Loot

What is the purpose of defeating the Boss?

Fame! Loot! That sweet, world-shaking dopamine rush of victory!

Even after getting hurled across time and waking up smack in the middle of the real Azeroth, Duke couldn't shake off the gamer instincts tattooed onto his soul. Azeroth or not, a boss is still a boss, and loot is still loot.

And not just any loot—we're talking Atiesh, baby. The legendary staff, whispered about in dreams, lusted after by mages everywhere, gloriously ugly and absurdly powerful. It wasn't just gear. It was religion.

A completely deranged thought elbowed its way into Duke's brain and set up shop: kill Medivh. Yes, that Medivh. Well, technically the shell of Medivh now acting as the rental car for the cosmic demon king Sargeras. Kill him. Take Atiesh. Profit.

As he imagined gripping the artifact staff, feeling the eldritch power thrumming through his fingertips like caffeine brewed with raw lightning, Duke felt his blood pressure spike with sheer anticipation.

"Hooooooh boy..." Duke let out a long breath that sounded more like a war horn to his allies.

Elizabeth Jones and old wizard Norton, walking beside him with politely forced expressions, both turned toward him with synchronized concern.

"Are you okay?" they asked in perfect unison, like a tragic comedy duo.

They weren't worried about his health. No, no. They were thinking: Are you about to go up against your possibly demon-possessed mentor at a social function?

"It'll be okay," Duke replied, oozing the kind of fake confidence you slap on when you're about to bluff a raid boss with 1 HP and no potions.

Ignoring the noble peanut gallery tossing smug smirks his way like breadcrumbs to ducks, Duke followed the waiter into the jaw-droppingly luxurious banquet hall with his entourage in tow. The hall was bigger than a football field and twice as pompous.

The ceiling loomed like a cathedral on steroids, covered in dazzling murals depicting human kingdoms, elven elegance, dwarven fortresses, and one very heroic Thoradin laying the smackdown on troll empires.

Duke was busy nerding out over the art history until Ms. Jones elbowed him with the grace of a businesswoman who'd been dealing with nobles for too long.

"My Lord Sea King," she hissed. "This is the New Year's Banquet. A major PR opportunity! Could we maybe network instead of staring at ceiling goblins?"

Duke bent toward her and murmured, "Tonight's going to get weird. Real weird. I suggest you hold off on the sales pitches."

Jones froze. She knew Duke had the uncanny ability to predict incoming catastrophes like a weather wizard crossed with a doom prophet. She shelved her networking dreams immediately.

And right on cue, the messenger's voice thundered: "King Llane and Queen Taria have arrived!"

Trumpets. Applause. Glittering guards. All that jazz. Llane walked in, golden robes practically shouting "I AM THE KING" and his queen beside him, graceful and radiant. Their children followed, looking adorably confused and slightly terrified, as all royal children should.

On a podium under blinding chandeliers, Llane basked in his people's adoration. He raised a goblet, beamed, and delivered a speech that had all the typical kingly fluff:

"Blah blah, good harvest, blah blah, peace and prosperity, the Light smiles upon us, etcetera."

Then he pivoted. "Now, I wish to introduce and honor a young man whose contributions have transformed our kingdom in ways large and small. May I present: Edmund Duke!"

Cue the spotlight slamming onto Duke like a hammer of awkward.

Duke blinked. Wait, what?!

Even Norton tilted his head like a confused owl. Elizabeth gaped like she forgot how breathing worked.

From the side, Anduin Lothar emerged with the grin of a man who knew exactly what kind of chaos was about to unfold. He clapped Duke on the back. "Go on. Don't trip."

Then, whispering with a mischievous twinkle: "I support you... because I need that wall finished."

Duke resisted the urge to facepalm. Even here, contractors are worse than demons.

He marched forward, heart hammering. Llane welcomed him with a royal smile, then unsheathed a gilded sword so fancy it practically had its own crown.

"Please kneel, young man."

Duke paused. Kneel? Kneel kneel?

Lothar sidled up again: "He's going to knight you. If you don't want that, you don't have to kneel."

Welp. Surprise promotion speedrun complete.

Duke dropped to one knee like a true RPG protagonist. King Llane looked like someone who just won the jackpot.

He tapped Duke's shoulders with his ornate sword.

"Edmund Duke, regardless of your origin, your heart belongs to Stormwind. For your unwavering service, I knight you. Let your wisdom and deeds bring further prosperity to our people."

It was almost touching.

Duke rose with a faint smile. "I, Edmund Duke, am willing to serve the people of Stormwind."

No mention of the king. No mention of the crown. Just the people. Sneaky.

Llane didn't care. He clapped Duke on the back like a proud uncle. "Sir Edmund! Do your best next year too. The people depend on you."

"Of course."

The room buzzed like a beehive of scandal-starved nobles. A commoner just got fast-tracked to nobility. No military victories. No ancient bloodline. Just brains, business, and boatloads of magic.

Duke could practically feel the envy radiating off half the room like sunburn. He smiled serenely. Let them gossip. Let them scheme. He had bigger bosses to fight.

And one very ugly, very powerful staff to collect.