Deputy

If my calculations were on the money, some of the future heavy hitters still had a bit of growing up to do.

No, wait, that shouldn't include Uther and Tirion Fordring. Those two had been tearing through orc slaves like a hot knife through butter during the Lordaeron riots a few days back. It's just that back then, they were swinging hammers like a couple of madmen, and now they were trying to look all refined with longswords, pretending to be gentle.

Come to think of it, they were meeting the Commander-in-Chief of the Alliance, not heading into a mosh pit with the enemy. So why would they bring out the ol' sledgehammer, or rather, the "hammer of the king"? You gotta make a good first impression on the boss, and appearances, as they say, are everything.

Few people in this world had their own personal theme music, but Uther was definitely one of them. He was heroic, elegant, with a physique that could make a statue jealous, a face as sunny as a summer day, and a faint, ethereal glow of Holy Light wrapped around him.

If you squinted just right, you'd find yourself in a trance, as if you were listening to a pipe organ belting out hymns in a grand cathedral, with the sweet, faint singing of choir children echoing in your ears. It was enough to make you feel like your very soul had been scrubbed clean and ascended to a higher plane.

"Please allow me to introduce Uther, Saidan Dathrohan, Tirion Fordring, and Turalyon," Faol announced, raising a hand and pointing them out, a smile beaming across his face like a proud father showing off his sons to a gaggle of potential in-laws at a blind date.

"They will be the very core of the Silver Hand Knights that I am about to forge."

Faol paused, then turned to introduce Lothar and Duke to the four Paladin candidates.

"This is Sir Anduin Lothar, the General of Stormwind and the Commander-in-Chief of the Alliance. And this young mage is his esteemed colleague, Duke Edmund, the hero who slew the demon king Sargeras and roasted 100,000 orcs!"

Faol beamed. "Now, I believe it's time for you young gentlemen to have a good chat amongst yourselves."

With a nod to everyone, the Archbishop gracefully exited the courtyard, leaving them to it.

Duke never in a million years thought he'd see the day when he'd be worshipped and admired like a rock star by future legends. But then again, Duke was already a household name.

In fact, Llane, with a little nudge from MI7, had been subtly boosting Duke's reputation. Compared to Lothar's string of solid, if unspectacular, achievements, Duke, the young hero, was pure legend. The more desperate people got, the more they yearned for heroes, for role models, for someone to light the way.

Duke, bless his opportunistic heart, had delivered. And so, Duke became famous.

"So, was it impossible to kill Sargeras, then?"

"I'm sorry, but no one knows how to destroy the soul of a fallen Titan."

"How powerful is the devil?"

"I can teleport you to Karazhan when I have time. It's attacked by demons about once a week, on average."

Lothar and Duke found themselves surrounded, practically mobbed by these eager Paladin candidates.

The shortest of them, Turalyon, looked a bit overwhelmed, almost cowering. The others, like Uther and Tirion, seemed relaxed, cool as cucumbers.

Compared to Duke, who had the future downloaded into his brain and an unshakable faith in the Paladins, Lothar was still a skeptic. He couldn't quite wrap his head around what this newfangled profession would bring to the Alliance army.

As Lothar pondered how to temper their enthusiasm without dousing their spirits, and how to fit them into the grand scheme of things, Uther stepped forward, breaking the ice.

"Respected Commander, the Archbishop has shown us the path forward. We are keenly aware that we face a brutal battle ahead. We await your every command. We will fight for the people, and we will die for the people. Command us whenever you deem it necessary."

Uther was a tall man, with a face so chiseled it looked like it had been carved from granite, and an expression of unwavering resolve. His ocean-blue eyes held a faint golden glow, an almost sacred intensity. From his words and demeanor, Duke and Anduin could feel Uther's unyielding devotion to the Holy Light. He was more fanatical, more determined, but lacked the gentle passion and nuanced touch of Archbishop Faol.

Saidan Dathrohan, the tallest of the group, clocked in at a towering 2.03 meters according to Duke's mental system scan, radiated an even stronger warrior's aura. He pumped his fist vigorously. "We won't ask how many enemies there are, Commander! We'll only ask where they are! We'll crush those orcs and send those filthy, brutal green skins back to whatever rock they crawled out from!"

Tirion Fordring's faith was just as solid, but he wasn't quite as zealous as Uther. He chatted with everyone in a remarkably easy-going manner, a regular guy despite his burgeoning holiness.

Finally, it was Turalyon's turn. This shorter Paladin candidate didn't jump into the theological debates. Instead, he steered the conversation towards war and strategy. For example, he mused, "If the Horde hasn't somehow developed advanced shipbuilding tech that can shorten construction time from years to months, then we're likely to face the orcs simply trying to overwhelm our defenses with sheer numbers."

The pleasant conversation made time fly by. It was almost noon, and Lothar, the Commander-in-Chief of the Alliance, had to attend a luncheon. As the four Paladin candidates said their goodbyes, Lothar and Duke walked together, chatting.

"What do you think of them?" Lothar asked.

"Uther, Saidan, and Tirion are all razor-sharp blades against the Horde," Duke assessed. "Turalyon is more rational, and his faith might not be as rock-solid. But he's definitely a commander-type talent."

"I wasn't asking about their personalities…" Lothar frowned, letting out a sigh. "It's not that I doubt my old friend Alonsus, but I seriously question how useful they can actually be."

Duke raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

Lothar seemed to be weighing his words carefully, though he didn't think Duke was a bigmouth. After a moment, he spoke. "There's just too little time. They are seriously lacking in preparation. Remember what you said? When the northern route of the Thandol Bridge is blocked by Stromgarde, the Horde is expected to arrive in the northern continent within a month, or even sooner."

"Yeah. So what?" Duke countered. "Didn't you see them carving up orcs in the palace a while ago?"

"Perhaps they are indeed powerful warriors," Lothar conceded, "but none of them has ever experienced war as a so-called 'Paladin.' Of course, I don't doubt their combat capabilities. However, we're not short on warriors. This is what bothers me most. I'm being asked to command a group of professionals who have never existed in this world, rookies who have never been tested in the fires of war. Faol means he hopes they'll play a core role. Core! This is the core! Do you want me to appoint a few battlefield rookies as deputy commanders of the Allied Forces?"

Duke smacked his lips. "Oh, that's how it went down in history, alright. I still can't wrap my head around why the kings agreed to let Turalyon, with no combat experience and no royal or ducal title, be the deputy commander of the Allied Forces."

When they arrived at the luncheon venue, King Terenas's words hit Duke like a bolt of lightning, leaving him feeling burnt to a crisp on the outside and raw on the inside.

"Duke Edmund, the seven kings have unanimously nominated you to be the Deputy Commander of the Alliance!"