Calia

In fact, the 12th of October was a day that truly went off like a firecracker.

First off, Lothar's new digs: Grand Marshal of the Alliance. To show some respect for the bloodline of Emperor Thoradin, the kings who actually joined the Alliance army were all dubbed "Admirals." So, you had fancy titles like Admiral Llane Wrynn and Admiral Daelin Proudmoore floating around.

And speaking of fancy titles, Duke, with his hundred-plus warships and nearly 7,000 personal soldiers from the former Bloodsail Fleet under his thumb, somehow snagged himself a bizarre double military rank: Vice Admiral of the Alliance Navy and Brigadier General of the Army. Talk about having a foot in two different worlds!

As for how he'd actually command anything with that split personality of a rank, Duke smoothed that wrinkle out beautifully during the grand shindig that night.

Oh, yeah. A party. The gathering of so many human kingdoms was a once-in-a-millennium event, a real blow-out bash held at the Royal Palace of Lordaeron. Every noble who'd been cooped up, itching to show their face, crawled out of the woodwork. If you weren't at least an Earl, you might as well have been a stable boy.

And let's be real, even Earls and Marquises were small potatoes. If you weren't a Duke with an army to call your own, you didn't even get a sniff of the good times.

But Duke? He was the belle of the ball, the undisputed star of the Alliance: Medivh's successor, Sargeras's slayer, the guy who survived a hundred thousand orcs, the youngest Archmage on the block, Duke of Stormwind, and the proud owner of a naval fleet that could make a kraken blush. Any one of those bullet points was enough to put Duke squarely in the spotlight.

King Daelin, with his long, black hair that smelled faintly of sea salt and a magnificent curly mustache that screamed "manly," cut an impressive figure. Just looking at his chiseled, handsome face, you could tell Daelin had been a real looker in his younger days.

Not long after the banquet kicked off, he made a beeline for Duke, his eldest son, Drake, trailing behind him. Duke and Llane exchanged a quick glance. Llane knew exactly why Daelin was coming. Truth be told, Llane hadn't quite wrapped his head around Duke's decision, but Duke's foresight was light-years ahead of his own, so Llane had ultimately given his blessing.

"Evening, Duke Edmund. As partners about to team up and rule the waves, making all the orcs sleep with the fishes, don't you think we ought to have a little chat beforehand?" Daelin held up a crystal goblet brimming with wine, clinking it gently against Duke's.

They both grinned, a silent understanding passing between them. Duke then raised his goblet to Drake, the Great Prince of Kul Tiras, a gesture of respect. Together, the three of them drained their wine.

"Honestly, I'm green with envy, you mages. Waving a wand and snagging a whole fleet? You know, even if every shipyard in Kul Tiras worked around the clock, day and night, it'd take us at least three years to build a fleet like yours."

Duke just smiled, saying nothing. "Your Majesty Proudmoore… you're not about to ask me for the fleet I liberated from those Bloodsail Pirates, are you?"

"No! No! No! Don't you dare underestimate me!" Daelin boomed, a hearty laugh escaping him. "Even if those scoundrels probably hailed from Kul Tiras originally, since you didn't swipe 'em from my docks, they're fair game, your spoils of war! And even if my own lads aren't exactly thrilled with your lot, as long as the Alliance emblem flies on their masts, they're our comrades, plain and simple." King Daelin was clearly a heroic man of the sea, the kind of swashbuckling leader who, in another universe, would be a cosmic overlord declaring, "My journey is to the stars and the sea!"

It was practically impossible to dislike a man so genuinely cheerful, unless you were on the wrong side of his cutlass.

Duke returned the smile, just as heartily. But there was something else, a faint, almost ethereal glow about him. Anyone watching would have sworn he was a selfless saint, radiating pure, unadulterated goodness. And that, my friends, was the "integrity" Duke had inherited from Medivh, kicking into high gear.

(According to the system prompts: "Moral Skill: Hypocrisy. Since the humanity you have gained far exceeds the level you should have, if you let this part of humanity temporarily dominate your body, you will become a sacred existence in the eyes of the world. You will be more like a saint who sacrifices selfishness for the sake of the world. All beings in the non-evil camp will be more likely to believe your words.")

Duke spoke, not even bothering to lower his voice. "Actually, I was just about to say that I'd feel a whole lot better if my fleet were in the capable hands of His Majesty Daelin, a true master of naval warfare."

Daelin and Drake both froze, their jaws practically hitting the floor. They looked like they'd just heard a murloc sing opera. Not just them, but the nobles around them, who'd been shamelessly eavesdropping, were equally dumbfounded.

Daelin finally managed to sputter, a frown creasing his brow. "Duke Edmund, I assure you, I had no intention of…"

"I know, I know," Duke cut him off, a saintly expression plastered on his face. "But after much soul-searching, I believe this is the absolute best way to squeeze every last drop of combat effectiveness out of the Alliance Navy. In fact, I've already chewed this over with His Majesty Wrynn, and he fully backs my decision." As if on cue, King Llane himself strolled over, nodding at Daelin with a warm smile.

Duke continued, laying it on thick. "I might be a genius, but only when it comes to magic and strategy. When it comes to naval warfare, I'm a greenhorn, a total landlubber. A hundred-plus warships in my hands would be nothing more than glorified ferry boats. But in your hands, Your Majesty Proudmoore, they'll be instruments of pure destruction, sending thousands more orcs to Davy Jones's locker! If the ultimate control of the Naga and the Murloc wasn't tied to my master, Walker, I'd even hand them over to your command, Your Majesty!"

"Don't you dare try to pass the buck, Duke!" Llane, who had finally caught on to Duke's grand scheme, chimed in, his own magnanimity shining through. "This is for the Alliance!"

The moment Duke finished speaking, a ripple of excited chatter spread outwards from the quartet, quickly engulfing the entire banquet hall. Murmurs of praise erupted from every corner.

What does it mean to put aside personal interests and serve the greater good? What does it mean to see the big picture? THIS IS IT!

When forming an alliance, which king doesn't have an ace up his sleeve, a hidden agenda?

Daelin had been absolutely drooling over Duke's fleet, privately grumbling to his son more than once about Duke's perceived squandering of such valuable resources.

Now, with just one simple phrase – "For the Alliance!" – a fleet of over a hundred warships was changing hands. What kind of selfless act was this? You had to hand it to Duke; if Daelin were a less honorable man, he could have easily made off with Stormwind's rare and valuable assets.

Duke's magnanimity was so overwhelming, Daelin's petty complaints had long since flown out the window, scattered to the winds.

Daelin raised the wine goblet a quick-footed waiter had refilled for him, his voice booming across the hall. "Did everyone hear that!? Vice Admiral Edmund is willing to hand over his entire fleet to me, Daelin Proudmoore, all for the sake of the Alliance!"

"We heard it!" the nobles chorused, a wave of agreement washing over the room.

"Since Lord Edmund is willing to make such a monumental concession for the Alliance, I, Daelin, cannot be outdone!" Daelin declared, his voice ringing with conviction. "I, Daelin, swear on the name of Emperor Thoradin's descendant that I will never mistreat the fleet Lord Edmund has entrusted to me. Even if the First Fleet of Kul Tiras is wiped out, I will not allow Lord Edmund's fleet to be lost!"

The uproar swelled, spreading like wildfire through the banquet hall. Everyone cheered, praising Duke and Llane's incredible generosity.

The Alliance's biggest fear was that all the kings would play their cards close to their chests, unwilling to commit their main forces. In that scenario, Lothar would likely end up a general without an army.

But now, it was clear Duke had kicked things off with a bang.

With Duke leading the charge, the other kings would probably be too embarrassed to send in their ugly, second-string troops.

When Duke publicly announced that he would donate a cool 1 million Arathor gold coins on behalf of Stormwind as compensation for the soldiers of various countries, the entire banquet hall erupted into an even greater frenzy. You could call it a show, sure, but it was a damn impressive one. When Makaro led his men to the square outside the banquet hall, carts laden with gold coins, and flung open the chests to reveal the glittering hoard, the only thing left in the audience was pure, unadulterated awe.

Duke didn't hand the money over to just anyone. He gave it to Alonsus Faol, the venerable Archbishop of the Church of Holy Light.

Long ago, in Dalaran, a humble missionary from Lordaeron had tossed a copper coin into a fountain and made a quiet wish: "I hope that one day, I can spread the light of the Holy Light to every commoner, and teach them the meaning of the three virtues." That missionary later became known as Alonsus Faol, the Archbishop of Holy Light. His footsteps had graced every city on the continent, and his name, "Saint of Mercy," was recognized far and wide. It was no exaggeration to say he was the living embodiment of justice and holiness in that era.

Duke, with that saintly glow still about him, said sincerely, "I trust the Archbishop will distribute these funds fairly, down to the last copper."

Every king, without exception, was willing to bet the farm on Alonsus's character. Suddenly, the potential losses from the Horde invasion didn't seem quite so painful.

What did 1 million gold coins mean? In the Seven Kingdoms, that was the entire annual fiscal revenue of a mid-sized kingdom. For instance, a small, mountainous kingdom like Alterac only saw a few hundred thousand gold coins in its treasury each year. Of course, that had something to do with their king's direct territories being dirt poor, while the Barov family was rich as Croesus.

The only places that could casually cough up 1 million gold coins were Kul Tiras, a global trading powerhouse, Dalaran, the ridiculously wealthy wizard kingdom, and Lordaeron, with its sprawling, fertile lands.

Now, Duke's move – sending money after sending the fleet – was like pouring gasoline on a bonfire. It immediately ignited the kings' competitive spirits, making them puff out their chests and show off.

"Two million from Kul Tiras!" King Daelin, still basking in the glow of his newfound fleet, held up two fingers.

The old man, Speaker of Dalaran, whose name was Antonidas but whose wealth was pronounced "Tuhao," raised three fingers with a knowing smile.

Since the smaller countries were all strutting their stuff, the King of Lordaeron, a true heavyweight in the grand arena of showing off, and who secretly believed he was the best in the world, raised his hand with a flourish.

"Eleven million!"

A collective gasp swept through the nobles. "Hiss—" Then, naturally, thunderous applause erupted.

Eleven million gold coins! That was an astronomical figure! Just thinking about it made your knees wobble.

But if you thought about it for a hot minute, you'd realize Terenas was playing chess, not checkers. Lordaeron was bound to send the most troops, and if things went south, they'd suffer the most losses. In fact, it was highly likely that a good chunk of that money would simply circle back into Lordaeron's coffers.

But who cared? The desired effect had been achieved.

Originally, the meeting hadn't even touched on how many troops each side would commit. Those details were supposed to be hammered out by Lothar, the Alliance commander, one painful negotiation at a time. This banquet, however, had become a masterclass in public relations. Lothar hadn't expected Duke to pull off such a spectacular show, which had just lightened his workload by a mile.

Archbishop Alonsus, striking while the iron was hot, chimed in. "For the future of mankind, for the future of this world, it's a blessing for nations to contribute both coin and sword, isn't it?"

"Of course!" Terenas declared, seizing the moment. "As the leader of this Alliance, I announce that the first contingent of troops from Lordaeron will be led by Duke Alexandros Mograine, with General Abidis as his deputy. Our initial contribution will be a staggering 100,000 soldiers!"

One hundred thousand! What a force! This was, without a doubt, the most absurdly large standing army among the kingdoms not yet in a state of total war.

Consider this: Stormwind, which originally boasted a standing army of twenty or thirty thousand, now commanded fifty thousand elite soldiers. Lordaeron's war potential, you could bet your last copper, was far, far greater than that.

The other kings, who couldn't match that kind of financial muscle, looked like they'd just been caught with their pants down.

King Thoras of Stromgarde, not to be outdone, boomed, "The Arathi Highlands don't need knights just yet! Marshal Lothar, you'll see the Highland Knights of Stromgarde reporting for duty within the week!"

King Genn of Gilneas, his voice a deep rumble, added, "You'll have the 1st, 2nd, and 3rd Gilneas Infantry Regiments at your disposal!"

At this point, even the usually slick and sophisticated King Aiden of Alterac couldn't hide his discomfort. "The Royal Eagle Knights of Alterac will be under your command within a week, Commander Lothar!"

Knights and cavalry were two different beasts entirely. While both rode horses, knights were in a league of their own. Every knight started as a penniless candidate, often a squire, learning riding, combat, etiquette, and more from a seasoned knight. Then, they had to furnish their own warhorse and armor.

Don't underestimate a suit of armor. A proper knight's armor, unless it was a family heirloom, was something most folks couldn't afford even if they worked their fingers to the bone their entire lives. Before Duke time-traveled, he'd have been looking at a million yuan just for the armor – and that's not even counting the horse! Not just any nag could be a warhorse. A man and his armor could weigh several hundred kilograms; an ordinary horse would simply collapse. A warhorse capable of carrying such a heavy load and charging at full tilt wasn't cheap. We're talking at least half a million yuan. Basically, if a horse stood less than 1.7 meters at the shoulder, it wasn't a warhorse.

So, fielding a knightly order was like raising five infantry regiments. These knightly orders were the prized possessions of each king, rarely seen outside their keeps. The Kingdom of Gilneas, short on horses, simply threw their main infantry regiments into the ring.

When Antonidas announced that a 200-man mage corps, led by one of the six members of the Kirin Tor Council, would be assigned to Lothar, Lothar couldn't wipe the grin off his face. He even gave Duke a hearty thumbs-up.

"Thank you, child. I see a divine light in you. You possess a beautiful heart that shines brighter than gold." The next moment, as Alonsus's wrinkled hand gently touched Duke's shoulder, Duke's entire body began to emanate faint, soft bursts of platinum light.

This, of course, was the result of Duke's inherited "moral integrity" from a certain god of law.

"Haha! Child, I never expected that besides your immense talent in the arcane arts, you also possess unparalleled qualifications in the way of Holy Light! If one day the arcane path proves too… mysterious for you, the doors of Stratholme Cathedral will always be open!"

Embarrassing! Embarrassing in all caps!

It turns out that inheriting Medivh's "integrity" meant he could just… change careers and become a Holy Priest?!

Duke, ever the pragmatic modern time-traveler, had always figured if he ever became a priest, he'd be the dark, shadowy kind. This whole "saint" thing felt like a real kick in the teeth!

Not just Duke, but the other nobles were also pointing and whispering. No one could believe that Duke, the man who'd roasted a hundred thousand orcs to a crisp, actually had the heart of a saint.

Of course, Duke had no intention of becoming a Holy Priest. With so many future big bads lurking, and the constant threat of his "moral integrity" slipping away again, he was deeply touched by Alonsus's invitation, but he politely declined.

Just then, King Daelin sauntered over and clapped Duke on the shoulder.

"Come now, Archbishop Alonsus! I think a great man like Duke shouldn't be confined to sainthood. The world needs him, and…" Daelin suddenly flashed a wicked grin.

Duke shuddered, a cold premonition washing over him. This couldn't be good.

Sure enough, Duke was blindsided the very next second.

"In fact, if Duke were willing to offer his fleet as a dowry, I'd be more than happy to marry Jaina to him!"

Not just Daelin, but his "brother-in-law," Drake, with a dark look on his face, piped up. "I hear that even though you look like a seasoned veteran, you're only fifteen. My sister is only twelve!"

Duke was so stunned, he almost choked on his own spit and keeled over.

Oh, for crying out loud!

In "history," Jaina was a walking bad luck charm. She "killed" her father and a string of rumored boyfriends. Even if Duke had a respawn button, he wouldn't last five minutes with that kind of track record!

Duke quickly deflected, throwing someone else under the bus. "Haha! I think I'll pass on that. I wouldn't want to ruffle His Royal Highness Prince Arthas's feathers!"

At this very moment, the twelve-year-old Jaina was already showing signs of her future beauty, and had already captivated her childhood sweetheart, Arthas. A little later, she'd capture the heart of Kael'thas, the Prince of Quel'Thalas…

"Oh, if it's a fair competition, I wouldn't say a word even if my son lost," Terenas chimed in, joining the teasing.

Duke tried another deflection. "Oh, haha, and I certainly don't want to become the public enemy of Dalaran's rising stars!"

"Odd, isn't it? Isn't it the very instinct of us explorers of the arcane path to seek a partner who also possesses exceptional magical talents?" Archmage Antonidas, ever the logical one, joined the fray.

Duke was practically weeping on the inside. You guys! What's wrong with you?! Do you think you're some kind of shady matchmaking service?!

"Uh, well, I…" Duke stammered, completely flustered.

At this point, all the old, seasoned foxes in the room could see Duke's inexplicable aversion to the name "Jaina."

Daelin, ever the good sport, laughed and clapped Duke on the shoulder. "It's alright, lad. Maybe you'll change your tune once you lay eyes on the pearl of Kul Tiras back at my place."

Terenas, with a knowing smirk, waved his hand. "Calia, come here."

"Yes, Father." A voice, both generous and gentle, drifted through the hall, making the young nobles around him practically swoon.

Calia Menethil – the second heir to the Kingdom of Lordaeron, the elder sister of the famous Arthas, and known for their very close bond.

It had to be said, Princess Calia had inherited her mother, Queen Lianne's, stunning beauty. She possessed a serene, oval face, exquisitely delicate and noble features, and soft golden hair that cascaded over her shoulders like a waterfall. As Calia, clad in a moon-white gown, glided gracefully towards Duke, intentionally or unintentionally showcasing her exquisite figure, a collective gasp swept through the onlookers.

"What a perfect beauty!" everyone exclaimed in hushed admiration.

She was only fifteen! If she were an adult, she'd be the kind of beauty who could bring kingdoms to their knees!

Lothar, ever the blunt instrument, muttered loudly enough for everyone to hear, "Damn it, I almost want to get married again!"

The joke was met with good-natured laughter, a ripple of amusement spreading through the room.

Princess Calia's face flushed with a charming blush, but she still greeted him with impeccable grace. "Good evening, Duke Edmund."

That scoundrel Lothar, always looking to stir the pot, actually goaded Duke. "Hey, young man, the princess has greeted you! Don't you have a little something for her? Don't tell me you're going to leave her empty-handed!"

For a moment, the nobles around them started a chant.

"Gift! Gift! Gift!"

Everyone knew Duke was rolling in dough, so wouldn't cunning Terenas want to squeeze a little something extra out of him?

Could he at least cough up a ten-pound pearl?

Duke, however, was actually… broke. Well, not broke broke, but he didn't exactly have money to burn. With hundreds of thousands of refugees to feed and the grand show he'd just put on in Lordaeron, his coffers were looking a bit thin. And thanks to the war, nobles had tightened their purse strings faster than a dwarf on a gold rush, making luxury goods impossible to sell for a decent price.

Duke wasn't about to hand over some generic ten-pound gold pearl. Besides, would the princess of Lordaeron, the most powerful of the Seven Kingdoms, even bat an eye at that?

No matter what, he couldn't lose face!

Duke dramatically swept aside his wizard's cloak, practically screaming, "Clear the stage, folks, I'm about to put on a show!" Then, he made his move.

During his training in Karazhan, Duke hadn't quite mastered an ice magic circuit as powerful as his arcane fire one, but he still had a nifty little ice trick up his sleeve.

Duke pointed a finger, and a waiter's tray of wine floated into the air. As Duke's left index finger spun with impossible grace, the wine in the air began to swirl, forming a miniature vortex.

What kind of magical control was this?! Duke's understanding and mastery of elemental magic completely blew Archmage Antonidas's mind.

The performance continued. An icy breath emanated from Duke's palm, and crystal-clear ice petals began to form, one by one, in full view of the mesmerized crowd.

An ice rose! Made entirely of elemental ice?!

Under the dazzling light, each icy rose petal was perfectly visible, layer upon shimmering layer, forming a blossoming rose. And not just that – amidst the cold, crystalline petals, a faint stream of flames flickered, dancing within the ice. This dreamlike spectacle alone sent a ripple of gasps and exclamations through the ladies in the audience.

At this moment, Duke was possessed by the ghost of a showman.

For some inexplicable reason, he was practically trying to commit dramatic suicide, recalling classic movie scenes.

He performed a perfectly executed hand-kissing gesture, pressing his (probably) salty lips onto the back of Calia's hand, which was as white and soft as fresh snow. Then, with a flourish, he presented the ice-fire rose, a gift potent enough to melt almost any girl's heart.

"Princess Calia," Duke purred, his voice smooth as silk, "only the most beautiful rose can truly match the most beautiful you. I hope this small token pleases you…"

With that, Duke retreated, a picture of effortless charm.

To be honest, Princess Calia had seen every luxurious gift under the sun, but she had never, ever, seen such a creative, high-end, and utterly classy magical ice and fire rose.

Terenas subtly turned his head, glancing at his court wizard. The old wizard shook his head, a look of shame on his face, silently telling his king: I can't do that. Not with that kind of delicate magical manipulation.

The princess, meanwhile, was utterly captivated. She was, for all intents and purposes, completely smitten.