"Sigh~"
Late at night, the dim glow of a computer screen flickered within a generic rented apartment room.
Seated at the desk was an ordinary-looking young man in his twenties, letting out a lazy yawn.
His left hand tapped aimlessly on the mechanical keyboard, causing the virtual character in the center of the monitor to wander erratically in sync with his finger movements.
Staring boredly at the empty streets of Boralus on the screen, the man's eyes seemed somewhat hollow.
"Battle for Azeroth... truly a 'disaster' that even the developers themselves admitted to."
"Forcing stupidity just to stir up conflict, discarding narrative logic for the sake of balancing faction power—they truly live up to their reputation as the legendary 'StarCraft team'."
Irritated, he tossed his wireless mouse aside and leaned back into his computer chair with a heavy sigh.
"Maybe it's finally time to go AFK for good."
Thinking back to the frustrating Mythic+ dungeons created by the Legion-era team and the increasingly mindless, nonsensical plot, the young man gazed at the ceiling, silently reminiscing about the World of Warcraft that used to keep him up all night.
"Time to sleep... work starts tomorrow."
Exhausted, he didn't even bother to log out of the game properly. He pressed the power button on the PC tower directly and dragged his heavy body onto the soft bed.
Before drifting into sleep, one last blurry thought flashed through his mind.
Does World of Warcraft, which carries the beautiful memories of so many young people, really only exist within the nostalgia of the past now?
...
A brutal battlefield was thick with the heavy scent of blood. Green and red fluids mingled, seeping into the soil.
Across the eerily stained earth lay countless mangled corpses, with severed limbs scattered everywhere.
"Ugh..."
Amidst the constant roars and clashing of weapons on the battlefield, a faint groan emanated from beneath a pile of bodies.
A "corpse" that should have been dead suddenly pushed aside the heavy weight pressing down on it. He opened a pair of shimmering golden eyes, surveying his surroundings with confusion.
Under the light of the moon hanging high in the sky, the appearance of this suddenly revived "corpse" could be vaguely discerned.
Strange violet skin, a height exceeding two meters, and long, pointed elven ears.
These features alone were enough to prove that this person was not human, but a fantasy creature common in various works of fiction.
An unknown weapon had carved a wound nearly half a meter long across the "corpse's" chest, deep enough to see bone. The wound had begun to form a preliminary scab, but dark red, semi-dried blood had almost completely stained his upper body.
"Ungh!"
The effort of pushing away the bodies caused a pained expression to cross the silver-haired, bearded man's previously confused face.
"Where... where am I?"
The man looked in horror at the massive gash on his chest. To avoid further tearing the wound, he remained motionless in the pile of bodies, only slightly turning his head to observe the situation.
As a veteran WoW player, a simple glance at his surroundings caused his pupils to contract instantly.
"Night Elves?! And... Demons?"
He turned his hands over in front of his eyes, finally realizing something was wrong with his body.
"This isn't my body. Who am I? Did I... reincarnate?"
Though he desperately wanted to sort through his chaotic thoughts, there was no time for deep reflection on a live battlefield.
A hideous Doomguard spotted movement from above. It flapped its leathery wings in mid-air, banking sharply and diving straight toward the traveler's location.
Still in mid-air, the demon raised its broad-bladed two-handed greatsword, a bloodthirsty, twisted grin appearing on its face.
"Puny mortal! Your world shall burn! For Sargeras!"
The visitor from another world, having just arrived, endured the agonizing pain and rolled to the side at the last possible second.
The intense pain from his chest caused his face, hidden behind his white beard, to contort. Fortunately, he successfully evaded the demon's heavy, crushing blow.
If he had been hit by that sword, he wouldn't have had to worry about the wound anymore.
Thud!
The dull sound of the greatsword slicing into the pile of corpses echoed beside him. The man hurriedly clutched his chest, which was bleeding anew, and stood up shakily from the bodies.
Perhaps the body he had possessed still retained some residual emotions, for he found himself unable to control a deep, profound hatred for the demon before him.
This hatred wasn't just directed at this specific demon, but extended to the entire demonic race.
Instinct took over. He reached out and pulled a wooden staff that was stuck in the ground beside him. Gripping it by the center, he reflexively held it across his chest in a defensive stance.
"Roar!"
The Doomguard glanced contemptuously at the long wooden stick in the Night Elf's hand. With a roar, it raised its greatsword overhead and launched a ferocious jumping cleave at the man.
"Die!"
Swish! Swish!
Just as the traveler tensed his muscles, planning to roll aside again, several arrows pierced the night sky, accurately sinking into the body of the Doomguard while it was still in mid-air.
The force behind the arrows caused the Doomguard to lose its balance. With a howl of pain, its trajectory was forcibly altered, and it crashed heavily onto the ground about five meters away from the Night Elf.
The strange red and green mud was splashed up by the impact; a clump of it happened to fly onto the stunned traveler's face.
Whiz!
Before the Doomguard could rise, another arrow whistled through the air, pinning itself firmly into the struggling demon's forehead, finally extinguishing its life.
A large purple bird flapped its wings as it glided past. A slender figure leaped down from its back, landing right in front of the disoriented traveler.
Before the man could see her face clearly, the female Night Elf, dressed in battle-priest light armor, asked urgently, "Andreas, are you alright?"
Andreas? Is that the name of this body?
The traveler's heart tightened. He had no memories of the original owner of this body.
Even if he could fake his way through the present, he would eventually slip up on details familiar to the people who knew the original Andreas.
After weighing his options, the traveler chose to be direct.
"Uh... who are you? Where am I? What are we doing?"
"Huh?"
The young Night Elf, with purple markings on her face and her long blue hair tied in a high ponytail, showed a look of surprise.
"Andreas Moonshadow, did a demon hit you in the head?"
"I'm Shandris. Your friend, Shandris Feathermoon. This is the battlefield near Mount Hyjal."
A chill ran down the traveler's spine. Although he still lacked memories of the original host, as a player, the name "Shandris Feathermoon" was definitely not one he was unfamiliar with.
"Shan... dris?"
Carefully observing Shandris' youthful yet beautiful face, the traveler looked up at the blood-and-fire-soaked battlefield under her worried gaze.
In the distance, a massive boar was charging through the demon ranks, with no demon able to block its path.
The sky was covered with birds under the command of a snowy-white half-human, half-bird creature, engaging in fierce aerial combat with demonic Felbats and Doomguards.
This scene caused a complex expression to appear on the traveler's face.
"So... we really are fighting the Burning Legion. This is... the War of the Ancients?"