The Seventh Biological Laboratory, Special-Level Isolation Zone.
Allen's figure appeared silently before the cage. He looked at the Soul Flame, which was much dimmer than it had been half a month ago.
"Well, have you thought it through?"
Sargeras remained silent. He had already learned to hide his worthless anger. After half a month of "limited research," his arrogance had long been completely ground away, leaving only his primal survival instinct.
"Respected Wizard, I... I need a guarantee," Sargeras's voice was humble.
His underlying meaning was obvious: if you want a horse to run, you have to feed it grass. If you want things done, you have to grant some authority and Freedom.
"Of course." Allen nodded slightly, seemingly completely unaware of the other party's ulterior motives. "We will sign a contract. As long as you work hard and earn enough money for me, I will naturally grant you Freedom."
Sargeras's Soul Flame flickered imperceptibly.
