The Slaughtered Lamb, isn't that the place where a group of warlock trainers hide out in seclusion?

He sat under the shade of a tree for a while, watching the tavern. Although it had its share of regular patrons, it was noticeably quieter than another tavern near the Wizard's Sanctum.

In the current human society, the Church and the Kirin Tor forbid the study of knowledge related to demons.

Despite a slight relaxation of these policies after the Orc Wars, from Dalaran to the Wizard's Sanctum, top mages and researchers began to study demons on a small scale, hoping to be prepared in case of another Orc invasion. Nevertheless, the common people's acceptance of warlocks was nowhere as high as depicted in the game.

However, the secret group of warlocks hidden in this tavern remained undiscovered for more than a decade, illustrating their cautious and secretive way of operating.

So, if the path to the Wizard's Sanctum was blocked, could one find work among these warlocks?

The Slaughtered Lamb looked no different than it did a decade later—unremarkable signage and outdated interior decor.

A piece of parchment, torn in half, clung to the door. The remaining half hazily read, "Hiring... good health... compensation... preferably from out of town..."

Wasn't that speaking directly about himself?

The tavern was quiet, with only one bartender on duty, a black man with a Fu Manchu mustache and two savage-style thick braids.

Though he was alone, he didn't seem busy at all.

In a corner, several men sat drinking alone, unengaged with each other—dressed simply and solidly built, they looked to be laborers like Jess.

Curiously, in a tavern that operates in the Mage Quarter, not a single mage or apprentice was among the customers. Perhaps this place was initially meant for the workers helping with the construction in the Mage Quarter.

At that moment, the savage-like man stopped wiping glasses and just glared at Jess as if he wasn't a service provider waiting on customers, but more like a butcher waiting for pigs to willingly lie on the chopping block.

Feeling intimidated, Jess reconsidered his approach, but the atmosphere was already charged—it would seem even more unnatural to back out now.

"Mead, malt, dwarf ale, black wine," the black man murmured softly.

"I'm not here to drink." Jess approached the bar and asked, "Are you short on staff, sir? I noticed the hiring notice outside."

The black man squinted, bit his lower lip, and slowly said in heavily accented Common, "Scram."

Jess nodded, turned his body while stealthily glancing at the depths of the hall. Behind stacks of wine crates, there was a dark portal that seemed to be the secret door leading to the basement, where presumably, the warlocks were hiding.

"Sorry," he turned to look at the black man again, "someone told me to come here saying there's work available. I see only you here and it seems you're quite overwhelmed. If I have offended you in any way, I truly apologize."

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With that, Jess raised his eyebrows and walked towards the door.

On a whim, he fabricated a nonexistent reference, unsure of his own motives—perhaps to deflect responsibility, or maybe believing that a secretive group like this would be more accepting if there was a referee involved.

Unexpectedly, it worked.

The black man suddenly called out to him, "Who sent you here?"

"Well... a lot of people say so." Jess was ready to continue out when the black man's tone softened, "You short on money, boy?"

"I do need money."

"What's your name?"

"Jess."

"Come with me, Jess."

The black man turned and headed toward the dark door, and Jess followed, stealing a glance at the corner where the sullen drinkers were, who seemed to have seen and heard nothing at all, not even glancing their way.

The hiding place inside The Slaughtered Lamb... was hardly a cellar.

It was quite simply an underground fortress!

Different from the scale in the game, after walking through a narrow passage filled with crates, passing an iron gate, they arrived at a dark prison-like area.

Even if one day the place was exposed and Stormwind's patrols came storming in, they might not find their way, making it even easier for those hiding here to escape.

The black man lit a torch and gestured for Jess to keep up.

"Everything you see here must not be spoken of outside, boy. If you do, we will know who leaked it... and then you'll find yourself in a very, very bad situation."

The black man's pronunciation of "very" was so distinct it broke through the ominous atmosphere of the place.

"I just need money, I don't want trouble," Jess said.

"Good, that's very good." The black man approached an iron door of a cell, lightly knocked.

The sound of knuckles on metal reverberated throughout the underground, and Jess looked along the darkened corridor, feeling as though countless eyes were watching him from the echoing direction.

"Erlan, you there?" the black man called into the room.

"Can't you wait, Jarel?" a voice panted from inside, clearly irritated.

"Sulenna is in there too?" The black man frowned and said, "I've found you some sturdy help."

"Bugger off, Jarel!" Several female curses followed from inside the room.

Soon after, a burly man with bare arms cracked the door open, still holding up his waistband and emanating a strong scent of sweat.

"This is him, what's your name?"

"Jess."

"I'm Erlan, nice to meet you, Jess."

The man named Erlan extended his hand, but Jess just glimpsed at it without shaking it, and Erlan, sensing something off, withdrew his hand and wiped it on his pants.

"We'll be quick, we'll come out soon, take our guest to the practice room," he said, slamming the door closed abruptly.

"It's noon, damn it," Jarel cursed under his breath, looked at Jess, and said, "Oh right, I'm Jarel, Jarel Moor."

Jess nodded, still unsure of what he was getting into. So far, it seemed there was no threat to his life.

Inside The Slaughtered Lamb, there was not the ominous air that would come later; perhaps at this time, the practitioners of dark magic hiding here were not yet as formidable as they would become, still newbies self-teaching by referencing the powers of Orc warlocks.

"Look, I still have to mind the shop, Jess, you can go ahead, just walk that way to the end, the biggest room there, the one with lots of barrels is it," Jarel instructed.

"Don't forget to collect your wages at the bar when you leave."

"Daily pay, how much?" Jess inquired.

Jarel flashed two fingers, shaking them back and forth, "Two silver coins."

Two silver coins?!

After Jarel left, Jess followed his directions to the so-called practice room. It was devoid of any actual practice equipment, like wooden swords, except for the empty barrels that might or might not contain liquor.

Then, an ominous scent of decay slowly infiltrated his nostrils, a smell unlike rotting wood or fermenting fruit, but not exactly foul either—just profoundly unsettling.

After a while of sniffing around the basement, he noticed it seemed to be emanating from around the base of a wooden support pillar, but what precisely, remained unclear.