Crusade
The Dragon Sinestra, now less of a dragon and more of a walking, squirming nightmare of tentacles and ancient evil, felt a truly unholy power coursing through her body. It was a sensation so exhilarating, so utterly delicious, that a fleeting thought crossed her mangled mind: she could tear Nefarian apart alive, limb from scaly limb, even if he were still breathing.
Which, given his recent transformation into a golden holy dragon, was a distinct possibility. It's just that her brain, a rather crucial organ for coherent thought, wasn't quite firing on all cylinders anymore. She seemed to have misplaced a few millennia of memories, like car keys in a cosmic void. But why was she so ridiculously, unbelievably strong? Apart from her master, N'Zoth, who else could possibly trip her up? The very idea was preposterous!
So, the Hell Dragon, with the intellectual curiosity of a particularly dense brick, stopped investigating the matter. Who cared about pesky details like "how" or "why" when there was a world to destroy and a "Twilight Judgment" to bring about? Priorities, people!
In order to properly dismantle the world, the first order of business was, naturally, to obliterate the self-proclaimed "guardian dragon army" that insisted on protecting this perfectly destructible planet. After being unceremoniously rescued from the Dragonblight (a rather embarrassing incident involving a very large net and even larger grunts), Cho'Gall, the two-headed ogre, had embarked on a whirlwind global tour.
He'd traveled around the world, like a particularly ugly, two-headed rock star, summoning Twilight believers from every dark corner and dusty crevice. He'd also meticulously (and rather loudly) drawn important forces from the Twilight Bastion, preparing to coordinate with Sinestra's forces for a glorious, devastating, and hopefully successful attack on the Wyrmrest Temple!
So, in the glorious month of September, in the twenty-fourth year of the Dark Gate calendar, after brewing secretly for more than half a year (which, for a two-headed ogre, felt like an eternity), a new war erupted again in the Dragonbone Waste. And this time, the Dragonflight truly suffered. Like, really suffered. They were going to need a lot of ice packs and therapy.
Soon, the dragon's messenger for help arrived at the palace of Stromgarde, looking less like a majestic herald and more like a very frazzled pigeon. The ones who came were the red dragon Korialstrasz (who looked perpetually stressed), the blue dragon girl Tyregosa (who seemed perpetually confused), and the green dragon princess Mylinthra (who just looked perpetually bored). Ever since his spectacularly failed attempt to expose Daval Prestor as a black dragon in disguise (a moment that still made him wince), Korialstrasz had rarely stayed in Dalaran.
The real reason, whispered amongst the magical elite, was that Gandalf, Kael'thas, and other Kirin Tor council members were secretly ostracizing him, treating him like a particularly smelly piece of old cheese. Even the red dragons, his own kin, had marginalized him, making him a nobody for a time. He was basically the awkward cousin at the family reunion.
Galen, ever the pragmatist, did not choose to meet them individually. They had, after all, taken the formal channels to seek help from the Alliance, which meant bureaucracy, and bureaucracy meant a meeting. So, Galen, with a sigh that could deflate a small blimp, issued an Alliance call to summon the members of the Grand Alliance of Azeroth. However, this time the night elves were still cleaning up the mess at Mount Hyjal, presumably still finding singed eyebrows and rogue demons, and thus did not arrive. Instead, it was the members of the Old Alliance: seven representatives from the seven human kingdoms, plus Quel'Thalas, Ironforge, and Gnomeregan, all of whom were present and accounted for. This, of course, just goes to show that where there are people, there are cliques and rivalries, even among world-saving heroes. Only a few years after the establishment of the Azeroth Alliance, factions had already emerged, neatly divided by region, like rival high school lunch tables.
Putting aside the vassal races, who were basically just there for the snacks, among the permanent councilors, the tauren had been allies in the early development of Stromgarde. Although their warchief had a close personal relationship with Galen (they probably exchanged recipes for beef stew), their territory bordered the night elves to the north and south.
Other tauren, it seemed, had more exchanges with the night elves and were, rather annoyingly, more inclined to their leafy ways. And the Grand Magister Elisandra of Suramar, a woman who looked down on everyone from a great height, particularly despised the night elves, preferring the high elves, the descendants of Dath'Remar, who at least had better fashion sense. It's just so magical how political alliances are forged over who has the best elven lineage!
When Galen finally arrived at the conference hall, everyone was already there, fidgeting impatiently. The most conspicuous one among them was 'Korial', who looked like a high elf who had consumed far too much caffeine. He was pacing anxiously in the center of the hall, looking like a caged tiger, while the red dragon and the blue dragon whispered to each other, trying to comfort him with what sounded suspiciously like bad poetry. His hometown was in mortal danger, and he didn't want to waste even a single moment. He even complained in his heart about the "low efficiency" of the human king, clearly unaware that "efficiency" and "inter-species political meetings" rarely occupied the same sentence.
Galen, with the practiced nonchalance of a man who dealt with world-ending threats before breakfast, ignored the three dragons. Honestly, even if their queen had arrived in person, Galen could still ignore them. He was Galen. Everyone waited for Galen to take a seat, then looked forward to him speaking, probably hoping he'd just tell them where the nearest tavern was.
"Everyone," Galen began, his voice echoing with gravitas, "the purpose of calling everyone here this time can be guessed by everyone. The sacred place of the dragons is under attack, and they, rather desperately, need our help."
At Galen's signal, Darien, the leader of his personal guards (a man whose job mostly involved looking stoic and occasionally pulling out maps), came to the wall and, with a dramatic flourish, unfurled a huge map. Everyone leaned in, squinting. It was the map of Dragonbone Wasteland. The councilors had fought against the Undead Scourge there many years ago and were intimately familiar with the terrain and various strongholds on the ice field. However, in the pristine white ice field, there were several huge cracks marked with an alarming shade of purple. Those cracks were like huge, gaping mouths of the abyss, seemingly swallowing up the entire area, probably burping occasionally.
"Messenger of the Guardian Dragon, please tell us about the current situation!" Galen said, gesturing to Krasus. Krasus, looking like he'd just been told his favorite tea shop was closing, stepped forward quickly and said, "First of all, I would like to thank your generous Majesty Galen for bringing back those children who left their homes in a critical moment."
Galen waved his hands dismissively. He no longer cared about just two hundred red dragon cubs. He had bigger fish to fry. After expressing his gratitude, Krasus pointed a trembling claw at the purple cracks. "As you can see, the enemy attacked us from underground, like particularly aggressive gophers!" he announced. "These huge mouths that emerged from the ground are called the Maws of Madness. They were brought from underground by the Twilight Cult and can breed the hateful servant of the Old God, N'zoth! They're basically giant, evil vending machines for horrors!"
At this, the representative of the high elves, the great wizard Rommath, spoke up, looking utterly unimpressed. "Master Krasus, if it is just these cracks, we only need to arrange a large-scale magic ritual to destroy them. Are there any other difficulties, or are we just here for a geology lesson?" Archmage Rommath was the Grand Magister of Quel'Thalas, and became the leader of the high elven magisters after Kael'thas ascended to the throne. He was also one of the Sun King's personal advisors. Like Krasus, Rommath had served the Kirin Tor for a long time and was still in Dalaran in name only, probably because Dalaran was too boring for him.
"Indeed," Krasus sighed, looking even more deflated. "I once tried to gather a blue dragon raiding team to cast a spell together, but during the casting process, Kalecgos, a powerful member of our team, was captured! He essentially got magicked-napped! Our plan had to be delayed, obviously."
When Galen heard this, he touched his forehead helplessly and felt utterly speechless. "You are a worthless fighter, worthy of being called such a nobody," he thought, a familiar exasperation rising within him. "But Kalecgos is still alive," Krasus continued, brightening slightly, "but we don't have the extra troops to attack the Twilight Cult's stronghold to save him! We're stretched thinner than a goblin's patience!" After several high-intensity wars with the Twilight Dragons, the Wyrmrest Coalition's forces had become extremely stretched, looking like a rubber band about to snap. They could barely even defend the Wyrmrest Temple. That assault team was forced out by Alexstrasza against all odds, but it still failed, which caused Krasus's already limited prestige to suffer another setback. Now that he had come to the mortals to seek help, he was essentially trying to make up for his past mistakes, like a child trying to hide a broken vase.
"Krasus, how do you want the Alliance to help you?" Galen asked, cutting to the chase. The current situation in Dragonblight was eerily similar to the Twilight Highlands in his previous life, only colder and with more dead dragons. Today, the Northeron Highlands was the core province of the Kingdom of Stromgarde, easily supporting the country's economy. Under heavy guard, the cultists could hardly move an inch here, probably getting lost in the snow.
"Your Majesty Galen," Krasus bowed deeply to Galen and the surrounding alliance members, looking like a very large, very red, very polite contortionist, "the evil Old God is behind the Twilight Cult and the Twilight Dragons. His goal is to destroy Azeroth! It's the whole 'lips and teeth are cold' principle, you see. If our teeth freeze off, your lips are next!" He then launched into a dramatic explanation of why everyone should care. "I hope that everyone in the alliance can start a state of total war and join forces to thwart the conspiracy of the ancient gods!" He finished, looking like a very dramatic, very desperate orator.
In fact, the defense line of the dragon coalition, composed of the guardian dragon and the golden holy dragon, was still relatively solid, like a very shiny, very scaly wall. But they could only hold the defense line around the Dragon Sleep Temple, resisting the fierce attack of the Hell Dragon day and night, barely getting any sleep. The armies led by N'Zoth's right-hand men, Yosahj the Unsleeping (who presumably never slept) and Warlord Zonoz (who presumably never smiled), tightly surrounded the center of Dragonblight from the east and west, like a very unpleasant, very well-organized hug. In addition, the Twilight's Hammer was very powerful, and their leadership had not suffered a fundamental blow. Combined with their assistance, it was indeed difficult for the dragons to move forward.
Krasus's desperate request for help, however, gave a good impetus to Galen's next, rather ambitious plan. Under his leadership, the alliance unanimously passed the resolution to send troops, probably just to shut Krasus up. The Dragonflight did suffer heavy losses. After several turmoils, almost half of the new generation accumulated over tens of thousands of years died, which was a rather depressing statistic. But the rest were the elite among the elite, the survivors who had learned to dodge really fast. Of course, there were also a few lucky blue dragons, who probably just happened to be looking the other way when disaster struck. However, Galen admitted that luck is also part of strength, especially when you're facing world-ending threats.
Soon, with the alliance's war machine in action, a half-million expeditionary force was assembled overnight, looking like a very large, very angry, very well-armed ant colony. The four nations of Kul Tiras, Stormwind, Stromgarde, and Lordaeron formed a joint fleet to transport the army, probably arguing about who got the biggest ship. Among them, the Kingdom of Stromgarde also dispatched four aerospace warships, which were essentially giant, flying metal boxes of doom.
However, Galen did not lead the Northern Expedition himself this time. He handed over the command of the army to the Windrunner sisters, presumably because he had better things to do, like napping. He formed a truly luxurious team for them: Fordring, Mograine, Danath, Bolvar, Muradin, Kurland, and other veterans who had been through so many battles they probably smelled of gunpowder and existential weariness. On the spellcaster advisor side, Galen sent Med'an and his young wife Dolnan, probably hoping their combined magical might would compensate for the Windrunner sisters' lack of magical aptitude. Under the guidance of his grandmother and step-grandfather Gandalf (a rather impressive family tree), the 22-year-old Med'an had broken through to the legendary level with his powerful bloodline, and was far stronger than Medivh's direct disciple Khadgar, who probably just sighed dramatically at this news. Dolnan was a Draenei orphan that Galen and Alleria met in Shattrath. She had a strong elemental affinity, and with the blessing of the new four spirit lords of Draenor, she had become a powerful shaman, capable of summoning angry rocks and very wet water.
Galen personally sent the Windrunner sisters onto the aerospace battleship, probably giving them a pep talk about not blowing up too many things. "Aure, Sylva," Galen said earnestly, holding the hands of his two wives, "the battle in Dragonblight is now in your hands. With 500,000 troops, we have the advantage. I suggest that the first battle should be a decisive one! No dilly-dallying!"
"Delay and destroy the main force of the Twilight Cult, especially the Faceless Warlords. Don't let any of them escape. Sinestra, however, you can let her go."
"That dragon?" Sylvanas asked, her eyebrow (or where an eyebrow would be, if she still had one) arching. "She brought great trauma to Azeroth. We spent millions of gold coins just to repair the huge rift that runs through the Golden Plains. Why should we let her go? Let the culprit go? I don't think of myself as a horse breeder, Galen!"
"That female dragon is one of us," Galen explained briefly, as if this made perfect sense, "and she is also the mother of Onyxia and the others." N'Zoth had regarded Sinestra as a substitute for Deathwing, a sort of evil understudy. In order to increase the strength of this trump card, he had spent his energy helping this hell dragon absorb the power of the four ancient gods, turning her into a walking, squirming powerhouse.
Now Sinestra had broken through to the peak of demigod, and her strength was close to that of Nefarian in his prime. Galen had erased part of her memory, allowing her to concentrate on launching the Twilight Judgment, presumably so she wouldn't get distracted by existential crises. This female dragon would not hold back when she started fighting; she was basically a very angry, very powerful, amnesiac wrecking ball.
Galen pondered for a while, and finally decided Sinestra's fate with the casualness of ordering a pizza: "It's okay to kill her, but when you kill her, it's best to have a golden holy dragon within a hundred meters. Just... for reasons. Trust me."
The Wind Walker sisters had also broken through to the demigod level, because apparently, everyone was getting power-ups these days. Together with the Four Dragon Kings and the Three Holy Dragons, they had a very luxurious lineup, a sort of magical Avengers. With high-end combat power and huge military force, the Alliance could directly crush them, like a very large, very angry boot. Although the Windrunner sisters did not understand Galen's intention (they probably just assumed it was another one of his weird quirks), they still agreed.
"So, we're going all out!" Alleria declared, a glint in her eye.
"That's how it should be!" Sylvanas added, a rare moment of agreement between the two.
After Galen hugged them gently, he watched the expeditionary force leave and waved goodbye to his loved ones, probably already planning his next move.
"Darion, summon the Crusaders!" Galen commanded, his voice echoing with renewed purpose. Darion, ever efficient, hurried away, probably already mentally preparing for the paperwork involved in summoning thousands of holy warriors.
N'Zoth's Twilight Judgment plan had begun when the Hell Dragon caused a cataclysm around the world, turning perfectly good landscapes into jagged, smoking chasms. During this period, the Twilight Sect was also active in various countries, like a particularly annoying multi-level marketing scheme, and finally established the Twilight Bastion, a military fortress in Vol'dun, presumably with a very dark gift shop. After the catastrophe caused a riot among the world's elements, the kingdoms of wind and fire elements invaded the real world, probably complaining about the lack of proper ventilation.
After the fall of Ulduar, the guardian dragon system became the strongest guardian force on Azeroth, mostly because everyone else was too busy dealing with their own problems. N'Zoth took advantage of the fact that the mortal races focused their energy on their own homeland and was determined to destroy them, like a very patient, very evil gardener.
Of course, this was also the result of Galen's secret guidance. He was basically playing 4D chess with an Old God. Now that N'Zoth had handed over almost all the cards he could play to Sinestra, his lair must be empty! It was time to give him a fatal blow!
Half a day later, groups of knights of different races gathered at the Minas Tirith Square, the sacred place of the Arathi Diocese, looking like a very diverse, very heavily armed cosplay convention. They were solemn humans riding war horses, slender long-eared elves riding war horses (who probably complained about saddle comfort), sturdy dwarves riding war goats (who probably complained about the smell), tall and burly tauren riding kodo beasts (who probably complained about the lack of legroom), and blue-skinned draenei riding thunder elephants (who probably complained about the static electricity). And the last one was a group of strong and tall trolls with straight backs, riding horned dragons in golden armor! It was truly a sight to behold, like a fantasy parade gone gloriously wrong.
At this time, more than a dozen generals lined up and came in front of Galen, looking very serious. Gavinrad Doom, who was dressed in a suit of judgment (presumably for judging evil, and fashion choices), was the first to kneel down and worship: "Gavinrad has come with the Knights Templar to participate in the holy war. The 4,399 knights of the Knights Templar are ready for battle! And we brought snacks!"
Following closely behind was Uther with a gray beard, looking like a very wise, very tired Santa Claus. He also knelt on one knee and saluted Galen: "Uther and 2,872 knights of the Knights of the Silver Hand are here to join the battle! And we brought extra bandages!"
"Liadrin is coming with the Dawnblade Knights... and a very impressive tan!"
"Dezko Dawnchaser arrives with Sunwalker... and a thirst for justice!"
"Grand Guardian Maraad is coming with the Knights of the Light's Hammer... and a surprisingly good singing voice!"
"The high-ranking paladin Rata is coming with the Rezan Order... and a distinct lack of personal space!"
Galen was standing on the reviewing platform, looking at the thousands of paladins, his heart pounding with a mix of pride and mild terror. "I declare, in the name of Holy Light!" he boomed, his voice echoing across the square. "Azeroth Silver Crusaders! Established!"
As Galen announced, the nature of the Crusade was no longer his, Galen Trollbane's, private army, but belonged to the entire Azeroth! It was like a very large, very holy, very public takeover. At this moment, Galen was very passionate, practically glowing with zeal!
"Our world was once ruled by darkness, the blood of good people flowed on the land, and respectable knights died to protect their own lives and ours!" he declared, his voice rising. "With the help of the Titans, the world has returned to order. However, some things cannot be forgotten. The Holy Light reminds us to remain vigilant at all times! Like that annoying little voice in your head that tells you not to eat the last cookie!"
"The Old Gods are still secretly coveting our world, and we will not allow him to destroy Azeroth again! We will not allow him to mess up our perfectly good planet!"
"I make a promise to you now, my brothers and sisters of the Light. Evil will be defeated! From this day forward, I want us to be united! Like a very large, very shiny, very angry fist!"
"The Knights of the Silver Hand, the Knights Templar, the Knights of the Dawn, the Draenei Vindicators, the Sunwalker Legion, and the Zandalari Paladins will be united as one from now on! We are the Power Rangers of Azeroth!"
"The Silver Crusade of Azeroth is established! We will fight all evil and protect our world! And look good doing it!"
This square contained nearly half of the clergy in Azeroth, looking like a very large, very enthusiastic choir. They were inspired by Galen, their morale so high it was practically in orbit!
"For the Holy Light!"
"For the Crusaders!"
"For Azeroth!"
The army's morale was so high, it was practically levitating, and Galen nodded with satisfaction, a smug grin on his face. "Silver Crusaders! Go!" As the order was given, tens of thousands of clergymen boarded the warships in an orderly manner and set sail for the expedition! Target: The Eternal Palace of the Naga and the Dark City of Nazjatar! In later generations, this expedition was called the Crusade! And probably had some very dramatic ballads written about it.
In fact, Galen also wanted to absorb the priests of the Church of Holy Light into the Scarlet Crusade, but for now, the Paladins were more capable of dealing with N'Zoth. They had bigger hammers. Therefore, the plan to expand the Silver Crusaders could be postponed. Among the more than ten thousand clergymen in this square, not all of them were real paladins. The most orthodox ones were the Knights of the Silver Hand and a part of the Knights Templar. They were all baptized through the rituals of the Church of Holy Light and awakened into paladins, probably with a lot of glowing and dramatic music.
The awakening threshold of the Paladin was too high. In addition to belief in the Holy Light, it also required firm will and quality, like a very strict job interview. After the Orc War, the Silver Hand lowered the assessment requirements for paladins, which, rather unfortunately, resulted in the corruption of Prince Arthas. Now the Knights of the Silver Hand had returned to their original standards, resulting in a limited number of new official members in recent years, but they were more elite, like a very exclusive club. As an equally orthodox Knights Templar, it had more members than the Silver Hand. The reason for this was that in addition to the fact that Stromgarde's national strength had grown faster than Lordaeron and its population was larger, the Minas Tirith Cathedral could train a high-level paladin every sixty hours! This saved several or even more than ten years compared to normal cultivation, which was basically like a magical fast-track program. Of course, normal training was in batches, and the training in the cathedral could only produce one at a time, like a very slow, very holy 3D printer. It's a pity that the human population of Azeroth had not yet exceeded 100 million. Without a sufficient population base, normal cultivation cannot achieve explosive growth.
In addition to human paladins, dwarven paladins came from human teachings, probably with a lot of grumbling about the lack of ale. And the high elves, in addition to the enlightenment of the Holy Minas Tirith Paladin Training Camp, also added some belief in the sun, probably because it made their hair look shinier. The holy light used by the Draenei garrison officers was closest to that of human paladins, but their power of holy light came from their belief in the Naaru, and they had more middlemen than humans, like a very spiritual pyramid scheme. The power used by the Tauren Sunwalkers came from the belief in the sun Anshe, which was basically a very large, very warm cow.
Finally, Galen felt that the most unorthodox was the paladin of the Zandalari trolls. When he first saw that trolls could choose the Paladin profession, Galen, who was a member of the Prell (a very traditional group), exclaimed that "Xiaodao was pulling his ass, and he was enlightened." It was a moment of profound, slightly confused realization. The power of this group of paladins came from the guardian loa of the kings: Rezan. This powerful Devilsaur Loa once signed a contract with the first emperor of the Zandalari Empire and helped this group of trolls establish the Zandalari Empire, presumably with a lot of roaring and stomping. Because of this historical reason, Rezan was revered by the trolls as the most supreme Loa, surpassing all other Loa, like a very popular, very scaly celebrity. In order to praise this Loa, the Zandalari trolls wrote a poem that has been sung for thousands of years:
"The god Rezan, basking in the glory of the sun. Standing strong and unyielding, he is the greatest god! He is mighty! He is fierce! As legend has it. Strong-willed and true to his word, Lezan is our guide. Noble, perceptive, and true to his honor. No other god is as great. Son of the Dragon Mother, the morning star. He is the pride of Zandalar."
The heirs of the Zandalari royal family had always been followers of Rezan, and in addition, Rezan also had his own temple and team of priests, probably with a lot of very loud sermons. But the most unique thing was that there was a special group of paladins following Rezan. There was no doubt that all the members of this holy warrior group were Rezan's most devout believers. The only difference was that they did not simply pray for Rezan's power like the priests. Instead, they used Rezan's power to strengthen their martial arts and become holy warriors wielding the light of God, like very spiritual martial artists. Coincidentally, Rezan's innate power was holy light, which made this group of holy warriors very similar to human paladins, and they all became holy warriors who use holy light to enhance their combat capabilities. This was somewhat similar to the Draenei, but of course there were some differences. If the Naaru was the biological son of the Holy Light, then Rezan could only be considered as the son raised by a stepmother. The Loa gods were ranked too low, even the demigods of the wilderness were much higher in status than them, like very minor celebrities. In order to prevent this group of Zandalari paladins from hindering the Scarlet Crusade, Galen deliberately "light-forged" Rezan to directly enhance his power of holy light so that he could bestow stronger divine light on believers, essentially giving Rezan a magical power-up.
Not long ago, with the help of Velen's surprisingly accurate prophecy, Galen locked on the location of Nazjatar. It was near Nazjatar, the naga's Eternal Palace, which was located southwest of Vashj'ir, probably in a very inconvenient spot. With the Naga and submarine troops under Galen's command at the time, and the cooperation of the giant octopus Ozumat (who was probably very grumpy), it would not be difficult to capture Nazjatar. But Nazjatar... With N'Zoth in charge and in the deep sea, it was a bit difficult for land creatures like Galen, who preferred solid ground and not being eaten by giant squids. To this end, Galen took great pains to contain most of N'Zoth's forces in Dragonblight, like a very large, very complicated game of whack-a-mole.
Now that N'Zoth had handed over almost all the cards he could play to Sinestra, his lair must be empty! It was time to give him a fatal blow! The fleet of the Silver Crusaders set out from the East Sea Port in the back mountains of Minas Tirith and crossed the Sardor Strait, probably with a lot of seasickness. When arriving at the Palatine Gulf, a large number of Nagas emerged from the bottom of the sea, guarding the fleet and escorting it, looking like very enthusiastic, very scaly bodyguards. When they arrived at the waters of Vashj'ir, a huge golden sea monster flashed by, and then more Nagas joined the expedition fleet. What surprised the Paladins of the Silver Crusade was that among the densely packed Nagas, there were actually thousands of Nagas radiating holy light all over their bodies! Those were the Lightforged Naga Royal Guards. They had golden fins and golden pupils, and they held golden anchor weapons in their hands! They looked like very shiny, very angry mermaids.
The fleet continued westward, and around the Broken Isles, a night elf-style ship, probably smelling faintly of moonberries, joined the fleet. Finally, in the waters of the Zandalari Islands, a giant shark also joined the expedition. That was one of the Loa gods worshipped by the Zandalari trolls: the shark god Gral. When Galen first saw this Loa, he thought his followers should be troll fishermen or sailors. It turns out that he was the exclusive Loa for thieves! Are you surprised? Are you surprised?! The reason why Shark Loa joined the expedition was simple: he had a grudge against the Naga. Gral's temple was located on the coast of Zandalar Island. As a result, a group of naga attacked his temple, all his believers were killed, the temple was burned down, and he himself could only hide in the deep sea, probably sulking.
It was said that the reason why the Naga attacked Grol was because as an aquatic Loa, he knew that some kind of darkness was gathering in the deep sea, and he also saw through some of the secrets of the Naga Queen Azshara! Galen didn't care about the unexpected joining of this Loa. His hometown was destroyed by the Naga, so his strength was just that. What he cared more about was what secrets the Shark Loa knew that were worth the Naga running to the land to destroy the other person's temple and believers. Thinking of this, Galen summoned the shark Loa over. A white fish fin cut through the sea surface, bringing up a white wave that shuttled across the sea, looking like a very fast, very angry shark. In the waves, a huge shark head appeared, with its bloody mouth full of sharp teeth like knives!
"Greetings to the Lord of all living things, Holy Lord for all eternity!" the shark boomed, its voice surprisingly formal for a giant, toothy fish.
Galen: "???" This stinky shark must have come into contact with Taztingo and Zul'jin, otherwise how could such flattering words be spread among the Zandalari trolls and Loa?! "Grol, tell me what secret you discovered that caused your temple and believers to be slaughtered by the Naga?" This question silenced Shark Loa, but after a moment, his huge shark head spoke again: "I noticed that the Naga Queen seemed to be making some big moves. She was secretly gathering her forces! I was curious for a moment, so I sneaked to the Naga base, and I heard some incredible things! There seems to be a master hiding in the dark behind the Naga, who controls the entire Naga tribe! But Azshara seemed unwilling to serve the dark lord, so she secretly accumulated strength to break free from the control of darkness..."
"Okay?" After hearing this, Galen was stunned. What did he hear? Was Azshara going to rebel against N'Zoth's control? Why hadn't he heard of it in his previous life? Did something extraordinary happen after he traveled through time? Wow, this was really big news. The kind of news that made you spill your coffee. However, it was not impossible for this to happen. You should know that Azshara was the proudest person in Azeroth ten thousand years ago. She was the queen of the Night Elf Empire and called herself the Light of Light. To go a step further, she signaled to Xavius to contact the legendary god and wanted to marry the god as his spouse, presumably for power and a very fancy wedding.
How could Azshara, who had witnessed the power of Sargeras and was herself a demigod, lose herself in the face of the dark power of the Old Gods? And he was a loser imprisoned by the Titans. She was too proud to become a servant of an imprisoned ancient god. Perhaps in the ancient explosion that year, Azshara and N'Zoth at best reached some kind of deal, or it was a relationship close to equality, like two very powerful, very evil business partners. Of course, all this was just Galen's guess. He didn't know the truth, but it didn't stop him from killing Azshara and N'Zoth in one fell swoop.
After encouraging the Shark Loa a few more words, Galen promised that he would let Rastakhan help him rebuild the temple and resume offerings to him, probably with a lot of fish. After watching Shark Loa retreat with great enthusiasm, Galen ordered the fleet to move forward at full speed, probably with a lot of excited shouting. Three days later, the expedition fleet finally arrived at the target sea area, and the former Tide Lord Neptulon had been waiting here for a long time, looking like a very large, very wet, very impatient water elemental.
In his cabin, Galen condensed his own incarnation, probably with a dramatic flash of light and a puff of smoke. When Galen Remar came to the deck, a group of acquaintances had been waiting for a long time, looking a little bored. Prince Farondis of Nar'thalas, Grand Magister Elisande of Suramar. Compared to Farondis who still retained most of the night elf appearance, Elisande's skin had completely turned dark purple, with silver light flashing on the exposed skin. It was a magical tattoo composed of pure magic, making her look like a very fancy, very powerful glow stick. This was because Suramar's barrier had kept the entire city in eternal night for a long time, and the long-term "sucking" of energy from the Nightwell, several coincidences had combined to change the appearance of the Nightborne, making them completely different from other elven races, like a very extreme fashion statement.
"It's such a pleasure to meet old friends again," Farondis laughed at himself, a wry smile on his face. "There are still a few people who haven't arrived. Wait a moment." After Galen finished speaking, three white teleportation lights fell on the deck, looking like very bright, very sudden spotlights. They were Thranduil who had been active in Vol'dun recently (probably complaining about the sand) and Tortheldrin who guarded Eldre'Thalas (probably complaining about everything). The last two were Illidan and Vashj, who had stayed in Draenor for many years, probably causing a lot of trouble.
As soon as Vashj in Naga form landed, she reached out to activate the dragon soul worn around her neck, then transformed from a Naga into an elf's body, then moved her long legs and threw herself into Galen's arms, looking like a very dramatic, very affectionate missile. "This is how old friends reunite," Galen said, opening his arms and hugging his long-lost lover tightly, stroking her long hair and speaking to everyone with a smile that was a little too smug. Everyone on the deck looked at each other in silence. They were all important leaders of the Night Elf Empire in the past: Galen'Remar, four princes, a great imperial mage, a queen's attendant, and a son of prophecy. It was really bad taste for Galen to do this, but then again, he was Galen.
"Galen, why did you call us back? The Broken Abyss, Mardon, is only one last stronghold away from me. Then I can completely control the Broken Abyss!" Illidan looked unhappy, his voice a low growl. "You'd better give me an explanation, and it better be good!" Even though he became Galen's follower, the demon hunter's character remained unruly, like a very powerful, very angsty teenager. Illidan had been causing trouble in Draenor over the years, presumably for fun. With the support of Galen, Illidan began to secretly train a group of demon hunters, probably teaching them how to brood effectively. With elite demon hunters, base troops, and Vashj's Naga, Illidan formed a legion of his own: the Illidari, a very edgy, very powerful army. Over the years, the Illidari had been looking for opportunities to attack the Legion's worlds, like very aggressive intergalactic tourists. When Azeroth was still fighting against the Lich King in the north and the Silithus Desert in the south, Illidan personally led an attack on the Dreadlord's home planet Nazreza in the void and stole the Seal of Argus from the archives, probably leaving a very rude note behind.
This device allowed Illidan to directly enter Argus, the former homeland of the draenei, like a very exclusive VIP pass. But Illidan's purpose was not limited to this device. When the Burning Legion sent a large number of reinforcements to Nazreza, this ruthless demon hunter directly tore the portal apart, because apparently, he didn't believe in polite goodbyes. So this planet was like the original time and space when Ner'zhul opened portals randomly and blew Draenor into the broken Outland.
The surging space energy tore Nazar'za apart and the entire planet was blown into pieces, like a very large, very explosive piñata. Because this planet was in the void, the souls of countless demons were reduced to ashes along with their bodies, and could never be resurrected, which was a very satisfying thought. Of course, as the current supreme commander of the Burning Legion, Kil'jaeden was furious about this. In order to vent his anger, he sent a large number of demons to invade Draenor, probably screaming obscenities the whole time.
Medivh and Khadgar, master and apprentice, took the blame for Illidan and were troubled for several years because of it. They even missed Med'an's coming-of-age ceremony and wedding, which was probably a relief for everyone involved. And the Mardun mentioned by Illidan was even more amazing. This was a prison built by the bronze titan Sargeras himself before his fall, presumably for very naughty demons. In order to destroy the demons, he conducted in-depth research on the characteristics of the twisting void and found a way to contain the demons. This isolated world was impregnable and nothing could escape from it, like a very secure, very unpleasant maximum-security prison. After liberating Ulduar, Galen told Illidan that there was a powerful artifact called the Sargerite Keystone in Mardum, which could be used to access all the worlds conquered by the Burning Legion, like a universal key to evil. To achieve this goal, Illidan launched an invasion of Mardum, and it had been nearly four years since the twenty years since the Dark Portal. Now that victory was in sight, it was interrupted, and he was rude even to Galen, because apparently, even world-ending missions had deadlines.
"Please be patient, we are about to meet the former Queen..." Galen's tone was full of teasing, a mischievous glint in his eye. Although everyone present had been loyal to the queen, Illidan was the one who leveled up the fastest except for himself, and the process of "licking her feet" was self-evident, if you caught Galen's drift. "Then hurry up, so that I can go home after you finish the fight!" No expression could be seen on Illidan's face behind his blindfold. Now the only goal in his life was to defeat the Burning Legion, and he was very, very focused.
"Farondis, did you bring the Tidestone?" Galen turned around and asked. "How could I forget such an important artifact!" Prince Farondis waved his hand, and two upper elven mages floated over from the Suramar-style ship, holding the Tidestone in their hands, looking very important. The Tidestone, one of the five legendary Pillars of Creation. Its full name was Golganneth's Tidestone. As the name suggests, it was an artifact forged by the Titan Golganneth. It was said that the oceans of Azeroth all originated from this artifact. Whoever possesses it can control the sea! Ten thousand years ago, this artifact was stored in the ancient elven city of Nar'thalas and was kept and controlled by Farondis. Due to Galen's intervention, Farondis did not plan to use the power of the Tidestone of Golganneth to die.