Fleet Expansion

The Duke's Divine Reckoning

Duke obliterated Fam Brando with all the emotional investment of swatting a particularly annoying fly.

If he'd just tumbled through the time portal yesterday, Duke might've been shaken to his core or breathing sighs of relief like a man reprieved from the gallows. But now? Now he felt like he'd simply erased a rotten stain from history's pages and slammed the book shut on a chapter that should never have been written.

After Duke's conjured wizard hand carved through four demons—formerly noble scumbags who'd gotten their just desserts in the lower cabin—an eerie silence descended like a funeral shroud.

But the quiet was deceptive as hell...

Sure, the bone-chilling aura swirling around Duke was just standard Ice Body Protection that any half-decent mage could conjure. But the soul-freezing coldness that poured off him like winter's dying breath made it crystal clear to every survivor exactly who was running this show.

At this moment, Duke wasn't just a man—he was a god walking among mortals!

The almighty deity who held the fate of nearly a hundred survivors across two ships in his iron grip!

The Bloodsail Pirates who'd attacked the noble fleet were scared shitless, but honestly? The nobles weren't faring much better. Everyone and their grandmother knew Duke had beef with the Brando family—hell, it was juicier gossip than a tavern wench's love life, spreading from blue-blooded nobles down to the lowliest servants.

Now if Duke decided to play judge, jury, and executioner—claiming the remaining survivors all reeked of demonic corruption—there wouldn't be a damn thing anyone could do about it. They'd be up shit creek without a paddle, crying rivers that nobody would hear.

People trembled like leaves in a hurricane, waiting for the master of their fate to break his terrible silence.

"Listen up, Bloodsail scum! Surrender now, or I'll send you to meet your maker in pieces!"

Are you kidding? After witnessing Duke casually dismantle that demon like it was made of wet parchment, the Bloodsail Pirates felt as hopeless as a one-legged cat in a sandbox. Now they were staring down a wizard who could swat that same demon like it was a common house fly?

When Duke's voice cut through the air like a blade forged in the depths of winter, the Bloodsail Pirates dropped their weapons faster than hot coals, looking like condemned men who'd just been offered a governor's pardon.

Duke's gaze swept over them with the warmth of a glacier and asked: "Which one of you sorry bastards is in charge here?"

Following the nervous finger-pointing of his crew, Duke easily spotted a blood-soaked pirate built like a brick shithouse.

The pirate, sporting a white shirt that had seen better days and a red bandana that screamed "I'm trying too hard," stood up and stammered: "Sir, what's your pleasure?"

"Hoist the white flag and keep your mouth shut until I've finished mopping the floor with your buddies. Then you can sail your sorry ass out of here. If you're thinking about making a run for it..." Duke raised his right hand with the casual ease of a man shooing away a mosquito.

Just like always, he combined Calmness with Pyroblast to turn a small lifeboat trying to escape nearby into the world's most spectacular fireworks display.

"KABOOM!"

That explosion sent up a water column that would've made Old Faithful jealous—over thirty feet of pure destruction that put cannonballs to shame. The vicious fireball didn't just obliterate the entire boat and its crew into blood-soaked confetti; the scorching heat created steam clouds thick enough to cook several pirates standing more than thirty feet away on their own ship's deck.

Dead silence!

Pin-drop quiet!

Tomb-like stillness!

Such over-the-top magical mayhem made these mere mortals forget how to breathe, their lungs seizing up like rusted machinery.

No, that wasn't quite right. They didn't forget—they'd lost the balls to even draw breath until Duke gave them permission.

Duke's smile was colder than a witch's heart: "Trust me when I say this—trying to run will make what just happened look like a gentle massage."

A moment ago, that demon had been the scariest thing they'd ever seen. Now Duke looked like he'd crawled straight out of the deepest, darkest pit of hell itself.

The pirates nodded so vigorously they looked like bobblehead dolls in an earthquake.

Duke dismissed them like yesterday's garbage and whistled sharp enough to wake the dead. The griffin that had been circling overhead like a patient vulture suddenly dove down and landed on the deck with enough force to make the whole ship groan.

As Duke faced the downdraft from the griffin's massive wings and prepared to mount up, a guard from the noble side asked with a voice shaking like a leaf in a tornado: "Sir... you're really not going to wipe out the rest of the Brando family?"

Duke paused like a man reconsidering his dinner plans and said: "Nobody should be born wearing a crown—that's something you earn with blood, sweat, and honor. If fate hands you a silver spoon, you'd better damn well act like you deserve it. It breaks my heart that so many in your family got corrupted and turned into the very monsters they should've been fighting. But punishing the survivors? That's King Llane's call to make, not mine. My job is saving every last citizen of Stormwind Kingdom—even the ones who don't deserve it."

Without wasting another breath on the Brando family leftovers, Duke leaped onto his griffin and soared into the sky like an avenging angel.

Meanwhile, on another ship not far from the Brando family's floating disaster, Lothar was yanking the Sword of Kings out of a demon's neck with the efficiency of a butcher. Demon blood splattered across the deck like abstract art painted in crimson. He tilted his head and watched Duke flying away from the Brando warship on his griffin, his mind working like clockwork.

That's right—Lothar hadn't lifted a finger to stop Duke from making a beeline for the ship flying the Brando family colors. In a way, Lothar had given Duke's revenge his silent blessing.

Understanding someone's motives doesn't mean you have to forgive their methods.

Lothar was straighter than an arrow and twice as sharp. If Duke had gone completely off the rails with a personal vendetta bloodbath, Lothar might not have said a word, but it sure as hell would've knocked Duke down a few pegs in his estimation.

Seeing plenty of human shapes still moving around on both ships, Lothar let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. At least Duke hadn't gone full butcher—everything was still within the realm of acceptable. Whatever Duke had done on that ship would come to light soon enough.

Duke immediately swooped down on the second group of warships like a hawk diving for prey.

Ever since emerging from Karazhan, Duke had been wrestling with one burning question—just how powerful had he become?

It was a mystery wrapped in an enigma, tied up with a bow made of pure speculation.

In terms of magical quality, he was still technically in the archmage category, able to command elemental forces over a range that would make most wizards weep with envy.

Based on old Norton's diagnostic scans, Duke knew damn well his strength had shot past ordinary archmages like a rocket breaking the sound barrier. In terms of raw magical power, Duke—who'd inherited the Arcane Fire Circuit from the High Elf Sun King plus a hefty chunk of Medivh's legacy—probably had more than ten times the magical juice of an archmage at his level.

But raw power wasn't everything—it was how you used it that separated the men from the boys.

With his system elves backing him up, Duke could chain-cast spells like he was running cheat codes, matching the entire Stormwind Royal Mage Corps single-handedly without breaking a sweat.

And when he tapped into the elemental forces swirling through the atmosphere around him, he could pull off magical feats that would make legends weep with envy.

So when he faced Count Crispin Falrevere—who should've been boss-level opposition—Duke felt about as pressured as a man deciding what to have for breakfast.

Solo combat!

It had been Duke's pipe dream before his time-traveling adventure began.

Now he was living that dream without even trying hard.

Facing Duke's all-out magical assault from every angle—sky, sea, and everything in between—Count Falrevere, who'd transformed into a massive Doomsday Guardian with blood-red wings that could blot out the sun, got his ass handed to him so thoroughly it wasn't even a fair fight.

An arcane shock that manifested as a giant fist sent the count flying through the air like a rag doll, followed by a continuous barrage of magical bombardment so precise it could thread a needle. Even though the demonized count was hovering barely three feet above the deck, Duke's devastating magical assault didn't so much as scratch the wooden planks below.

In exactly three seconds—Duke had been counting—the demonized Count Crispin Falrevere was nothing but a smoking crater and bad memories.

Duke cleared the demons from the noble warships with the efficiency of a one-man army and brought the Bloodsail Pirates to heel like disobedient dogs. When Naga Priestess Zjara led her aquatic army to the party thirty minutes later, she found the main course had already been served, eaten, and the dishes cleared.

Not only had the Bloodsail Pirates engaged in hand-to-hand combat been dealt with, but even the warships that had tried to cut and run couldn't escape Duke's relentless pursuit. He'd hunted them down like a bloodhound with wings and a serious attitude problem.

An hour and a half after the smoke cleared, the entire Bloodsail Pirates fleet that had launched their surprise attack on the nobles was nothing but floating wreckage and fish food. Their fleet commander, Brigadier General Lester Zanck, had been personally introduced to the afterlife by Duke himself.

Every ship that could still float now flew the colors of Stormwind Kingdom, and every pirate who could still breathe was learning the finer points of surrender.