Fame

There's a special kind of fame in this world, the kind that screams, "I might not be here, but my legend is everywhere!" And that, my friends, perfectly encapsulated Duke's current situation.

Even though Duke was currently off the grid, unable to return to Stormwind in time, his heroic deeds had already gone viral, spreading like wildfire through the mouths of every Tom, Dick, and Harry who'd participated in the raid, and, of course, through the highly polished official bulletins of Stormwind.

Naturally, the official version was heavily "beautified" – the kind of spin that would make a seasoned politician blush. The general gist was that the esteemed Guardian Medivh had been ambushed and trapped by the nefarious Demon King Sargeras. Then, Sir Anduin Lothar, the leader of the Kingdom Knights, and Sir Edmund Duke (because you can't have a hero story without a sidekick, right?) bravely raided Karazhan, which had, for a brief period, been occupied by demons.

Finally, together with the miraculously rescued Medivh, they heroically shoved the Demon King back into the Abyss, with Duke delivering the final, decisive blow. In the process of slaying the Demon King, the great Guardian and Chief Court Mage Medivh was, regrettably, tragically killed. Womp womp.

With the royal seal of approval from King Llane Wrynn, the fiefdom of Karazhan was officially transferred to Sir Edmund Duke, who had made "outstanding contributions" in this attack, and Sir Edmund was promptly promoted to Viscount. Because nothing says 'thank you for saving the world' like a fancy new title and a haunted tower.

"Hey, have you heard the latest scuttlebutt?" someone whispered in a tavern, eyes wide. "The Sea King Edmund Duke actually killed the demon Sargeras at such a tender age! Can you believe it?"

"I heard about it!" another chimed in, practically vibrating with excitement. "He's absolutely amazing! I thought he was a whiz before, building such a massive empire on his own at such a young age. But I never expected him to be a business shark and a magic prodigy!"

"More than amazing, my friend! He even predicted this whole war! Haven't you seen? Those harpooneers he trained are now regular soldiers of the kingdom, enjoying the sweet life of privates! Oh my god, I recognized that kid Leroy! He used to be a small-time fisherman. Now he's got eight orc-killing medals hanging on his chest!"

"Yeah, I heard it wasn't even the regular army that racked up the most orc kills, but those harpooneers!"

"All of them were brought up by Sir Edmund himself!"

People are simple-minded creatures, and their impression of Duke had been subtly, unconsciously twisted. In the eyes of the time travelers (like Duke himself), this was a classic case of historical deviation. However, people were more concerned about the immediate, pressing matters at hand, like the very real, very green orcs currently trying to flatten their homes.

People only knew Duke from their daily encounters, not from the exaggerated, booze-fueled tales spun in taverns.

All they knew was that the entire kingdom's only lifeline – the maritime supply route – was being kept afloat by Duke's fleet.

The ones currently racking up the most enemy kills were the javelin throwers trained by Duke. Of course, people conveniently overlooked the shield and sword soldiers who were bravely holding the line against the orcs' onslaught, and they also forgot that those javelin throwers were doing their killing from the relative safety of various fortresses.

And those small, strategic fortresses? Also Duke's brainchild.

Then, there were Duke's fleet and the Naga warriors under his command, who risked life and limb to navigate the inland rivers in small boats, scooping up refugees and ferrying them back to Stormwind City.

People were fascinated by these large, yet surprisingly friendly, male Naga warriors. Even though these Naga weren't exactly known for their sunny dispositions towards humans, saving a life was saving a life, and no matter how vicious the Naga were, that fact couldn't be changed.

Once in the river, no matter how tough the orcs were, they wouldn't dare claim they could defeat a Naga. The Horde had encountered this situation more than once: brave orc warriors, fueled by bloodlust, would charge into shallow water that wasn't even knee-deep to chase down humans. However, the Naga wouldn't even bother fighting; they'd simply whip their slender snake tails around the orcs' legs, dragging them into the deep water to drown them alive.

All they got in return were the cheers of the grateful refugees arriving on the ships and the grim, furious glares of the orc commanders.

No matter which way you sliced it, the name Edmund Duke was popping up in every corner of people's lives.

For a time, Duke became even more famous than King Llane himself.

"It's Count Duke's proposal again. He hopes to organize javelin cavalry in the western wilderness. It doesn't require too much equipment, just a horse and some javelin throwing training. Even a farmer who can only ride a horse can complete the initial training in ten days."

Llane looked at the report handed over by Makaro, who had become Duke's almost full-power agent in his absence, and a smile suddenly played on his lips. It was hard to tell if it was a smile of genuine appreciation or a bitter chuckle because Duke was just too devious.

"In terms of war, Viscount Duke seems to have an uncanny foresight," Duke Bolvar Fordragon said, in a tone carefully calibrated not to irritate the high-and-mighty nobles in the hall. "We must face a stark reality: food loss. While we can get supplies from Alterac and Stromgarde, the humid seawater and various losses mean that for every two pounds of wheat shipped, one pound is lost on the road. And that's with our sailors trying every trick in the book to save it!"

"Is that so…" A low murmur of commotion rippled through the nobles.

The nobles, who usually floated high above the common folk, had never bothered themselves with such mundane matters. Only after they lost their own territories and found themselves relying on Llane's protection did they begin to care about such trivialities.

Bolvar's voice rose, cutting through the murmurs. "But last year, someone spent a fortune organizing mercenaries to wipe out most of the monsters in the West Wilderness. After losing seventy percent of the territory of Elwynn Forest, the West Wilderness has become the largest mass production area in the entire kingdom! In the summer grain harvest that just ended, after counting, the summer grain from the West Wilderness this year is enough for the five hundred thousand refugees in Stormwind to survive the coming winter! And for every hundred pounds of grain shipped by sea from the West Wilderness, only five to six pounds were lost at most!"

"Whoa—!" This time, the nobles shouted, their surprise exaggerated and loud.

At this point, Llane stood up, a decisive look on his face. "Alright, there's no need for a vote on this proposal. I approve it."

"Why do they always agree to Edmund's proposals?" A former border earl among the nobles muttered, his voice neither loud nor soft, but laced with clear resentment.

Llane's eyes were stern, his gaze piercing. "I listen to them because they are right, and they are beneficial to the kingdom and its people. If anyone has any opinions, they are welcome to make more reasonable and effective suggestions. My door is always open. If a person's hundred suggestions are all correct, then I don't mind listening to all hundred of his suggestions at once, without question."

The nobles' complaints, in essence, boiled down to a loss of their own power and influence.

King Llane, with his sheer courage and unwavering resolve, suppressed all opposition.

Llane's eyes were so clear, his face so resolute. In the eyes of Lothar standing beside him, history surprisingly overlapped, and his slightly blurred vision outlined an ancient picture, rich with historical significance.

The picture showed the last descendant of Emperor Thoradin, abandoned in the desolate Stromgarde. Then, he and his last loyal supporters led their people through unimaginable hardships, trekking all the way to the south of the continent, to what is now Stormwind City, and established the Stormwind Kingdom almost from scratch.

Thousands of years had passed, and many nobles had become complacent, even corrupt. Lothar was immensely grateful that just as the glorious impression of his predecessor was about to fade away forever, at a time of national crisis, the majestic figure of a young king, Llane Wrynn, remarkably overlapped with the figure of his revered ancestor.

Llane Wrynn, a wise and truly great king. It was because of him that the Stormwind Kingdom still stood, a beacon of hope in a darkening world.

While he was deep in thought, lost in the echoes of history, the sound in the meeting room seemed to be abruptly drained away.

For some unknown, utterly terrifying reason, Garona, who had been calmly explaining the strength of the Horde to the nobles and King Llane based on the scouts' report, suddenly flashed her dagger...