Chapter 609

Chapter 609: Faerie Dragon

As Jesse journeyed southward from Eldre’Thalas, plunging deep into the Feralas Jungle once more, he felt a great weight lifting from his shoulders. This quest had finally reached its satisfying conclusion. That Dethmoora Darkeye—a demonology master endlessly worshipped by warlocks across the Eastern Kingdoms—had turned out to be an actual demon. When Zardeth first mentioned her name, such a possibility never crossed his mind.

Nor had he truly believed he’d find her.

He wondered how Mor’zul would react upon learning Jesse had personally slain his dream lover. The thought made Jesse anticipate reuniting with that perpetually mysterious figure.

After nearly two days of trekking south, they reached the river where they’d previously encountered Rexxar. Jesse recalled this river had a name in the game, but even an Arcane Intellect spell probably wouldn’t help him remember it now.

The group rested in a tree hollow near a woodland pond fed by the river. Rain began falling unexpectedly, and Greed urged Jesse to fish for food—a promise left unfulfilled last time. Jesse agreed.

At least Rexxar wouldn’t ambush him this time. As for other forest dangers like gnolls? He hardly worried.

After all, he carried Azuresong Mageblade now.

Stripping to his waist, wearing only tattered rain-soaked pants, he entered the jungle clutching Greed’s crude fishing rod in one hand and a tackle bag in the other.

Staring at the thick line and metal hook, Jesse doubted this contraption could catch anything. But perhaps these river fish had never seen humans—fearless and gluttonous.

Pushing through dense thickets, boots sinking into soft mud, he listened to raindrops drumming leaves and trunks while breathing in the forest’s grassy perfume. The vibrant life around him eased the fel magic’s scorching ache within his organs.

By the pond, Jesse suddenly remembered: Greed still hadn’t confessed to Mosa.

He’d expected this. Greed displayed suicidal bravery in crises—but only then. Without imminent danger, he was all bluster and cowardice, whether fighting or flirting.

Jesse chuckled, seating himself on a half-buried stone. He baited the hook with a red worm dug from the mud and cast his line. That thick black cord alone made the endeavor seem hopeless.

Feralas’ canopy hung like storm clouds overhead. Sheltered beneath it, Jesse heard the rain’s rhythm without enduring its full force—only occasional fat droplets struck his shoulders and head.

Sitting idle felt wasteful. Nearly a week had passed since his last Arcane Intellect casting. He could safely use it again—and he’d nearly forgotten how foolish his unenhanced mind felt.

After weighing down the rod with stones and branches, he glanced at the bobber, cast Arcane Intellect, and revisited his battle with Dethmoora.

The spell sharpened his recall: images and sounds crystallized. Details emerged—Vereesa’s worried glances, Greed’s pallor when the Shadow Bolt struck him, Molofeel nearly blasted from stealth while absorbing shadow damage…

Wiping rain from his eyes, Jesse refocused on the bobber while reconstructing Dethmoora’s dark magic restraint.

He’d been mid-incantation for a Curse of Agony when the demon whirled toward the sound. That face—even for a female Doomguard—remained grotesque, like a fanged, slavering cow.

“Yook… Heduniloin…”

Jesse recited the memorized Demonic phrases, unsure of his accuracy. He repeated them obsessively until the spell grew clearer, then feverishly scribbled the runes in mud with a broken twig.

Suddenly, movement caught his eye—a colorful shape drifting through nearby ferns.

A giant butterfly? No. Though its wings shimmered like stained glass, it bore a lizard’s head. Red ribbon-like whiskers swayed with each wingbeat as glowing arcane eyes fixed on Jesse.

It was the size of a hound, its coiled tail banded in indigo and violet. Pollen-like motes trailed its flight…

A Faerie Dragon.

He’d finally seen one.

Such beauty made its hypothetical dismemberment unthinkable. Why approach? What drew it?

These magical beings were deeply tied to the Emerald Dream, some said aiding Night Elf Druids against corruption. Had Jesse’s shadow/fel taint offended it?

Yet he sensed no hostility. It glided patiently through rain, movements languid and curious. Perhaps his Arcane Intellect had stirred arcane energies, attracting nearby creatures.

Despite its charm, Jesse waved it off, fearing it might scare fish. But as he puzzled over its persistence, the dragon froze—whiskers bristling—then vanished into the jungle.

What—?

A guttural roar erupted from camp. A Night Elf saber cat?

He crashed through brush toward camp—and collided with a figure. “Uh… Vereesa?”