista.

Yet the price was eighty-two gold coins. Renovation costs would pile atop that, despite this discount for its age.

The sum made Jesse’s head spin. As Blaz climbed the tall stone steps, he recounted how this district miraculously escaped Orc devastation during Stormwind’s fall. Jesse barely registered the words.

Blaz gestured right. "Stables are yonder—quite handsome. I’ll show you later. Now let’s step inside."

"You seem dazed," Greed muttered beside him. "D’you believe that Holy Light bunkum? That it shielded this house from Orcs? Were the Lescovars truly that pious?"

The dwarf marched to the doorway, measuring its width with outstretched arms before jumping to touch the lintel. "Doubt a grown Orc could squeeze through here. They’d need to smash the side timbers to enter. But look—no damage. Bricks show no marks… Maybe he’s right. Or the owner already fixed everything."

"Who lived here? Some kin of Gregor Lescovar?"

"Wasn’t listening," Jesse admitted. "Never recall noble names."

"Step inside, gentlemen!" Blaz called from within. Jesse followed.

Dimness greeted them—evening light fading through a narrow hallway into a spacious parlor.

Jesse blinked. Furniture remained: a hearth rug, an elegant empty shelf, carved chairs clearly costly, a wall cabinet, even some nameless painting.

Jesse eyed the waiting agent. "Does this come with the house?"

Mr. Blaz smiled. "If purchased, yes. And fret not over quality. Someone lived here till last month. See how spotless every piece and corner is?"

"Not bad," Greed said, running a hand over the fireplace opposite the chairs. "If dimensions weren’t all wrong, I’d buy it myself."

Jesse couldn’t deny his own temptation.

He recalled his parents’ two-story in Lordaeron’s old craftsmen quarter—always a dingy warehouse feeling no matter how scrubbed. Childhood memories painted it perpetually dark, shadowed.

But this place… it whispered of minor nobles and wealthy merchants from those historical plays he’d seen.

"Upstairs, Mr. Jurke?" Blaz asked.

"Upstairs."

Greed thudded up the steps first. Jesse nodded.

"Below’s a cellar," Blaz indicated the stairwell’s gloom. "Small, like that side room off the parlor." Jesse marveled more at the stairwell’s cleanliness than the cellar. His parents’ stairs always felt like some ancient dungeon passage.

Upstairs held two fine bedrooms flanking the hall—polished wood beds, nightstands, wardrobes. One even had a vanity with mirror. Jesse glimpsed his reflection: his clothes seemed suddenly shabby.

*Mother would love this*, he thought.

He pictured Henny at that vanity, adjusting her hair ends while smiling about being too old for suitors—how Jesse and Vickers had wasted her best years…

Through the vanity window, Stormwind Harbor filled the view—sky meeting sea. *A perfect spot*.

Leftward, most of the Garden District spread below. *If only Deathwing spared it…*

*No—better it burns. Somewhere must burn. Let it be the Garden District. Just spare this house.*

"I’m satisfied," he cut off Blaz’s scenic description.

"Not viewing the last? Recall yesterday’s mention? Garden District one—red roof yonder. See it, Mr. Jurke?" The agent pointed toward crimson among distant trees. "Garden District’s the new favorite for Stormwind’s rising stars. Especially those Quel’Thalas elves."

"This one," Jesse said.

"Your word rules," Mr. Blaz smiled. "A five-gold deposit removes it from registry listings. Note: non-refundable if you back out later. I can arrange renovations too. Landlord mentioned a beam needing replacement—safety risk otherwise."

Jesse considered asking Erlan Drudgemoor about Mason’s Guild work. *Isn’t he guild-affiliated?*

But thoughts of Erlan’s connections, the guild’s troubled path… He hesitated. Best keep this house—and his parents—clear of that mess.

"Proceed," Jesse nodded.

Derret Blaz produced a contract. "Review this, Mr. Jurke. After signing, I’ll contact the Lescovars to arrange the sale."

"And renovation costs?"

"Payable after purchase," the agent said.

Jesse nodded. Renovation funds awaited the Reliquary’s payment. Scanning the contract, he found no issues and signed.

Blaz lifted the parchment. "I know mages often use aliases. Jurke—a Language Dwarven name—likely isn’t yours?"

"Problem?"

"None with Wizard’s Sanctum proof. Mage Quarter leaders like Master Andromath can confirm you’re Jurke. Then this contract holds."

"This?" Jesse produced his Sanctum emblem.

"Precisely. All settled, Mr. Jurke. I’ll contact the Lescovars at dawn to set the sale."

"Understood. My thanks, Mr. Blaz."