Assassination

Speaking of the participants in the Karazhan raid, Garona had beaten Lothar back to Stormwind by a long shot.

King Llane was utterly perplexed by this. After Garona returned, looking completely spaced out, Llane grilled her repeatedly about the situation, but found that Garona's memory conveniently cut out right after Sargeras hit her with a 'Fear' spell. It was like her brain had just decided to nope out of the whole traumatic experience.

Llane and Bolvar didn't hold it against Garona too much. On the battlefield, even the bravest knight might find themselves shaking in their boots after a good 'Fear' spell. Before the Dark Portal incident, Llane and Bolvar would have branded Garona a deserter and thrown the book at her. Now? Well, countless battles had proven that unless you had a will of iron or some seriously beefed-up mental fortitude, you were just a puppet on a string to that nasty magic.

What's more, by the time Garona stumbled back, Llane had already received the news that Lothar was injured but not seriously, and Duke was safe and sound. With the added bombshell of Medivh's death, Llane frankly had bigger fish to fry than to dwell on Garona's odd memory lapse. His childhood friends were dropping like flies, or at least getting severely banged up.

Lothar himself hadn't been critically wounded in that battle, but his leg had taken a beating. Not only was his ankle sprained, but in Medivh's chaotic explosion, the protective shield he'd conjured hadn't been perfect, and several pieces of magical shrapnel had embedded themselves in Lothar's already injured leg. It was a real pain in the neck, or rather, the leg.

The result was that while Lothar was practically bouncing off the walls with anxiety to get back, no one dared to let him ride on an extremely bumpy griffin. And thanks to Llane's strict orders, Lothar was forced to endure the indignity of a slow, lumbering carriage ride.

To add insult to injury, the ever-shifting battle lines in Elwynn Forest were constantly creeping closer to Stormwind City. Lothar and his party had to take the scenic route, going from east to west, practically traversing the entire spooky Duskwood before finally turning north to limp back to Stormwind City.

The visibility in the Duskwood was so bad, it felt like they were driving through pea soup, which only added to the agonizingly slow pace of Lothar's return.

When Lothar finally limped back into Stormwind, without so much as a moment's rest, they had arrived a full month later than Garona. A whole month! He could have grown a beard and learned to knit in that time.

Seeing Garona standing casually beside Llane, Lothar's mind immediately flashed back to Duke's ominous words.

As a half-orc, Garona wasn't exactly qualified to waltz into the inner circle of Stormwind Kingdom's power. In a message Lothar had sent earlier, he'd reminded Llane to keep his guard up around Garona, and he'd even secretly told his men to keep an eye on her, just in case.

Garona seemed harmless enough, but her intelligence was a goldmine. Humans were completely in the dark about the Horde, and many crucial military secrets were practically an open book to her.

Llane had initially tried to isolate Garona, to keep her at arm's length while he sent someone to discreetly probe her for information.

But Garona didn't bat an eye. She answered every single question thrown her way, cool as a cucumber.

The problem was, the military situation was a hot mess!

For example, the combat power of the various orc clans was all over the map. The Blackrock and Warsong clans? Absolute beasts, not only individually strong but also boasting massive numbers. When the orcs invaded, they often deployed troops as a single clan unit, like a very large, very angry, very organized gang.

The second-tier clans were a whole different kettle of fish, much weaker, like the Thunderlord Clan.

And the unknown clans in the third tier? Forget about it. They were completely backward in terms of numbers, equipment, and basic combat prowess. They were basically cannon fodder with bad fashion sense.

The difference in combat power was stark: one warrior from a first-line clan could probably take on ten human soldiers, but by the third line, the ratio was more like one to three. It was like fighting a professional boxer versus a kid who'd just learned to tie his shoes.

However, the orcs' flags were not only hideous, but they were also all handmade. If one hand slipped, the flag of the same clan could suddenly transform into several random totems. And to make matters worse, the art classes for the scouts were apparently taught by the gym teacher. So, with mistakes piling on top of mistakes, it was a recipe for disaster when their reports reached the rear command post.

Llane and his senior generals had been burned by this kind of mix-up more than once. The worst incident almost wiped out an elite army that had been painstakingly formed before the war.

But with Garona, it was a different story.

No matter how weird the orcish characters were, she could recognize the clan at a glance. She could instantly tell them the clan's characteristics, troop numbers, and combat power. In the eyes of many officers, Garona was simply a treasure trove, a gift from the gods to the Stormwind Kingdom.

Even if they were fighting a losing battle, constantly retreating and suffering defeats, at least their losses were shrinking. That was something.

Among Duke's suggestions, left behind with Makaro, there was one particularly audacious plan: to take advantage of the dry weather at the beginning of summer and send a suicide squad on horseback to burn down the East Valley logging camp.

Oh, that fire felt so good!

One fire, and three thousand elite members of the Blackrock Clan went up in smoke, while Stormwind only paid the price of five fallen soldiers. It was a bargain!

As time marched on, Garona had unknowingly become an indispensable official in the kingdom, always present at every military meeting.

Especially when the Horde captured Goldsheath, the very gateway to Stormwind City, and was practically knocking on the city gates, military meetings were held with a frequency that would make a workaholic blush.

This particular military meeting seemed no different from any other.

The only slight deviation was the presence of Prince Varian, accompanied by the queen, listening quietly, wide-eyed and attentive.

Llane had initially been dead set against Varian participating in the military meeting, but the queen's words had changed his mind, hitting him where it hurt.

"Llane, Varian is ten years old now. In my humble opinion, this war with the orcs is going to drag on for a long, long time. Five or ten years from now, can you guarantee that you'll still be able to command the army like you do now? Can you guarantee that the next king of the Stormwind Kingdom will be an excellent king who knows his way around a battlefield?"

Llane fell silent. All mortals eventually grow old; it's a fact of life. Beliefs are passed down from generation to generation. If it were a peaceful era, Llane might not have let his children get involved in such grim affairs so early. But this was an era of war, and even Llane himself didn't know when he might have to step onto the battlefield himself.

Swords and knives have no conscience; no one can guarantee they'll come back alive after facing the enemy.

Once he fell in battle, Stormwind would need a new king, and fast.

"Alright, you've convinced me," Llane conceded with a heavy sigh.

On this day, the little Prince Varian was absolutely buzzing with excitement. Although his impeccable court education kept him sitting quietly in his seat, his eyes kept darting towards Lothar, practically burning holes in the knight's armor.

Varian particularly admired Lothar, not just because Lothar taught him swordsmanship, but because of all the legendary stories that swirled around him. His intense gaze made Lothar squirm uncomfortably several times during the military meeting.

He was also intensely curious about Garona. His father and mother often interacted with this fascinating half-orc woman and frequently spoke highly of her. But for safety reasons, he'd never had the chance to meet Garona face-to-face.

The military meeting itself seemed a bit of a bore to Varian. A gaggle of generals bickering over strategy, each one digging in their heels and insisting their way was the only way. Then Anduin and Bolvar would offer their two cents, and finally, Llane would summarize everyone's opinions and make the final, decisive call himself. Yawn.

At this moment, Garona suddenly clutched her head, a sharp grimace twisting her features. She pressed her other hand down on the military sand table, as if trying to hold herself together.

"What's wrong?" Llane asked, his voice laced with concern, completely oblivious to the impending chaos.

The very next moment, a cold, sharp light flashed in the eyes of everyone seated at the military meeting table.

Thanks to Lothar's insistence, Llane was always flanked by two of his most skilled royal guards, fully armed and ready for anything. The guard positioned between Llane and Garona reacted with lightning speed. He had been keeping an eye on Garona, intentionally or not, so his response was the fastest.

He carried two swords: a standard longsword and a shorter blade for close-quarters combat.

In that split second, he drew the dagger. If he'd had just another third of a second, he could have drawn his main sword and positioned himself squarely in front of the king.

However, Garona was simply too fast. Her figure blurred into a green streak. The cold light of her dagger flashed, and the guard found himself unable to dodge her horizontal slash. His movements and even his thoughts were completely out of sync with her impossible speed.

Incredible killing skills!

Speed! Angle! Power! All were executed with chilling perfection.

"SWISH!" A bright red geyser of blood erupted from the guard's throat.

Mind you, these guards were fully armed. Their full-face helmets only had a T-shaped opening: the horizontal gap for a wide field of vision, the vertical for breathing.

There was almost no angle for attack between the helmet and the breastplate.

In fact, there was only a minuscule gap of less than three millimeters.

Garona had, with terrifying precision, seized that exact, tiny opening.

Killed with one strike. No luck involved, just pure, unadulterated, deadly skill!

No one had time to react. Garona was already past the fallen guard, appearing directly in front of Llane.

Llane couldn't help but be stunned, frozen in place.

Frankly speaking, Llane's combat skills were far from weak. In fact, he had reacted the instant he saw the cold flash of steel. But the moment his eyes met Garona's face, he was utterly paralyzed.

What a face that was!

In Llane's imagination, an assassin should be a picture of ferocity and evil. They should be consumed by immense hatred, or utterly indifferent to life, or...

Llane's mind raced, trying to reconcile the image before him with his expectations. In truth, after Lothar's vague warning, he had become more cautious about Garona. But Llane had never, not in a million years, imagined Garona would wear that expression.

It was a face etched with helplessness and despair, with a profound love for humanity, and even a deep fondness for Llane himself – no, it had sublimated into something more direct, a twisted, agonizing love... Even with this heartbreaking expression, Garona's body moved with lightning speed, swinging the dagger and plunging it towards Llane.

Llane was utterly stunned.

He was not only a wise king, but a merciful one.

Like Lothar, Llane had also taken the sacred oath of knighthood.

He simply couldn't bring himself to draw his sword against a woman who, despite her actions, clearly didn't want to hurt him, even if she was an orc.

In a flash, Llane's eyes betrayed his inner turmoil: "Why are you killing me? Did I do something wrong, for crying out loud?"

Garona responded with a helpless, unwilling, and desperate look of her own: "No! I don't want to kill you! But my body is out of control! I'm a puppet!"

What!?

The moment Llane finally understood the agony in Garona's eyes, he realized, with a jolt, that he had to draw his sword. But because it was a military meeting held in Stormwind Fortress, right in the heart of the kingdom, he wasn't wearing his armor.

His sword was his only lifeline, his last hope.

Llane's sword-drawing speed was impressive, but in that agonizing moment of hesitation, he was still half a step too slow.

Time seemed to have ground to a halt, frozen by the sheer horror and complicated emotions of this assassination attempt.

Little Prince Varian watched in utter horror as his father was about to be stabbed to death. He couldn't comprehend why this hateful orc would attack his father for no reason. It made no sense!

Lothar was also a step behind. He was still "slow as molasses" from his injury. Even though he'd received the best priestly treatment right after leaving Karazhan, his leg wasn't fully healed. A large amount of chaotic magic energy had been injected into it, and while not fatal, it was taking its sweet time to dissipate.

So Lothar drew his sword immediately, but he simply couldn't get there in time.

It seemed that King Llane Wrynn, the true pillar of the Stormwind Kingdom, was about to die at the hands of his trusted, but unwilling, assassin, Garona.

As the orcs prepared to launch a massive assault on Stormwind City, the people of the Stormwind Kingdom were about to lose their king.

Another wise king was about to fall to a despicable assassination, a cruel twist of fate.

But then, an unexpected person sprang into action.

Reginald Windsor!

As the representative of Viscount Edmund Duke, and as the mouthpiece for this important minister who was temporarily unable to attend, Windsor had been granted permission to participate in the military meeting. What's more, since he had once been a direct subordinate of Llane, the king had allowed Windsor to enter with his weapons. And, interestingly, almost everyone in the room knew the name of the one-handed sword Windsor had received from Duke.

'King's Guard'.

On this day, at this very moment, the 'King's Guardian' lived up to its name, demonstrating a glory that truly befitted its reputation.

'Assistance': A special skill that somehow makes a normally "dull" profession like "Warrior" feel a bit elegant. The "Warrior" here isn't just any common soldier; it's a professional, a master of their craft. Using a special power called "Rage," the warrior can perform many extraordinary skills that ordinary folks can only dream of. For example, this 'Assistance' allows the warrior to instantly cross a certain distance and intercept the next attack meant for a chosen teammate.

With a whoosh, as everyone's attention was fixated on Garona, no one noticed Windsor's move.

It was a speed comparable to an afterimage, a blur of motion. The moment Windsor appeared, he used the crimson 'King's Guardian' like a scimitar, blocking Garona's fatal dagger with a horizontal parry.

What was truly fascinating was that both the attacker and the intended victim showed expressions of profound relief.

"Thank God!" That's what the expressions on Llane and Garona's faces screamed.

But the very next moment, Garona's expression twisted into horror once more, and her figure vanished again.

'Shadow Step'.

A classic rogue skill that allows the thief to instantly appear behind their victim, like a very unwelcome, very stabby surprise.

Seeing that Garona's first strike had failed, she attacked again. This time, not only did Llane successfully draw his sword and spin around, but Lothar and the royal guard on Llane's right also arrived, closing in.

The guard suddenly dodged, almost using his own flesh and blood to squeeze between Llane, who was half-turned, and the incoming dagger. Garona's epic dagger easily sliced through the muscles on the guard's arm. At that precise moment, Lothar arrived.

It was a simple sword strike, but Lothar's 'Sword of Kingship' transformed into a dazzling arc of light, slashing towards Garona's arm.

"Ah——!" Unexpectedly, Lothar didn't even land a hit on Garona, but Garona let out a shrill, ear-splitting scream. A visible black aura erupted from Garona's back, and vaguely, it was the ghostly form of a half-incorporeal demon, roaring in fury.

What in the...?!

The sudden roar of the demon had a terrifying, soul-shaking power. The cold, piercing evil aura spread like a storm throughout the meeting room. The malevolent power of this demon was so potent that even Lothar's 'King's Sword' was slightly suppressed by it.

A blinding flash of light exploded beneath Garona's feet.

'Glitter Powder'.

A must-have accessory for any self-respecting rogue trying to play stealth.

Garona vanished, but before she disappeared completely, she flung out seven daggers.

This time, there was no escape. The guards had rushed too hard and were out of position. Llane was completely defenseless in that moment.

Llane tried his absolute best, but he could only bat away two of the daggers. The remaining five plunged squarely into Llane's chest.

"Ah!" Llane also let out a scream, a cry of pain and surprise.

Garona was gone, and everyone rushed over, their faces etched with terror. But just as they braced for the worst, they found that Llane, who should have been fatally wounded, had no blood at all. The very next second, Llane sat bolt upright, looking utterly bewildered.