Fel runes flared across the chamber floor—Dreadlord sigils, ancient and layered, feeding on fear, memory, and residual soul energy. Leylin immediately retreated three steps, widening the distance as arcane diagnostics unfolded in his mind.
Dantalionex. Black Rook Hold. Shadow-based dominance, illusion warfare, summoning dread imps, periodic soul destabilization.
The air ruptured.
With a thunderous crack, Dantalionex fully emerged wings unfurled, hooves striking stone, eyes burning with emerald malice.
"Ah… how quaint," the dreadlord sneered. "A mage who believes preparation equals survival."
Leylin did not answer. He raised his staff and instantly layered defenses.
[Ice Barrier]
[Prismatic Barrier]
[Blazing Barrier]
Three spells, cast near-simultaneously through arcane weaving. Dantalionex laughed and vanished. Leylin reacted instantly.
[Blink]
The space he occupied collapsed as Carrion Swarm detonated where he had stood moments earlier, a wave of fel-shadow shredding the stone floor and ripping apart the air itself.
Leylin skidded across the ground, pivoting. Dantalionex reappeared midair, wings beating once.
"Let us begin properly." The dreadlord slammed his claw into the ground.
[Shadowbolt Volley]
Leylin felt the spell hit his barriers immediately and it broke through his [Ice Barrier]. Leylin countered sharply.
[Arcane Barrage]
The blast struck Dantalionex square in the chest, forcing him backward mid-flight. Leylin chained it—
[Arcane Missiles]
Five glowing lances of arcane energy slammed into the dreadlord in rapid succession, detonating in controlled bursts. Dantalionex snarled. Fel veins pulsed.
[Stinging Swarm]
A swarm of stinging insects then targeted Leylin. Leylin raised his hand calmly.
[Flamestrike]
A blazing rune burned into the floor then erupted, immolating half the stinging insects instantly.
He followed with—
[Dragon's Breath]
A cone of scorching fire washed over the remaining insects, stunning and incinerating them mid-scream. Dantalionex clapped slowly.
"Efficient," he mocked. "But fire fades."
The dreadlord spread his wings wide.
[Dark Obliteration]
Leylin's barrier screamed as a crushing wave of shadow slammed into him. The Prismatic Barrier shattered instantly. Blazing Barrier flared violently, cracking but holding.
Leylin slid backward, boots carving lines into stone. Kur'talos's voice rang out.
"He feeds on sustained combat! Break his rhythm!"
Leylin inhaled sharply. Still under the effect of [Combustion] Fire magic exploded outward, Leylin's form wreathed in blazing energy. Every fire spell now guaranteed critical impact.
He surged forward. [Fireball] → [Pyroblast]!
The Pyroblast detonated against Dantalionex's shoulder, blowing chunks of corrupted flesh away.
Leylin followed with—
[Phoenix Flames]
Three explosions of living fire tore across the dreadlord's torso, disrupting his regeneration. Dantalionex roared in pain, slamming Leylin aside with his wing.
Leylin rolled, instantly triggering burns. Burning damage stabilized his condition, flesh knitting itself back together through controlled combustion.
"You are persistent," Dantalionex growled. "Let us see how you endure despair."
The chamber darkened.
[Cloud of Hypnosis]
Leylin's vision fractured, multiple Dantalionex figures surrounded him, whispers clawing at his mind. 'Illusion-based targeting.'
Leylin closed his eyes. [Counterspell]
The illusion matrix shattered violently, backlash rippling through the dreadlord's magic. Leylin opened his eyes and raised both hands. [Shifting Power]
Mana surged violently.
[Arcane Explosion]
The blast obliterated the remaining shadow constructs and hurled the real Dantalionex into a collapsed pillar.
Before the dreadlord could recover—
Kur'talos manifested fully, spectral blade forming. "For my house," the ancient commander roared.
He charged. Leylin synchronized.
[Meteor]
A blazing star tore through the ceiling, crashing down upon Dantalionex with apocalyptic force.The impact shattered the floor. Fel regeneration faltered. Dantalionex staggered. Leylin saw the opening.
Leylin raised both of his hands, arcane sigils spinning wildly. He focused on his spell casting. Mana, fire, and arcane converged.
[Pyroblast] → [Arcane Barrage] → [Fire Blast] → [Pyroblast] → [Arcane Missile]
The spell chain hammered Dantalionex relentlessly, tearing through his core. Kur'talos plunged his blade into the dreadlord's chest, anchoring him.
"Now!" Kur'talos shouted.
Leylin answered.
[Ray of Frost]
A spiraling beam of pure annihilation ripped through Dantalionex's heart. Fel energy destabilized catastrophically.
"I… will … return!!" the dreadlord screamed as his form collapsed inward, imploding into ash and fading embers.
The fel pressure vanished.The battle was over. Leylin lowered his staff slowly, mana reserves stabilizing. Black Rook Hold was finally free.
Kur'talos stood before Leylin, his form dimmer now, edges fading.
"You have done what I could not," he said solemnly. "You freed my home from its last parasite."
Leylin inclined his head slightly. "The Legion has many like him," he replied. "This was inevitable."
Kur'talos studied him for a moment. "Tell me, mage of the Eastern Continent. What do you seek within Black Rook Hold?"
Leylin answered honestly. "Knowledge. Magic. Records of the past. And if any artifacts remained, I wished to know."
Kur'talos shook his head. "There are no relics of power left here. Only memories and regret." He paused, then added, "But if artifacts are what you seek… Stormheim may still hold what you desire."
The wind grew stronger.
Kur'talos's form began to dissolve, light scattering like ash in sunlight. "My time truly ends now," he said quietly. "Thank you… for allowing me to rest."
Before his soul vanished completely, Leylin carefully gathered several small fragments of Kur'talos's essence, stable, uncorrupted remnants. He placed them into the soul-storage artifact Eliones had given him, sealing it with precise arcane runes.
The last echo of Ravencrest faded. Leylin did not linger.
With Shadow Stalker at his side, he retraced his path through Val'sharah, avoiding Legion patrols and marking new demon camps along the way. Hours later, the shimmering barriers of Suramar rose before him once more.
Eliones awaited him in her private chamber. "You're alive," she said coolly. "That answers my first question."
Leylin placed the soul-storage artifact on the table.
"Kur'talos Ravencrest is no longer bound to Black Rook Hold," he said. "And your 'advisor' was a dreadlord named Dantalionex."
For the first time, Eliones's composure cracked. "…A Nathrezim," she whispered.
Leylin continued, recounting everything, the journals, the sacrifices, the fight, and Kur'talos's final words.
When he finished, Eliones was silent for a long moment. "You've exceeded my expectations," she finally said. "And perhaps… complicated my plans."
Leylin met her gaze calmly. "That seems to be a pattern."
Eliones then delivered her next words spoken lightly, almost casually. "There will be a banquet tonight," she said. "The nobles are gathering at the Lunastre Estate. You will attend."
Leylin paused. "…A banquet?" he repeated, as if he suspected he had misheard.
Eliones turned to him, violet eyes calm, unreadable. "Is that surprising?"
Leylin frowned slightly. "The Legion is entrenched outside your city. Who knows how many dreadlords walk freely outside the city. Your people are slowly withering without the Nightwell's influence and you're holding a banquet."
Eliones smiled faintly. "That is precisely why we are holding one."
Leylin did not immediately respond. He studied her carefully, attempting to peel back layers of noble composure and political calculation.
"So this is not a celebration," he said slowly. "It's theater."
Eliones inclined her head. "You catch on quickly."
Leylin exhaled softly. Absurd as it sounded, the invitation intrigued him. "Very well," he said. "I'll attend." Not as a guest but as an observer.
The Lunastre Estate stood at the heart of Suramar's noble district, its structure a marvel of arcane engineering. Floating terraces hovered gracefully above polished marble walkways.
Crystalline chandeliers refracted ambient arcane light into cascading rainbows that drifted lazily through the air. Music echoed softly, harps, arcane harmonics, illusionary choirs woven seamlessly into the atmosphere.
Leylin stepped through the gates dressed in formal arcane robes provided by Eliones. They were elegant, understated by Nightborne standards, yet unmistakably foreign.
He felt dozens of gazes fall upon him almost instantly. Curious. Assessing. Dismissive.
'So this is how they look at outsiders' Leylin thought.
Nightborne nobles filled the vast hall, mages, aristocrats, magistrates, each adorned in luminous fabrics and enchanted jewelry. Their conversations flowed easily, laughter ringing out as servants carried trays of glowing wine and delicately crafted dishes.
Not a trace of urgency. Not a hint of fear.
Leylin found that far more unsettling than the demons outside the city walls. "These people…" he murmured under his breath.
"They are survivors," Eliones said beside him, having appeared without sound. "Suramar has endured ten thousand years sealed away. Complacency is not a weakness—it is a habit."
Leylin's gaze swept the room. "I see addiction," he replied quietly. "Not survival."
Eliones's lips curved slightly. "Careful. Those are dangerous words here."
Leylin accepted a crystal goblet from a passing servant but did not drink. The liquid within shimmered faintly with arcane residue, Nightwell-infused. 'So even their wine is dependent'.
He watched closely. Groups of nobles discussed politics as though the world beyond Suramar did not exist. Some argued over territory influence within the city. Others debated arcane theories, lineage prestige, or whose house held greater favor with Grand Magistrix Elisande.
A few whispered more cautiously, voices lowered when speaking of demon activity, of disappearances, of the Withered in the lower districts. But even those conversations carried an air of detachment.
"They know," Leylin noted. "But they don't feel it yet."
Eliones followed his gaze. "The barrier protects us. The Nightwell sustains us. To them, the Legion is a distant storm."
Leylin's eyes hardened. "Storms don't remain distant forever."
A ripple of attention passed through the hall as several high-ranking nobles approached Eliones. Leylin observed silently as she navigated the conversation with practiced grace, subtle dominance hidden beneath polite smiles.
They noticed Leylin. "Who is your companion, Priestess?" one noble asked, eyes glinting with suspicion.
Eliones answered smoothly. "A magister I found. A consultant."
The noble's gaze lingered on Leylin, cool and measuring. "Hmmm…" he said. "How… novel." Leylin met his eyes calmly, neither bowing nor challenging.
After a moment, the noble turned away, interest already fading. Eliones chuckled softly. "You handled that well."
Leylin replied, "They don't see me as a threat."
"They should," Eliones said flatly. Leylin continued to observe as the banquet wore on.
He noted power structures, alliances, and subtle tensions. Certain nobles gravitated toward Elisande's known loyalists. Others lingered on the edges, hesitant, uncertain, watching for opportunity. This was not decadence. It was denial dressed as elegance.
"These people will not act until the threat breaches the city," Leylin concluded. "And by then, it may be too late."
Eliones did not disagree. "That is why I need pieces that don't belong to this board," she said quietly. "Pieces like you."
Leylin turned to her. "So this banquet," he said, "was never for them."
Her eyes reflected the glow of the chandeliers. "No," she admitted. "It was for you to see what Suramar truly is."
Leylin looked back at the laughing nobles, the shimmering wine, the fragile illusion of control. "I see it," he said. "Clearly."
And for the first time since arriving in Suramar, Leylin understood, the greatest danger here was not the Burning Legion outside the walls. It was the rot within.