Flamethrower

The Red Dragon Queen, Alexstrasza, now a glorified prisoner of the Horde, was the key to their newfound, terrifying air force. It was a development so monumental, it was impossible for Duke not to know about it. But some things, Duke knew, couldn't be fixed just by knowing they were broken.

First off, Duke didn't have a clue about the exact whereabouts of the Demon Soul. Sure, he could send spies scurrying and have his agents snoop around the Horde's digs. But finding it didn't mean he'd suddenly have a magic wand to wave. This little trinket was deliberately unearthed by Gul'dan, that power-hungry demigod of the Horde. Messing with Gul'dan's meticulously laid plans meant a high chance of a premature showdown with the terrifying evil boss himself. Duke, bless his soul, had no earthly idea how to deal with this monster, a creature so vile that even Antonidas couldn't face him head-on without breaking a sweat.

Secondly, there was the Demon Soul's inherent nature. Just hearing the name, you knew it was something straight from the pits of the Twisting Nether. With such raw, unadulterated evil power, even if you drained every last drop of holy water from Uther's paladins, it wouldn't be enough to purify it. It seemed that someone with insufficient strength, like Duke, would be contaminated by the evil inside just by getting too close. This was a toy strictly for the dark arts crowd. Unless Duke fancied a new career as a glorified zombie, he'd best steer clear. Even for a warlock, wielding it came with a hefty price tag in terms of vitality.

And finally, there was Alexstrasza herself. Dragons, as a rule, were as proud as a peacock on parade, and Alexstrasza, one of the five mighty Dragon Aspects, was no exception. Before this historical catastrophe, the great Red Dragon Queen was, to put it mildly, a real piece of work, a handful to deal with. Not only did you have to worship her like an ancestor, but she'd also throw more curveballs at you than a goblin throwing rocks. Getting her to lift a claw was like pulling teeth from a gronn. If the enemy wasn't strong enough, she wouldn't bother. If they were strong enough, she'd act purely on a whim. Unless it was a world-ending super-boss, don't even think about her lifting a finger.

Once she'd been through the wringer, though, she was all business. As long as demons were involved, no matter how dirty or back-breaking the work, Alexstrasza would dive in headfirst. Of course, there was no need to worry that Her Majesty the Queen's chastity might be compromised after being captured and forced into human form. Orcs, bless their hearts, had a… particular aesthetic. You humans get all hot and bothered over a few curves, sighing about "36-24-36." Orcs, on the other hand, thought that kind of figure was skin and bones, barely capable of popping out a decent litter of runts. And if it ain't green, it ain't keen. Anything less than a "40-40-40" was considered a scrawny, un-orcish abomination. You get the picture, right? Alexstrasza's humanoid form was, to the orcs, well… a bit too human. Forcing their way through the fortress would be a real buzzkill for the orc boys. Weighing all these factors, Duke figured Alexstrasza could take one for the team, at least for a little while.

Of course, Duke wasn't about to let the red dragons run wild. In the open space opposite Go'shek Farm in the Arathi Highlands, a whole bunch of red dragons had gathered, standing in a circle, looking rather bewildered.

"Zastan," Duke began, addressing the largest of them, "my request is simple: don't go running back to your Queen just yet, don't become slaves of the Horde again, fighting against the other races of Azeroth. In return, I promise to rescue your Queen Alexstrasza from the clutches of the Demon Soul within a year." Zastan was the closest thing to a full-fledged dragon among them, a venerable 980 years old, though still technically a "young dragon." But for most of the other young dragons, who hadn't even sniffed the threshold of transforming into human form, he was the undisputed boss.

Zastan stretched his long, serpentine neck, his colossal golden eyeballs, like twin lava lamps, swirled with a kaleidoscope of divine light. "Human," he rumbled, a mournful sigh escaping his fanged maw, "thank you for providing these mysterious devices, which have temporarily freed us from the sad shackles sent by our king. But that doesn't mean we have to believe you. Your ability isn't enough to fight against the Demon Soul. If there's no better, more convincing reason, we must rush back to our master, even if we know we'll be enslaved."

At this, Duke uttered a name that was taboo among the entire Dragonflight: "Neltharion."

"What!?" Zastan's eyes widened.

"I just happen to know a little something about one of Neltharion's little schemes…" Duke said, walking closer to Zastan. After a moment, not only Zastan, but every single red dragon's face twisted into a fascinating blend of shock and morbid curiosity.

"Are you… are you sure?" Zastan finally managed.

"Compared to your Queen's freedom, this is a drop in the bucket, right?" Duke pressed, a confident smirk playing on his lips. "Besides, I'm Edmund Duke. I'm the guy who fought alongside you, wrestled Karazhan's defenses to the ground, and then personally sent Sargeras—who was squatting in Medivh's body like a squatter—packing back to the Abyss! I think that little bond of fighting side-by-side should count for something, shouldn't it?"

Zastan's dragon eyes opened wider than dinner plates. "It was you at that time!?" Zastan, a mere junior during the siege of Karazhan, would never forget that terrifying, brilliant, but ultimately overblown fireworks display. Duke projected a video in his hand, a carefully edited compilation from the system's search, showing Zastan himself in action. Watching his own signature aerial acrobatics, Zastan was left speechless, his jaw practically on the floor.

"Well, warrior who defeated the demon king Sargeras," Zastan finally rumbled, "I think we all have reason to believe you. But what are you going to do with us? The command seared into our very souls dictates that we must bow to orcs on sight. We're about as useful as a chocolate teapot in a fight against them."

Duke smiled mysteriously. "Fancy a little demon-hunting trip to Karazhan? Just try not to break the portal, alright?" A whole bunch of red dragons actually grinned, a sight that would usually send mortals screaming for the hills, and rumbled, "Glad to help, human!"

And just like that, Duke sent the red dragons away. Teleporting colossal creatures like dragons was mana-consuming work, a real drain on the arcane reserves. Teleporting over a hundred red dragons practically sucked the mana dry from Duke, his own personal reserves, and the entire Stormwind Royal Family Mage Corps. After it was over, Duke was sprawled out like a discarded rag doll, looking about as lively as a week-old corpse, arms and legs akimbo.

Illucia also felt her calves trembling as she walked. It was her iron will, forged in the fires of academic discipline, that kept her from face-planting. However, after arriving next to Duke, she still carefully bent her legs and sat down, a picture of elegant exhaustion. For some reason, seeing Duke lying so lazily, Illucia had the strange, comforting illusion of having a picnic with her family for the first time in a long time…

"Teacher Edmund."

"Call me Duke."

"Uh, Duke. Marshal Lothar's on the South Coast, practically begging for support. He's under attack from the Horde's main force, all two hundred thousand of them, and his combat power is stretched thinner than a goblin's patience. Right now, Lothar's got his army barely clinging to Shadowfang Keep, waiting for Lordaeron's reinforcements."

"Did you see Orgrim's ugly mug on the battlefield?"

"No, but…"

"Then tell Lothar that I'm sure Orgrim is on my side. If he needs troops, tell him to go shake down Terenas, not me."

"Alright."