Chapter 672: A Blood-Red Valentine (End)

Is there someone alive?

As Jaina watched the smoke rise and drift into the distance, a fierce hope ignited within her.

That could be a lifesaver!

The mooncloth was incredibly durable, and Jaina couldn't tear her robe for better agility. She had to hike up the hem, nearly dragging on the ground, to just above her thighs. Since she couldn't knot it, she could only awkwardly speed up, holding her staff in one hand and the robe in the other.

The cold wind snuck up the hem into her robe, making Jaina feel even colder.

Damn Duke! Beastly Duke! You really dare to treat me this way!

You may not want to marry me, but if you dare, I, Jaina, swear I'll make you pay dearly.

However, cursing in her heart was useless.

The winter forest was deathly silent.

No insects, no birdsong.

Apart from the wind's wail, like ghosts mourning, there was no other sound.

At first, Jaina thought she should be cautious as she moved forward, but the cold wind lashed at her back and bare arms like whips. If she didn't rub them, it would only take two minutes for a layer of frost to form on her arms.

Jaina ran wildly through the rugged forest. Due to her clumsiness, she fell more than five times. But the instinct to survive spurred her on to keep running desperately.

Closer.

Even closer!

Closer still!

The smoke she saw wafting away was becoming thicker.

Such a large fire, could it be a bonfire party?

But it's broad daylight.

Jaina had found a path, worn by villagers over many years. Though it couldn't compare to the exquisite cobblestones of Dalaran or the 'cement roads' spanning the entire Elwynn Forest, it was infinitely better than the uneven, root-filled, and rocky woods she had just trudged through.

Finally breaking free from the woods, her view suddenly opened up.

"Hello! Is there anyone? Is there..."

Jaina abruptly clamped her free left hand over her mouth, tears of panic uncontrollably streaming down her face.

There were people.

But all were dead.

What lay before Jaina was a vision of hell.

It was obviously a village that had recently been attacked.

Due to the wind direction and winter season, Jaina hadn't smelled the stench of decay and charred flesh. But now, the shock from her sight, smell, taste, hearing, and touch simultaneously overwhelmed her psychological limits.

The burning houses still had embers smoking black, the violently kicked-in doors were smashed into a huge human shape, and the scant scattered food lay all around in disarray.

The bodies, preserved by the ice and snow, bore the expressions of terror, anger, and unwillingness they had in their final moments.

The loyal family dog still had a small piece of green skin in its mouth, but everything below its head had been cleanly eaten by worgs.

An old man, who had lifted a pitchfork to protect his elderly master, had his head brutally crushed.

A father, already chopped in half, had stretched out his hand with his last bit of strength, trying to grasp his wife and child.

A mother, holding her child, had been smashed in half by heavy weaponry.

An infant gnawed beyond recognition by an ogre.

These... all the work of orcs!

Jaina saw a orc corpse riddled with wounds, and beside it lay seven or eight fallen militiamen. It seemed to be the village militia's only achievement.

The lack of food forced the Warsong orcs hiding in the depths of Tirisfal Glades to attack human settlements in the forest.

She could no longer control herself.

"Ugh... Ugh—" The bread, pastries, and creamy milk she had eaten early in the morning all came up as Jaina vomited.

For the first time in her life, Jaina felt so terrible.

The churning sensation from her stomach made her feel as if she would vomit up even the previous night's dinner.

After a good while, until her stomach was empty and she felt the deadly silence and cold again, Jaina realized that if she didn't do something, she might end up a cold corpse like them.

"I must do something!" Jaina told herself.

With a strong will, she stood up, forcing herself to enter this purgatory to look for anything that could help her survive.

The orcs had almost taken all the edible things. They had rudely broken into every room, smashing open every cellar of the houses.

Due to their massive size, they burst through every door, turning each home into a ruin full of gaping holes.

Fortunately, Jaina found two thick blankets in a closet under the stairs, and then she found two large pieces of dark bread under a bed—bread she would have never deigned to look at before.

She didn't know how to start a fire with flint, but luckily, she was a competent geomancer. She went to a devastated cellar, piled up some wood, and started a fire with a fireball spell. Then she placed a blanket underneath herself and wrapped the other around her.

This way, she was a bit warmer.

Time passed, and hunger could no longer be ignored. She eventually heated some snow in an iron pot and broke the bark-like black bread into it, softening it in the water, and forced herself to swallow.

She might never forget that terrible taste.

In a daze, she fell asleep.

She was awakened by noise.

"Is anyone there? Is anyone alive?" A standard Lordaeron accent, not something orcs could mimic. Jaina rushed out of the cellar, infinitely surprised to see a troop of Lordaeron cavalry.

"Praise the Light!" The leader, clearly a paladin, had lost hope for this devastated town, but unexpectedly, he found a survivor—and apparently, one of noble status.

"Oh! Thank the ancestors of Thoradin." Jaina was also ecstatic.

She had already forgotten about surviving for 24 hours.

"How did you..." Before she could greet them, Jaina heard a strange, faint noise.

"Whoosh—" Less than half a meter in front of Jaina. A wooden spear thrown from nowhere struck the neck of a cavalryman beside her.

The force of the spear was so great that Jaina watched, dumbfounded, as the spearhead entered on the left side and broke out the right, nearly severing the knight's neck.

Looking at the tilted head and feeling the warmth of the blood splashing on her face from the knight's wound, Jaina couldn't help but scream, "Ahh—"

The paladin raised his shield, blocking another thrown spear, and shouted, "Orcs—"

This was Jaina's first Valentine's Day, and it was a blood-red one.