Duke's Scheme

Duke made no attempt to stop the trolls from joining the Horde. It was like trying to herd cats; a waste of effort. It was almost inevitable that the trolls would throw in their lot with the green skins. You see, way back in Azeroth, some fourteen thousand years ago, the native trolls had built sprawling empires, with the Amani and Gurubashi being the biggest fish in that particular pond. Both of these colossal empires bowed down to the Zandalari tribe, the original big shots.

Seven thousand years ago, Dath'Remar Sunstrider, along with a gaggle of high-minded elven nobles who just had to keep dabbling in arcane magic, decided to ditch their nature-loving night elf brethren. They accepted their exile, packed their bags, and headed east to the northern continent of the Eastern Kingdoms, which everyone now lovingly calls Lordaeron. These snooty upper elves, after their grand migration, morphed into the high elves we know today and set up their own sparkly magical kingdom of Quel'Thalas. As new kids on the block, Quel'Thalas and the local Amani Empire, run by the trolls, immediately started a turf war that lasted for thousands of years. It was a never-ending squabble over who owned what patch of dirt.

It wasn't until a mere 2,800 years ago that humans finally started to get their act together. Emperor Thoradin, a real go-getter, united the squabbling human tribes and forged the mighty Empire of Arathor. Meanwhile, the high elf Kingdom of Quel'Thalas was getting its backside handed to it by the Amani Empire. In a fit of desperation, they swallowed their pride and turned to humans for help, even deigning to teach them the secrets of arcane magic. Arathor and Quel'Thalas then teamed up, like a couple of unlikely dance partners, and completely wiped the floor with the Amani Empire. The trolls never truly recovered, and that, my friends, was the end of the Troll War.

You could say the trolls' hatred for humans and elves was as old as the hills, passed down through generations like a family heirloom. The blood and souls of both sides had been spilled across this continent in countless brutal battles, forging a hatred so deep, it was thicker than molasses in winter and couldn't be dissolved by anything short of a miracle. And to make matters worse, there were more troll clans than you could shake a stick at. Even if Duke managed to put a dent in the Amani clan, there were still countless other tribes lurking on this continent, ready to cause trouble.

For instance, the Zandalari tribe, currently chilling in Stranglethorn Vale, were the granddaddies of all trolls, the original primitive trolls. Generally speaking, trolls came in five flavors: primitive, jungle, forest, desert, and frost. And within those categories, there were countless smaller branches, each with their own unique quirks. Little guys like the Sandfury, Icebow, Evilbranch, Bloodscalp, and Skullsplitter were barely worth mentioning. But there were at least seven or eight major clans, each as formidable as the Amani, just waiting to stir up trouble. Rather than letting Orgrim form a chaotic alliance with a random assortment of trolls, Duke figured it was better to stick with the Amani. At least with them, Duke could pretty much guess their next move, like predicting where a drunk goblin would stumble next.

Of course, before Duke could even think about tackling Orgrim's elite army and the trolls, he had one more colossal task on his plate: covering the retreat of Stromgarde's forces back to the safety of Stromgarde city and the formidable Wall of Thoradin. The scariest thing about a retreat was the risk of a full-blown collapse. Once the rear guard got chewed up, you could practically see the nightmare unfold: the green torrent of Horde orcs and the desperate silver torrent of Stromgarde soldiers intertwining across the entire Arathi Highlands. The miserable silver, seriously short on transportation, would be chased by the green from every direction, torn to shreds in a brutal plains battle. After fighting for so long, the Alliance and the Horde were madder than a wet hen, their blood boiling. It was a safe bet that if the retreat went south, not many would be spared. The orcs, with their superior endurance, would hunt down every human trying to escape, dispatching them in the cruelest ways imaginable. No prisoners, no mercy. Maybe one soldier out of a hundred would make it back to Stromgarde alive.

The Arathi Highlands, where Stromgarde was located, wasn't exactly a garden spot. Its plateau and mountainous terrain severely limited food production and, by extension, the total population it could support. Among the seven human kingdoms, Stromgarde's population was only slightly larger than that of the purely mountain-dwelling kingdom of Alterac. In a way, Stromgarde was even weaker than Stormwind, which had lost its capital. At least the fertile Elwynn Forest was still feeding hundreds of thousands of Stormwind citizens. Stromgarde's total population was less than 250,000, and mustering their current army of 30,000 was already pushing them to their absolute limit. King Thoras Trollbane truly couldn't fathom whether Stromgarde would even have a future if he lost all 50,000 people, including civilians, on the Thandol Bridge defense line.

However, the Alliance's heavy hitters were mostly tied up on the Western Front, locked in a brutal slugfest with the main force of the orcs, primarily the Warsong Clan led by Grom Hellscream. The biggest help Stromgarde received was half of the Scarlet Crusade, led by Lordaeron's General Abendis. Abendis's men marched to the Wall of Thoradin to relieve Stromgarde's forces, giving Thoras more troops to defend his city. Plus, there was Duke's Mage Group and Alleria's Ranger Group. When Thoras heard that Alleria was worried about something happening back home and had taken her forces away, if it weren't for Duke and Alleria's very public and very close relationship, he probably would have cursed her out in front of everyone.

"Don't get your knickers in a twist, Admiral Trollbane," Duke calmly stated. "I let Alleria go because I'm confident I can get ninety percent of Stromgarde's soldiers back to Stromgarde safe and sound." Thoras was stunned for a full five seconds before it clicked: the ridiculously young deputy commander standing before him had a track record that put even the Alliance's top dog, Lothar, to shame. Duke might not have proven himself in offensive battles yet, but when it came to defense, interception, and pulling troops out of a fire under impossible circumstances, Duke was the undisputed king of the hill.

"So, I guess you can't just burn down the entire strait defense line with one big fire, huh?" King Thoras asked, a hint of dry humor in his voice. "Pfft!" Duke burst out laughing. "Sorry, Your Majesty, no offense intended…"

"Offense? The Arathi people don't sweat the small stuff when it comes to etiquette," Thoras scoffed, waving a dismissive hand. "As long as you can save these people, I'll let my son be your personal servant." Thoras, ever the pragmatist, was willing to sell his own son down the river if it meant saving his people.

Duke still held immense respect for the Arathi people, with Stromgarde as their heart. Historically, Stromgarde had stood firm against the Scourge of the Undead. Even when only 3,000 souls remained in the entire kingdom, not a single one gave up. They fought tooth and nail across the Arathi Highlands, a living testament to their defiance and indomitable spirit against the Horde and all invaders. "No, no, no," Duke chuckled, "I'm not shameless enough to ask a prince to be my attendant." While it would undoubtedly give Duke a serious ego boost, he added, "In fact, I've always been a big believer in getting the biggest bang for your buck, the greatest results with the smallest sacrifice."

"Well, Your Excellency Deputy Commander Edmund, what's your game plan?" Thoras paused, still feeling the need to butter Duke up a little. "If you pull this off, you'll be a hero in the hearts of the Stromgarde people, no doubt about it. I'd wager a hundred Stromgarde Knight Candidates would line up, eager to become your sworn followers." A hundred would-be knights might not sound like much, but when you considered they were a hundred capable lower-level nobles, ready to help manage his future fiefdom, the offer carried a lot more weight.

Duke had once wondered about the loyalty of the people sent from Stromgarde. A knight who could fight was always useful, but it would be a real pain if their loyalty lay with someone else's king. However, after "inspecting the goods," Duke realized he'd been overthinking it. This was a world of feudal aristocracy. Even though the seven kingdoms had their own quirks, they were all, at their core, heirs to the Arathor Empire, descendants of Emperor Thoradin. Being loyal to the great nobles of other human kingdoms wasn't as complicated as one might imagine.

In this era, only the eldest son got to inherit the family fief. The second, third, fourth sons, and daughters? They were pretty much out of luck, relegated to the sidelines. The second and third sons might still hold out hope that something unfortunate would befall the eldest, but the rest might as well forget about it. Just like the Elwynn Forest in Stormwind, the thousand-year legacy had already carved up every last inch of arable land in the Arathi Highlands. If they wanted new territory, they had to look outside their borders or beg the royal family for scraps.

Across the strait south of the Arathi Highlands lay the territory of the Bronzebeard dwarves, their human allies. To the east was the sea, to the west, behind the impenetrable Wall of Thoradin, was Alterac, and to the north, the Hinterlands, bordering the Arathi Highlands… still dwarven, but these were the Wildhammer dwarves. So, the Kingdom of Stromgarde was pretty much boxed in, unable to expand. As the old saying goes, "poor mountains and bad waters produce brave people." The fighting prowess of Arathi soldiers was legendary, their reputation well-earned. Equipment aside, the Arathi people's land combat skills were easily among the best in the seven kingdoms. Of course, due to their poverty and outdated gear, they couldn't quite match Lordaeron's overall combat power. Duke, however, was still making out like a bandit with a hundred knight candidates. Besides, Duke had no intention of letting the Stromgarde people suffer heavy losses anyway.

Those knight candidates, for their part, were already singing Duke's praises. First off, Duke was a bona fide celebrity: the Alliance's deputy commander, the orc slayer with nearly 300,000 green skins on his tally, a wizard with a future brighter than a freshly polished gold coin, the inventor of revolutionary new weapons, and Stormwind's biggest sugar daddy. Nothing lit a fire under a man's belly like a boss who could fight, make money, and hook up his younger brothers with sweet deals. If the Alliance ultimately bit the dust in this racial war, then it was game over for humanity, and there'd be nothing left to say. But if the Alliance won, it was a no-brainer: they'd wipe out every last orc. Once Stormwind was rebuilt, Duke's status would skyrocket. He'd be a Grand Duke and Lord in the truest sense of the word. The fertile eastern part of Elwynn Forest, a sliver of Nightwood, a huge chunk of Redridge Mountains, and the Deadwind Pass area. Depending on how the cookie crumbled, Duke's fiefdom could be even bigger than that in the future. We're talking about a piece of land bigger and better than the entire Arathi Highlands combined! These Knight Candidates were so hyped, they were practically foaming at the mouth. They couldn't wait to pledge allegiance to Duke and don the uniform of the Edmund family.

Of course, there was a catch: Duke had to successfully lead 50,000 Stromgarde people back to Stromgarde. That's 20,000 elite soldiers, 10,000 auxiliary troops, and 20,000 craftsmen and militiamen. If Duke were just some greenhorn with no real achievements, or if King Thoras Trollbane had a better plan up his sleeve, he would never, in a million years, have let Duke take charge. But this was Duke, the Alliance hero, Edmund Duke. The sheer weight of that name was enough to make Thoras trust Duke more than he trusted himself.

When Thoras asked, "What are you going to do?" and Duke pulled out a thick stack of meticulously prepared action guidelines, Thoras's jaw hit the floor for a solid three seconds. Without waiting for Duke to explain, Thoras snapped his fingers at his generals. "I order you, in the name of the King of Stromgarde and the Admiral of the Alliance Army, to obey Deputy Commander Edmund's orders during this retreat! Any man who disobeys my orders will answer to my sword!" With that, Thoras unbuckled his sword and, with a heavy clang, handed it to Duke.

Duke was stunned, holding the sword like it was a hot potato. King Thoras offered a faint smile. "I apologize, Duke. I'm the kind of man who can't help but charge headfirst into battle, and the Trollbane family, well, we only fight to the last man – victory or death. If I stay here, I'll only interfere with your command and become a burden. I just hope you won't let me and the people of Stromgarde down. At least fifty thousand ladies are waiting for their men to come home."

Duke's face turned grim, a steely resolve in his eyes. "Don't you worry your head. If I could lead fifty thousand besieged Stormwind soldiers across the sea, I can lead fifty thousand people from Stromgarde back to their homes and become the last line of defense for Stromgarde."

That night, the orcs tasked with land reclamation on the Horde's side noticed some strange goings-on across the river. Orcs preferred to fill the sea at night, because under the cover of darkness, the accuracy of the crossbows and slingshots on the other side dropped dramatically. Often, a single night's work could equal four days' progress. But this night was different. Almost as soon as the orcs' reclamation troops reached the middle of the already shallow strait, a barrage of glittering "flares" shot up from the other side, bathing the area within a hundred-meter radius in light as bright as day. The next moment, accompanied by the fierce thrum of war drums, the sound of countless bowstrings twanged across the river. Large crossbow bolts, smaller arrows, and a hail of rubble, like flowers scattered from heaven, rained down on the vital points of the orcs carrying stones to fill the sea. Not only were the attacks dense, but they packed a serious punch. Not one of the more than 200 orc laborers who went up survived. They all bit the dust, not a single one made it back. Five minutes later, the orcs at another reclamation area in the middle of the channel suffered the same devastating blow. Five minutes after that, the same thing happened downstream. The orc commander was utterly flabbergasted. "What in the blazes is this!?"

As a last resort, they frantically called for the Dragonmaw Orcs' Dragoon Regiment, but it seemed that terrifying, elusive Elf Ranger was still on the opposite side. With the high elves' dark vision ability, the arrow of death still pierced the throat of the orc cavalry without so much as a wobble. Throughout the entire night, at five different ferry crossings, the orcs lost 2,000 laborers, and their progress came to a complete standstill.

After receiving the grim report, Rend Blackhand, the former chief's son, said nonchalantly, "Let Zuluhed keep sending out his precious red lizards. Keep up the offensive during the day. I want to see how long those humans can hold out." Orcs didn't have dark vision, and with the red dragons being uncooperative, orc dragons were more effective during daylight hours. The attack on the Thandol Bridge continued. The humans seemed to have concentrated their forces on the bridge, making its defense impenetrable. However, in other places, the dragons successfully destroyed over a hundred unattended ballistae and catapults that day.

"This is progress," Rend laughed, a deluded grin on his face. "It proves humanity is starting to crack." You see, when the full-scale invasion began, humans, with the high mobility granted by wizard teleportation and the pinpoint sniping of two elf rangers (Alleria and Sylvanas, with a nod to Lirath's impressive but less competitive skills), had prevented the orcs from gaining any real advantage. Now, even if the orcs still had to pay a heavy price, they could use their sheer numbers to wear down the Alliance, bleeding them dry at their own expense. In the following days, this brutal tug-of-war seemed destined to continue.

The humans only guarded the bridge, and at night, they relied on long-range attacks to snipe the orcs' reclamation efforts. As night fell, the craftsmen frantically built and repaired catapults and crossbows. During the day, the number of human soldiers patrolling the Thandol Bridge defense line was so large, it made the orc scouts dizzy. Nothing seemed amiss.

But the people of Stromgarde who remained on Thandol Bridge were moved to tears. Why? Because the main force had already pulled out! Except for the 5,000 elite soldiers and more than 3,000 craftsmen who stayed behind at the bridge, the rest of the people had been evacuated in an orderly fashion, at a rate of about 5,000 souls per night over the past week. Without torches, they simply relied on white cloth wrapped around each other's shoulders, walking back along the road under the guidance of the best scouts. The Dragonmaw Orcs' search range was limited; as long as they left the northern position of the Thandol Bridge for more than 20 kilometers, they would vanish without a trace.

During the days of retreat, Sylvanas's primary task wasn't killing enemies on the cliff, but sniping any enemy scouts riding dragons who dared to venture too deep into the defense line. The remaining small group of elven rangers, each with a few human scouts and a mage under Duke, were razor-sharp. The moment a Horde dragon was spotted invading, Duke would immediately teleport Sylvanas to a pre-set teleportation array, directly eliminating the Horde scouts. The scouts near the cliff defense line were simply ignored. And every night, only one person was actually responsible for sniping the Horde: Duke himself.

After being promoted to Master Mage, the number of Mage Hands Duke could manipulate simultaneously had actually reached 512. Being able to do something didn't mean you could do it for a long time. It was like a grown man lifting a hundred pounds for a bit; it was hard to keep it up for an hour. Only one in ten thousand could pull that off. For the past three days, Sylvanas, who had been shadowing Duke, just watched quietly as he pulled off all sorts of incredible feats to save the lives of 50,000 Stromgarde citizens. Duke was clearly just a mortal, but he demanded the impossible from himself, acting like a superman. As a noble wizard with a future brighter than a thousand suns, he not only fought on the front lines himself, but also took on the menial job of operating crossbows with his Mage Hands.

From west to east, there were a total of 12 crossbow positions, each bristling with over 30 crossbows; 12 catapults; and 500 fixed, strung crossbows facing the coast. And there was only one man manipulating them all: Edmund Duke. With the help of the system elves, he made perfect kills with every wave, not letting a single hard-working orc escape. Almost as soon as he finished attacking one position, Duke would immediately teleport to the next. Only after he left would a logistics team of no more than thirty people quickly emerge, reloading each crossbow cart, catapult, and crossbow. It was no exaggeration to say that, depending on the Horde's attack, Duke would have to teleport back and forth between the twelve positions thirty or forty times in one night. For Duke now, even setting aside the mages, the sheer physical and mental exhaustion alone was enough to drain ten ordinary master mages dry. Yet, Duke kept going, fueled by sheer stubbornness.

The people of Stromgarde marveled at Duke's strength, but they were also moved to tears by his sheer greatness. Sometimes, in the command post, Duke was so tired he'd fall asleep mid-sentence. No one blamed him; he'd done a hell of a job. If it weren't for Duke, most of them wouldn't have made it back to Stromgarde alive.

On the eighth day, the moment of truth arrived. According to the plan, all troops would be withdrawn that night, leaving only Duke and Sylvanas to cover the rear. This was simply an insane idea. If it weren't for the miracles Duke had pulled off in recent days, everyone would have been completely against it.

"Sir! You've done enough, and you've done it well!" Brigadier General Outles, his voice rising several notches, shouted excitedly. "If you want to sacrifice yourself for the survival of Stromgarde, then we cannot obey your orders! Now it's time for the people of Stromgarde to bleed!" Not only Outles, but more than a dozen Stromgarde generals present stepped forward, forming a wall of sheer will and flesh and blood to block Duke. "We're under orders from His Majesty Thoras Trollbane himself," one declared, " 'Even if we have to kidnap you, we must bring Sir Edmund Duke back to Stromgarde! A great hero like Duke shouldn't die in such a meaningless retreat! The Alliance needs Edmund Duke more than Stromgarde!'"

"What in the blazes are you doing? I know you mean well, but are you trying to start a mutiny!?" Sylvanas, without missing a beat, drew her dual swords, and Gavinrad drew his warhammer, both taking up defensive positions to Duke's left and right. Even though they both knew a real fight was unlikely, they still had to put on a show. Brigadier General Outles seemed taken aback by the violent reaction from Duke's personal guard, and his momentum faltered.

Duke looked at Outles with calm eyes – this future great man who would become a marshal if fate didn't throw a monkey wrench in the works. Duke sighed, and then his eyes gradually became majestic, radiating an undeniable authority. "That's enough! I appreciate King Trollbane's kindness. But please remember, I'm Duke! Edmund Duke! The wolf-like wizard who'll bite off a piece of the enemy's hide even if he's losing and has to retreat! Last time I evacuated, I barbecued 100,000 orcs. This time you want me to evacuate again? How can I live with myself without sending another 100,000 orcs to meet their maker?"

When Duke said this, Outles actually shot back, "Then where are we gonna get the kerosene?" Duke was stunned, not knowing whether to laugh or cry. "You knucklehead, who said I was going to light another fire!?"

"Uh, Duke the Vulcan doesn't light fires?" Outles asked, looking utterly bewildered.

Damn it, when did I become the God of Fire? Duke was so exasperated by Outles that he laughed until tears streamed down his face. "Get lost! Who said I can only light fires? Let me tell you, the one standing in front of you today is – the evil Duke!"

Duke of Ghostly Conspiracy? Did anyone actually give themselves nicknames these days? Why was Duke known as the God of Fire within the Alliance? Because Duke was a master of fire. He'd torched half of Elwynn Forest and Stormwind City, and then used the FFF Regiment's flamethrowers to roast the main force of the Horde's offensive in Silverpine Forest. Most of Duke's famous battles were, indeed, related to fire. The nickname "God of Fire" was actually pretty catchy. Unfortunately, Duke wasn't happy about it. How could a mere God of Fire compare to the chief of the four elements or a heaven-defying God of Magic? That's right! If he was going to be someone, he'd better be a magic god! Anyway, Duke was flat-out refusing to be a Vulcan.

Duke knew perfectly well that the previous retreat had been mostly successful. If he could pull this off, he'd surely be hailed as a "wise general." But that wasn't enough! Orgrim had to have landed in the Hinterlands. For some reason, there had been no news from there, but Duke had to deal with this side as soon as possible and mobilize troops to deal with Orgrim. If the war in Stromgarde became a bloody, drawn-out affair, Duke, the Alliance's deputy commander, wouldn't be able to leave, and he wouldn't be able to get troops moving in advance. So, if Duke wanted to take the pressure off Stromgarde, the best way was to hit the Horde where it hurt, again.

The Horde's strength didn't seem to be decreasing, but Duke and the Stormwind commanders, who had fought the Horde the longest, felt it in their bones. The Horde was already starting to falter. For example, the Horde's combat power was a solid 100 before, but now it was at most 70. As the war losses continued to mount, the Horde's strength would soon hit a critical point. Once it broke through that threshold, it would shift from a gradual decline to a full-blown collapse. At that point, the Alliance would switch from defense to offense, turning the tables completely.

Seeing that General Outles and the others wanted to say something, Duke gently pushed Sylvanas and Gavinrad aside and waved at them. "Gentlemen, I appreciate your willingness to lay down your lives for me. I truly do. If I ever find myself in a bind, I'll come knocking. And conversely, you can come knocking on my door in the future. As long as I wipe out these orcs, I'll be a Grand Lord, rolling in dough." Duke shrugged. "But before that, please get out of here as planned. Unless you've got my magic power, my knowledge, and my strategic genius, your poor imaginations won't even begin to grasp what I'm about to do."

Duke's words were no longer just "impolite." If Duke had said this before, they would have been ready to throw down, even with the king's authority hanging over their heads. But men were such simple creatures. Once they'd faced death together, they became brothers. No one in Stromgarde took Duke's words as an insult or a challenge. On the contrary, after seeing their comrades, who had been staring death in the face, successfully retreat to Stromgarde, they saw Duke shining with a sacred, almost divine light.

Outles gritted his teeth. "Promise me, you won't die here in battle."

"I don't need to promise you anything," Duke retorted, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Because I still have to deal with this place and then go kick Orgrim's green butt. That guy, covered in green paint, is still squatting on my territory." Duke was cracking jokes, but the unwavering confidence in his eyes still won over the men of Stromgarde. Nearly twenty generals and officers of all ranks saluted Duke simultaneously, a unified display of respect.

After seeing off the warriors, Duke turned to Illucia, giving her instructions. "Well, there are still two hours before the orcs' night attack begins. I'm going to catch some Z's." Duke was so exhausted that even though the room he was in was a dump, without a spring mattress or soft pillows, he still fell asleep like a dead pig. In a hazy dream, he felt like he was resting on a very soft, smooth pillow. Duke shifted his neck, trying to get even more comfortable. Ah, this is the life. Good stuff, comparable to a space memory foam pillow.

Duke had no idea how long he'd been out cold, but he was jolted awake by a warning from his system AI. "Dear host, I'm terribly sorry to disturb your blissful nap on my lap. But I'm afraid the orcs are coming." Duke woke up in a daze, and then, a single word hit him like a lightning bolt: knee pillow. The next moment, Duke's eyes snapped open, and he almost went blind. What did he see? His head, like a loyal dog's, was resting on two slender, shapely, but not fleshy, legs. Seeing the mage's long skirt draped around him, Duke instantly knew whose legs they were. Not only that, Duke, who was trying to turn his head, bumped into something. It was a soft, hanging object, less than two centimeters above his head.

Uh… something seems to be very, very wrong here. Duke's body stiffened instantly. "Woo! I'm a salted fish! I'm a motionless salted fish! I didn't do anything just now…" Duke, a pure, innocent virgin with a truckload of theoretical knowledge but zero practical experience, started hypnotizing himself like a mentally challenged person.

At that moment, Miss Barov also stirred, waking up. She rubbed her eyes and saw that Duke was awake. "I'm sorry, teacher… uh, Duke," she stammered, a blush creeping up her neck. "I didn't mean to offend you, I just saw you sleeping so soundly. You were mumbling something about 'the pillow being too hard,' and when I came over, you…"

Duke was utterly crestfallen. "I just slept on your lap?"

Illucia blushed even deeper, but finally nodded.

"Why didn't you resist!?" Duke demanded, his voice bordering on hysterical.

"I… I was confused by what you said about the space pillow," Illucia mumbled, cleverly dodging the question. In truth, Duke's actions had been far more forward, and the eldest daughter of the Barov family had been practically paralyzed with fear, but she hadn't dared to resist. A mage's body was fragile, and if she accidentally hurt Duke, causing the Alliance's plan to fail, she'd be guilty of a grave sin. And surprisingly, she didn't seem to object to this kind of thing that, according to legend, was only done between lovers.

At that moment, something happened that made Duke feel like he was living a nightmare. Suddenly, a soft cough echoed from outside the window. Even if Duke were reduced to ashes, he would still recognize it. That was Sylvanas's voice…

"Ahem, I was just worried that the deputy commander was too tired, so I came to remind him to prepare for a night attack on the Horde. It seems the deputy commander has more important things to do!"

"No, actually I…" Duke burst out of the room as fast as his legs could carry him. Who knew that just as he stepped out the door, Sylvanas "accidentally" stepped on his foot.

"Ah! I'm so sorry, I was just so clumsy. My sister kept telling me to take care of you," Sylvanas purred, her hands on her hips, slowly retracting her foot. At that moment, Duke finally understood the difference between a woman being "wild" and being "coquettish." If a girl stepped on your foot and then chewed you out, that was wild. If a goddess with stunning looks stepped on you and then chewed you out, and her body trembled with suppressed mischief as she did it, that was called acting like a spoiled brat… Well, even though Duke didn't have any improper thoughts about Sylvanas, he just couldn't bring himself to be mad at her.