Archbishop Faol

"It's happening! It's happening! It's really happening!"

When Archbishop Faol uttered those words, Duke's heart nearly hammered its way out of his chest. He was practically bouncing off the walls with excitement.

He was sick and tired of the Horde's endless parade of muscle-bound brutes. Every time one of them popped up, he felt like he had to lock the doors and unleash Lothar. Duke, with his magician's flair for finesse, wanted nothing more than to run circles around those dim-witted Horde chieftains. But he knew, deep in his bones, that the demigod warlock Gul'dan was wide awake and kicking. And not just Gul'dan; his entire coven of warlocks were formidable foes, a real pain in the backside.

With armies locked in a staring contest, Duke had about as much chance of bypassing those warlocks and taking out the chiefs as a murloc had of winning a beauty pageant.

But now? Now it was a whole new ballgame.

The glorious name of Alonsus Faol resonated in the minds of most players before Duke's time-traveling adventure, not because of his saintly aura, but because he was the mastermind behind the first five Paladins. The original "Unit-01 Gold Saints," as Duke mentally dubbed them – or rather, the five first-generation Paladins – were absolute monsters, too powerful to be mere mortals. In the annals of history, all but one, a poor sap Lothar had thrown in to fill out the roster, carved their names into legend.

Just thinking about witnessing the birth of the first generation of Paladins made Duke's blood sing!

Duke, Llane, and Anduin all leaned in, ears perked, practically vibrating with anticipation.

"Remember that little chat we had after you first arrived in Lordaeron?" Faol began, pacing thoughtfully in front of them.

"Yes," Llane confirmed. "It was about the destruction of Northshire Abbey."

At this, a shadow crossed Faol's eyes. "I must confess, I've been wrestling with a profound frustration. If only I had found a way to shield those monks from the sudden onslaught of war, perhaps the Holy Light's devoted followers wouldn't have suffered such devastating losses."

Lothar nodded, a heavy sigh escaping him. "Indeed. The path of the Holy Light, as practiced by priests, unfortunately restricts them to wearing little more than leather armor. Thin cloth offers scant protection. Against the sheer brute force of the orcs, even we, in full plate, often find ourselves wanting. Imagine the plight of priests, virtually unarmored."

Faol's face broke into a genuine, radiant smile. "As I grappled with these very problems, an idea suddenly burst into my mind, like a divine revelation bestowed upon me by the Holy Light itself!"

"You've found a way?" Lothar pressed, his voice laced with urgency.

"That's right!" Faol clapped his hands together, his eyes gleaming. "I shall establish a new branch of the Church: the Paladins! These brave souls will not only possess unwavering faith, but they will also dedicate themselves to rigorous combat training. They will receive instruction not just in the art of war, but also in prayer and healing. These valiant warriors will wield both martial prowess and spiritual might, especially in using the power of the Holy Light to bless themselves and their comrades!"

"Can it truly be done?" Lothar's mind was a whirlwind of doubt. He couldn't quite wrap his head around the idea of a priest, whose primary role was healing, charging onto the front lines to smite the enemy.

Duke almost blurted out a reminder to Lothar that these were the very two individuals he'd met in the palace just the other day. But he held his tongue.

Faol smiled, then made a blessing gesture. Lothar and the other three watched, mesmerized, as a surge of holy power emanated from Faol, his entire body glowing. The power coalesced above Faol's head, forming a holy seal that pulsed with a soft, reddish light.

The holy seal clearly radiated immense power and miraculous might, yet simultaneously, all three of them felt an overwhelming sense of peace and tranquility. An indescribable feeling of happiness washed over their bodies, resonating deep within their souls.

"Is this… the power of the Paladin?" Llane murmured, almost to himself.

"Yes!" Faol confirmed, his smile widening.

Duke, unable to contain his impatience, blurted out, "Have you found the right people?"

"Indeed, I've found four," Faol replied. "You can meet them tomorrow morning. But if you have any more suitable candidates, please bring them to me. I intend to personally awaken the divine power within them in the holy city of Stratholme within a week."

At this moment, Duke was practically vibrating with excitement! This wasn't some charlatan randomly blessing a naive follower. This was the genuine article: enlightenment from the one and only Grand Master of Light in all of Azeroth!

Perhaps those four legendary figures were already formidable warriors before they became Paladins, but before Faol's enlightenment, their power, no matter how great, had its limits. After being touched by the Holy Light, their strength would become immeasurable.

Recalling the history, Uther leading just twelve paladins to charge against tens of thousands of orcs… just thinking about that scene made Duke's blood boil!

Llane easily caught the eagerness on Duke's face, and a smile touched his own lips. "Duke, are you optimistic about Father Faol's plan?"

"Yes! Absolutely! It's brilliant!" Duke praised without hesitation. "I believe this is a groundbreaking new force, a game-changer! Not only will I ask my follower, Reginald Windsor, to come for enlightenment, but I also strongly suggest that Duke Bolvar Fordragon come as well!"

"Bolvar?" Llane looked a little confused.

"Your Majesty, don't you think he's a perfect fit? Duke Fordragon possesses a devout faith, a righteous heart, and superb fighting skills!" Of course, in Duke's mind, Bolvar, at this point, was still two steps behind Anduin. If he ran into a chieftain of a major tribe, he'd still be a pushover.

After Duke made his case, both Llane and Anduin thought it was a brilliant idea.

Anduin, ever the pragmatist, asked, "If Bolvar goes, who will watch over the army in Southshore?"

Llane grinned. "Why, me, of course! Admiral of the Alliance!" With that, Llane playfully punched Lothar lightly in the chest. The unparalleled trust between monarch and subject was on full display.

"Thank you for your hard work, Your Majesty."

Llane waved a dismissive hand. "Just deal with those orcs as soon as possible and reclaim our Stormwind City!"

The next day, on the morning of October 13th, as the entire city buzzed with excitement over the Alliance's formation, Lothar and Duke arrived at the main courtyard of Lordaeron Cathedral. They'd already had breakfast and were patiently waiting for Archbishop Faol to arrive. Right on cue, the Archbishop appeared, walking towards them with a serene calm.

"Thank you kindly for making time to accommodate an old man like myself," he said. He then turned and waved. Four men emerged from the end of a nearby corridor, striding towards Faol with an undeniable air of vigor.

Duke's eyes lit up like a Christmas tree.

They were four burly men, each clad in gleaming armor. The emblem of the Church of Holy Light adorned every piece of their plate, from the shields in their hands to the tops of their helmets. Each man carried a sword, and from the way they moved, poised to draw their blades at a moment's notice, Duke could tell they were, at the very least, highly skilled swordsmen.

The only catch? The armor and weapons were brand spanking new, utterly devoid of any battle scars, repairs, or even a speck of dirt.