[Deception Check: Success]
Emmy blinked, looking at the "arcane crystal," then at Allen's sincere expression.
"R-Really? Something this valuable, just one silver coin?"
"Of course!" Allen thumped his chest. "I'm the kind of person who always repays kindness!"
Emmy hesitated for a moment, then took out a silver coin from her pocket and handed it to him.
"Th-Then I'll buy it."
Allen took the coin, slipped it into his pocket, and turned to leave.
After walking out of the Arcane Sanctum, he stopped, glanced back at the grand purple building.
Emmy Malin…
That name sounded a bit familiar.
Although he couldn't recall exactly who she was, Allen knew she was probably some named character in World of Warcraft.
A kind-hearted good girl.
Tricking her like that did make him feel a bit guilty.
But there was no helping it—this was a system mission.
This favor of a silver coin, I'll repay it in the future.
Allen tossed the coin lightly in his hand and continued forward.
At the end of the Mage Quarter street stood an unremarkable building, with a sign hanging outside: The Slaughtered Lamb Inn.
Allen knew that the human Warlock trainer in World of Warcraft was hidden in the basement of this inn.
Should he, like Gul'dan, embrace fel energy?
He stood at the street corner, staring at the inn, hesitating for a long time.
Then, he turned and left.
He still preferred something brighter, more stylish as a class.
As for fel energy… maybe later.
Crossing the boundary of the Mage Quarter, Allen arrived at the Trade District.
It was lively, bustling, full of everyday life. Shops lined both sides of the street, vendors called out endlessly, crowds flowed back and forth—well-dressed merchants, porters carrying goods, children running about.
Allen walked through the crowd with a relaxed heart, enjoying the long-lost liveliness.
And then, he couldn't help but spend money.
He bought a pair of gloves from a leather shop—fine soft lambskin, exquisite craftsmanship, comfortable to wear—and from the fabric shop next door, he bought a scarf, deep blue wool, soft and warm to the touch.
Just as he was paying, a strange chill suddenly crawled up his spine.
The surrounding noise seemed to freeze in an instant.
The cries of vendors, footsteps, conversations—all sounds became distant and muffled, as if separated by a thick curtain of water.
The pedestrians on the street were still moving, yet it was as if someone had pressed slow motion; every action slowed to the point of near stillness.
And within this frozen world, a pair of eyes was watching him.
It was a Gnome.
Bright yellow hair, wearing a vivid yellow robe, standing right in the middle of the bustling street, quietly watching him.
The surrounding noise had nothing to do with her. The surging crowd flowed around her, yet no one touched her.
She stood there like a reef, letting the river of time flow past on both sides.
Then, she began walking toward Allen.
Step by step—neither fast nor slow, yet irresistible.
Allen's heart tightened abruptly.
A yellow-haired, yellow-robed female gnome… could it be…
Chromie?
The Bronze Dragonflight was one of Azeroth's five great dragon aspects, responsible for safeguarding the order of the timeline. Chromie was a member of the Bronze Dragonflight and loved to disguise herself as a gnome, mingling among mortals.
No way…
He had only transmigrated for a few days, and he was already being targeted by a Bronze Dragon?
Could it be that his transmigration had caused a disturbance in the timeline, prompting the Bronze Dragonflight to step in and eliminate him?
Allen's mind flashed through countless possibilities—being erased, being sent back to his original world, being cast into a time rift to wander forever…
The yellow-haired gnome had already reached him.
She raised her head, her eyes calm like a bottomless ancient well, quietly watching him.
Allen met her gaze.
One second.
Two seconds.
Three seconds.
Allen took a deep breath, pulled out a green stone from his chest—it was still malachite.
"I have here a priceless gemstone, a once-in-a-century arcane crystal," his voice was so calm it surprised even himself, "I'll sell it to you cheap. Want it?"
...
By evening, Allen returned to the Pig and Whistle Tavern.
Sitting at the table, a lingering sense of fear crept over him.
For some reason, that gnome—suspected to be Chromie—had not made a move against him.
She had only looked at the malachite, then at Allen, and then took out a silver coin and bought it.
One silver coin.
For a worthless piece of malachite.
She bought it.
What did that mean?
Was the Bronze Dragon tolerating his actions? Or was this just Chromie's twisted sense of humor?
Either way, he had just deceived a powerful Bronze Dragon into paying for a worthless stone—didn't that count as a great scam?
Allen checked the system panel.
Main quest progress: 0/1.
…Alright, clearly it didn't count.
He sighed, looked up, and saw Wren and Stella sitting downstairs eating lunch.
The moment Stella saw Allen, she rushed over like a tiny cannonball, her small face covered in tears, her bright blue eyes watery, her whole body trembling with excitement.
"Benefactor!" She hugged Allen's leg and burst into tears. "Thank you for the wonderful meal! It was so delicious! I've never eaten anything this good in my life!"
Allen looked down at the snot-and-tears-covered little gnome, the corner of his mouth twitching.
Wren sat at the table, watching Stella's tearful gratitude toward Allen, feeling inexplicably annoyed—he was the one who paid, after all…
But soon, Allen walked up to him and raised the gloves in his hand.
"Wren," he said, "I bought you a pair of gloves. How many days have you been wearing those? Aren't they dirty?"
Wren froze.
He looked down at his hands. The gloves he wore had indeed been on for several days, covered in travel dust and sweat.
He looked back up at the new gloves Allen handed him—fine soft lambskin, exquisite craftsmanship, clearly not cheap.
He took them, said nothing, just nodded.
Allen then pulled out the deep blue wool scarf from his bag and handed it to Stella.
"And Stella, this is for you. It's getting colder—don't catch a chill."
Stella took the scarf, tears and snot still streaming as she wrapped it around her neck.
But she was too small; after one loop, the remaining length hung down to her knees, making it look like a cloak—or like an ill-fitting sweater.
Just as she was about to say something, the tavern door was suddenly pushed open.
"Shaw" stood at the entrance, panting heavily, beads of sweat covering his forehead, his chest rising and falling sharply—he had clearly run all the way here.
His gaze swept across the tavern and quickly locked onto Allen.
"Allen!" He strode forward and lowered his voice. "Finally found you. There's progress on the De Montmorency matter."
Bang!
Wren slammed the table and stood up abruptly.
"Shaw" was startled by the sudden noise and glanced at him oddly, but said nothing more, continuing his report to Allen: "We've figured it out. The De Montmorency family is just a minor noble house in Stormwind, long pushed to the fringes of power, with no real authority and little reputation. But…"
He paused, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed.
"But their entire family… was wiped out three weeks ago."