Next Steps

Day after day, year after year, the colossal stone giant Fuzruk ambled across the Arathi Highlands, a living, breathing geological anomaly. No Arathi native knew what the behemoth actually did. It never initiated an attack, never picked a fight. But once provoked, oh boy, it would teach you precisely what the wrath of a giant felt like – a lesson usually delivered with a side of pulverized bones. Thousands of years had passed, from the misty dawn of ancient times to the present day. Countless fools had tried to fell Fuzruk, lured by whispers of legendary treasure. Some even managed to gather several powerful Archmages, thinking they could gang up and put the stone giant six feet under.

Did anyone succeed? No! Well, yes! According to dusty historical records, at least three groups of brave (or incredibly stupid) souls actually managed to kill it. The result? Absolutely nothing. No treasure, not a single clue of any treasure, just a pile of worthless rocks and iron ore that wouldn't even buy you a stale loaf of bread. But then, a few days later, the stone giant Fuzruk would simply dust itself off, resurrect, completely forget about the pesky humans who had just killed it, and resume its aimless wandering in its designated corner of the Arathi Highlands.

But the orcs? They didn't know that story!

After hearing the orc leader bellow threats at Duke in their guttural Common Tongue, and then Duke, with the audacity of a goblin selling snake oil, brazenly claiming Fuzruk was his personal servant, the knights surrounding Duke exchanged knowing glances. Well, butter my biscuit! Our master's got a screw loose, but in the best possible way! But… they liked it! A boss who could kill orcs was always a good boss. Those who were wary of wizards pulling the strings would naturally steer clear of Duke's company, but those willing to follow him were, of course, mentally prepared for anything. What's more, they'd been fighting the orcs for so long, and more than a few of their kin had already bought the farm. Seeing the orcs about to swallow most of the Arathi Highlands whole, the knights weren't exactly in a celebratory mood.

The result was Duke, the master showman, along with his unwitting cast of extras, strolling past the stone giant's colossal feet with a dignity usually reserved for kings. As he passed, Duke didn't miss a beat, bellowing, "Kill him, Fuzruk!" On the carriage, Illucia, perched nervously behind Duke, felt her heart leap into her throat. She couldn't help but clutch a corner of Duke's cloak, her knuckles white. Duke, momentarily flustered and a little annoyed, saw Illucia's face, a perfect picture of someone about to burst into tears but too terrified to do so. He could only offer a low, soothing whisper. "It's alright. Fuzruk won't attack anyone."

"What if… what if I accidentally touch it?" Illucia whimpered, tears welling in her eyes.

Duke patted Ranger-General Sylvanas on the shoulder, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Don't worry, she's just pulling your leg."

Sylvanas glared at Duke fiercely, her expression screaming, You're a piece of work, aren't you? Seeing Sylvanas's reaction, Illucia calmed down a fraction. Sure enough, Duke and his team passed through quickly, without so much as a hiccup. The stone giant Fuzruk continued its ponderous march, seemingly lumbering directly towards the Horde army.

If the commander-in-chief today had been a seasoned, grizzled chieftain of a major Horde clan, instead of the young, hot-headed Rend Blackhand, he would never have acted so rashly. Unfortunately, there are no do-overs in this world. "Let the dragons attack!" Rend's order echoed across the battlefield, conveyed by a blaring horn to the Dragonmaw Orc dragons circling overhead. As luck would have it, Zuluhed, the Dragonmaw chieftain, was off on another front today. The Horde had just missed their last chance to avoid a colossal blunder. To show off his military prowess and prove his command was every bit as good as his father Blackhand's, Rend actually ordered the dragons to attack only Fuzruk, completely ignoring Duke and his entourage. Perhaps they still felt Sylvanas's arrows were a serious threat to their precious dragon riders. Or maybe he thought that taking down the stone giant Duke seemed to rely on most would utterly crush Duke and his crew's morale. Whatever the reason, tens of thousands of orcs settled in for a ringside seat, watching a dozen red dragons duke it out with a stone giant.

Fuzruk was no pushover; no creature truly worthy of the name "giant" was a weakling. Once attacked, it immediately launched a furious counterattack, its massive stone fists smashing into several red dragons, cracking bones and tearing muscles. With miserable wails, the dragons plummeted to the ground. After a grueling fifteen minutes, and at the cost of twelve young red dragons' lives, the stone giant Fuzruk finally crumbled, collapsing into a pile of rubble, still smoldering with a furious, internal heat.

"Hahahaha! Did you see that, Edmund Duke!?" Rend's triumphant sneer cut through the air, his voice booming. "This is the end of the powerful elemental creatures you relied on! You stupid, despicable worm, do you have any other tricks up your sleeve? Use 'em all at once!" Rend's boisterous laughter ignited a roar of cheers from the orcs. Their wild cackles were so loud, it seemed as if the whole world was laughing at Duke's arrogance.

No one noticed Sylvanas's agile, fleeting figure flash past Fuzruk's fallen body. She snatched something, a mere flicker, and then, with incredible speed, returned to Duke's side. Duke casually tossed a small, dull, earthy-glowing stick to Gavinrad, who was standing beside him.

"Hey, Gavinrad, remember that little list of errands I gave you?"

"Ugh!" Gavinrad groaned, recalling the tasks Duke had assigned him before they'd even set foot in the Arathi Highlands. He still felt a phantom ache in his… well, let's just say it wasn't his head. In the northern mountains of the Arathi Highlands, the ever-loyal Paladin Gavinrad had followed Duke's cryptic instructions and, against all odds, found the whereabouts of a princess. The poor princess was imprisoned beneath a colossal crystal. Her voice was soft and gentle, like whispered tears and complaints, begging for help from the noble paladin. The whole scene was straight out of a fairy tale: princess in distress, but where was the brave prince?

Gavinrad had felt a nagging unease. Why would a princess be locked up in a place like this? He'd never heard of any princess from the seven human kingdoms, or the dwarves, or the elves, going missing. But since it was a task Duke had drilled into him, Gavinrad had no choice but to obey. Over the next few days, the Lord Paladin had practically run his legs off. He'd gone and bullied some kobolds to collect their Dust of Myzrael. Then he'd tangled with some random, lesser elemental creatures to unlock some kind of imprisoned stone. Finally, the mysterious princess's instructions had led him to the biggest enigma in the Arathi Highlands: the stone giant Fuzruk.

Gavinrad still remembered the princess's final request, her voice clear as a bell: "The opening of the Binding Stone has mostly freed me, but there's still one unbreakable lock keeping me from moving. Do you see the Keystone in this circle of stones? The key to unlock it is in the hands of Fuzruk, one of the giants who imprisoned me and the keeper of this stone lock. You must obtain a key called the Magic Rod of Order from Fuzruk to open the Keystone. You've done so much for me, great knight. If you could just do me this one small favor, I'd be eternally grateful!" Without even realizing it, the endless string of quests was almost complete! Even if he didn't know which princess this was, he was still the knight who saved the princess! Gavinrad felt a little thrill just thinking about it.

Duke clapped Gavinrad, the noble Paladin, on the shoulder. "Now, trust me on this, Gavinrad: the princesses of Azeroth are mostly a load of baloney." In his heart, Duke silently amended "mostly" to "all."

Gavinrad looked utterly bewildered. "Sir Edmund, do you know what princess that is? What was that? Her voice was so beautiful, why…?"

Duke, ever the straight shooter, replied with a righteous air, "The Creator plays fair. Most people with angelic voices aren't exactly lookers. Most lookers have voices that could curdle milk. The chances of getting both are slimmer than a goblin's conscience. Besides, when you heard the title 'Princess of the Earth,' did it seriously not ring any bells about the elemental system?"

Gavinrad's face went white as a ghost in an instant. At the same time, a terrifying roar began to rumble from beneath the ground, surrounded by that ominous circle of stones. In the old stories, this Earth Princess would just pop up like a flash. Now, in the very real world of Azeroth, the Earth Princess's grand entrance was, of course, terrifyingly real.

On the patch of land that had captured the attention of tens of thousands of orcs, the ground began to shake violently, as if a colossal, active volcano had suddenly decided to sprout beneath their feet. The faint, rumbling sound grew, seeming to suggest a giant lava beast, wreathed in flames and magma, was about to burst free from its cage. Gavinrad suddenly noticed that in several other spots across the Arathi Highlands, bright pillars of light shot skyward. Those were precisely the places he had visited – the locations of several outer confinement magic circles. It was crystal clear: the unknown, terrifying creature beneath the earth, who called herself "Princess," was finally shedding her last restraints.

"No! A trap set by those despicable humans! Retreat! Everyone, retreat!" Rend screamed, his voice cracking with panic. He truly had no faith in Duke's integrity. Just over half a year ago, he'd seen with his own eyes how Duke had set all of Stormwind City ablaze, dragging 100,000 Blackrock clan members into a fiery hell. Everything felt wrong, and with the chieftain's order to retreat, the orc army suddenly dissolved into a chaotic panic. Everyone, from the wolf riders eager to avenge their fallen comrades to the orc warriors advancing on foot, was utterly confused. Then, they turned tail and ran, a green wave of pure, unadulterated terror. In their minds, all they had to do was get away from that strange boulder fence.

"My Lord, it's time to pull back!" Duke's knight shouted, his voice urgent.

"Duke! You're too close!" This was Gavinrad, his voice strained.

"Duke!" Sylvanas also cried out, a rare note of concern in her voice.

Illucia quietly tugged Duke's clothes tighter, her knuckles white. Only Duke remained utterly calm, wearing an expression so nonchalant and self-satisfied, it looked like he'd just pulled off the greatest prank in history while sipping tea. A small iceberg began to emerge under his feet, lifting Duke high, so every knight around him, and every dim-witted orc who dared to look back, could see his figure clearly.

"Retreat? Why in the blazes would I retreat? The trap I set myself, how could it possibly backfire on me? Watch me closely, boys! This is the third time I've laid a trap to wipe out these orcs! From now on, every orc will tremble with fear when they hear my name! I want every orc to never again dare to confront humans, to crawl at the feet of humanity, accepting the judgment of justice, and paying the price for the orcs' invasion and massacre of the intelligent races of Azeroth! I want the reputation of the Alliance to echo throughout heaven and hell—"

Following Duke's clear, booming declaration, Gavinrad, Illucia, Sylvanas, and a hundred knights all looked up, their eyes wide. If anyone else had said this, they'd be branded a blowhard, all talk and no trousers. But this was Edmund Duke, the most recognized tactical and strategic mastermind in the entire Eastern Kingdoms and the whole damn Alliance. An irrepressible wave of excitement surged through everyone's hearts, making their blood boil. No more anxiety, no more fear. The hundred knights, in particular, were practically vibrating with anticipation. They stared intently into the distance, waiting for the next act of orcish destruction.

Something deep underground was approaching the surface at breakneck speed. As the rumbling grew closer to the stone fence, the colossal source of the sound suddenly changed direction, opting to burst through the ground from another spot. "No – how is this possible!?" Rend Blackhand shrieked in horror, realizing the thing had actually turned a corner, heading straight for the area where the orcs were most concentrated. Duke, ever the provocateur, chuckled, muttering something no one around him could understand: "A Level 44 elite is a bit on the weak side! I deliberately want to power her up; how could she refuse?"

As the thunderous noise from underground rapidly approached the surface, all the orcs instinctively looked down at their feet. All of a sudden, the shaking ground flashed, as if the sun's light had suddenly illuminated the entire battlefield. But it wasn't sunlight; it was the blinding glow of a magic circle rising from the earth. Trap! It's definitely a trap! Along with the dazzling, earthy-yellow light gushing from the ground, a colossal hole finally ripped open, and a massive, marble-like female hand burst forth. The moment it emerged, it crushed over ten orcs into paste. The next second, a colossal forearm, 25 meters long, protruded from the ground, and with a single sweep, it sent at least a hundred orcs flying, their lives extinguished.

The sky and the ground were littered with the gruesome remains of orc warriors. Splattered blood poured like a waterfall onto the heads and bodies of the orcs who hadn't yet escaped the danger zone. Broken limbs spun through the air, and sprayed internal organs stained the war wolves not far away. The giant wolves, once fierce and powerful, were now whimpering, tail-tucked losers in the face of this more terrifying, larger, unknown entity. They let out timid cries and bolted at full speed. Unfortunately, it was too late. In response to the dazzling light emanating from the magic circle, a deep rift opened at its edge, revealing an abyss below. There was only so much soil on the earth; if one side cracked, the excess soil would inevitably bulge on the other side due to compression.

Where did the soil go? It continued to rise upwards, then coalesced into a colossal, circular barrier, looking like an unopened flower bud. The barrier, which blotted out the sky and the sun, towered over two hundred meters high, trapping at least thirty thousand tribesmen in a dark, circular prison. With no hope of escape, all the surviving orcs turned back, their eyes wide with terror, staring at the horrifying creature with its upper arm protruding, its entire arm now over fifty meters long. The orcs' hearts hammered in their chests with fear: Uh, what in the blazes is coming out of the ground!?

The terrifying being that emerged from the ground finally lifted itself, pulling the soil with it, climbing out of the earth. Like a landslide, a massive amount of soil, enough to fill the entire Thandol Strait, cascaded from her colossal body, the "clattering" sound reminiscent of a torrential rainstorm. Her figure was so gargantuan that every orc had to crane their necks as high as possible to take her in fully. It was a stone giantess, over 100 meters tall. She had a rough, almost human face, with a truly terrible red nose smack in the middle. Her flaxen short hair was… well, it was there. Aside from her rather unfortunate appearance, her body proportions were surprisingly decent; at least she looked vaguely human. She wore a moon-white dress made of some unknown material, and she really did look like a princess. Unfortunately, her thick, powerful limbs weren't exactly in line with human aesthetics. When her towering, skyscraper-like body fully revealed itself to the orcs, everyone felt a crushing pressure descend upon the battlefield.

After seeing what the "princess" he had saved looked like, and what she was doing in the image transmitted from the Mage's Eye, Gavinrad, one of the original five paladins, let out a rare, guttural curse. "Bastard! Give me back my beautiful dream! Damn it! What kind of princess is this!? Argh – I don't believe in love anymore…" Gavinrad's only consolation was that at least he wasn't the poor sap who had personally summoned Princess Myzrael and then gotten beaten to a pulp by her.

"Hahahaha! Gavinrad, why don't you go and have a little tryst with your beloved princess!" Sylvanas bent over, laughing heartlessly, a sound like tinkling bells of pure malice. "Huff!" Illucia covered her mouth like a proper lady, clearly trying to stifle her own laughter. Only Duke, who had seen through the whole charade from the start, offered the poor paladin some comfort. "Dear Paladin," Duke said, his voice laced with mock sincerity, "have you forgotten the virtues of a Paladin? A Paladin acts not for reward. Or do you think that the one who needs to be sealed or imprisoned is an ordinary human?"

"No, I think it might be some of those high elves who aren't exactly popular in Silvermoon City…" Gavinrad mumbled, a sly dig at Sylvanas. He was immediately met with a cold, piercing stare from Sylvanas. This first generation of the Five Holy Knights had clearly been "schooled" by Sylvanas in the name of "sparring" before, and he immediately deflated, his shoulders slumping. Duke shot Gavinrad a look that clearly said, Man up, don't be a wuss. Gavinrad rolled his eyes. If you're so tough, why don't you do it yourself? Duke curled his lips and pointed to his wizard badge. I am a gentleman. Gavinrad rolled his eyes for the second time. Yeah, and your sister's a saint.

"The Horde's army on the southern front is in deep trouble…" When the Dragonmaw Orc cavalry, soaring high in the sky, witnessed this scene, this was the only thought that echoed in their minds. Trapped within the colossal stone wall, Rend Blackhand suddenly realized, with a sickening lurch, that he and his men had been played for fools by Duke. This damned "princess" was undoubtedly an elemental creature, and whether he and his men liked it or not, they were about to get into a brutal, no-holds-barred brawl with this giantess. Rend spun around in shock and anger, opening his mouth wide to bellow orders at his subordinates. Unfortunately, in the dazzling, ochre light radiating from the elemental summoning, the giantess's booming laughter drowned out the voices of every single orc. Shouts, curses, and the frantic blare of drums and trumpets were all swallowed by the beautiful, yet utterly overbearing, voice of the giantess.

"Hahaha! You stupid green-skinned runts, do you actually think you can get treasures from me?" Princess Myzrael cackled, waving her arms as if she was doing some grotesque stretching exercises. "Well, I'll show you my treasures!" After a series of strange, booming explosions, all the orcs clamped their mouths shut. Everyone saw scores of water elemental giants and fire elemental giants materializing around them. Everyone saw the raw terror on their companions' faces, saw their mouths opening and closing, but no heroic shout, no battle cry, escaped their lips. No "Lok'tar!" for victory. No defiant roar of "Grom!" symbolizing courage. There was only silence, and bone-chilling despair. No one could make a sound, save for the faint, trembling click of fangs clashing when teeth were clenched tight.

The disadvantage of the Horde's declining combat effectiveness finally became painfully apparent. If these had been the elite soldiers led by the original Blackhand, they would have charged forward with heavy weapons, even if it meant certain death. They would never have been cowards. If the leader of the team had been a famous chieftain, a legendary hero like Hellscream or Deadeye, the orcs would have had a backbone, a rallying point. Unfortunately, the one here was Rend Blackhand, a minor chieftain of a newly established clan, still trying to prove his worth. He might have excellent bloodline, but without a single victory under his belt, no orc would acknowledge Rend's bravery. Rend raised his arms and shouted, but his voice was muffled, swallowed by the chaos, utterly ineffective.

Stone Edge Exile. These were Princess Myzrael's summons. Unlike their typical forms, these Stone Exiles, composed of various elemental creatures, had also been supercharged. Yes, that colossal elemental amplification magic circle was Duke's handiwork. Duke had not only juiced up the princess, but he'd also subtly enhanced her summons. Otherwise, the princess would have only been unsealed at her original stone fence seal, not popping up right under the orcs' noses. Like a master strategist, Duke had even anticipated the orcs' reaction and lured Myzrael out right into the core area of their retreat. To create the ultimate "closing the door and beating the dog" effect, Duke had also woven a magic model into the magic circle. Well, only a true tactical genius could pull off such a devastating, earth-shattering move.

Now, Myzrael's minions were truly showing their power. Blazing fireballs, accompanied by shrieking explosions, staggered across this closed battlefield. It wasn't just deadly fireballs; there were also Frost Nova blasts and crackling Lightning Shields. The magic that high elves and humans had to learn with painstaking effort was merely the innate skill of these elemental creatures. Of course, it wasn't as refined as a mage's spell. A huge fireball would slam into the grass, and whether it hit anyone or not, it would immediately create a turbulent gust of wind, mixed with blood, flesh, and dirt. Even the bravest orcs couldn't help but flinch subconsciously. Terrifying shockwaves, some white, some yellow, radiated outwards, one after another, like raindrops falling on a calm lake. Bright, expanding circles of death. Any circle represented death and destruction. Whether it was a burly orc or a giant war wolf weighing over a ton, they were all lifted by the shockwaves of the elemental magic explosion, sent flying backward. If you were unlucky enough to be caught in several simultaneous explosions, you'd be reduced to a bloody mess, not even leaving a complete body.

Following Duke's instructions, Illucia was doing a live broadcast of the carnage via magic communication. On the other side of the communication mirror, King Thoras Trollbane's voice boomed: "Duke, you are the eternal brother of our people of Stromgarde!" No one knew better than Thoras how crucial it was for Duke to chew up these orcs. The more elite orcs Duke killed, the easier it would be for Stromgarde to defend itself. Stromgarde was indeed easy to defend but a bear to attack. No isolated city could hold out forever. To the west and south of Stromgarde were cliffs facing the sea. In fact, there was a beach at the bottom of the cliff. The Alliance, with its control of the seas, could still reach it by land and sea, or even from the eastern beach of Southsea Town, providing supply support to Stromgarde through a secret passage at the cliff's base. So Stromgarde was definitely not an isolated city.

When the mental whisper, "Your reputation with Stromgarde has been stabilized at Revered," echoed in his mind, Duke coolly snapped his fingers. "Let's go."

"Go? Where are we going?" Sylvanas asked, her voice tinged with curiosity.

"It's time to head to the Hinterlands. I think we'll be getting some news from there soon."

"Then… what about this Earth Princess?"

Duke glanced at the image from the Mage's Eye, where Myzrael was wreaking havoc. Duke's mouth curled into an evil, knowing smile. "Second sister, you've been with me long enough; you should have learned to trust me, right?"

"Get lost! Who's your second sister!?" If it weren't for the fact that there were so many people around Duke, and it would look bad in public, Sylvanas would have definitely given Duke a piece of her mind. In fact, not only Sylvanas didn't understand, but Illucia and all the knights were equally bewildered. Here, it was Gavinrad who had the clearest understanding of Duke's machinations.

"Ahem!" He knew he had to play the bootlicker, and now was his moment to shine. "Sir Edmund's plan is the most sophisticated. If I'm not mistaken, the magic circle's blessing on Princess Myzrael is… time-limited." There wasn't a single idiot among the people present; everyone understood immediately. Damn it! That's truly insidious! They were letting an Earth Elemental princess, sealed for who knows how many millennia and clearly not a good person, fight to the death with the Horde, and then, when both sides were practically done for, they'd just pull the plug on her power-up! This, this, this was so despicable and shameless! But… we like it!

Duke and his party left without even checking the battle's outcome. They walked right past the Horde dragon riders, Sylvanas perched on the carriage roof, bow at the ready, clearly signaling she'd shoot anyone who dared to get fresh. Without daring to launch a rash attack, the Dragonmaw Clan's cavalry practically gave Duke a courtesy escort, watching them go. The soldiers at Thoradin's Wall were utterly dumbfounded as they watched Duke and his group slowly approach, dozens of flying dragons trailing them in the air. The gatekeeper on duty honestly didn't know whether to open the door or not.

"Open the door!" The sudden appearance of General Abendis, the supreme commander guarding Thoradin's Wall, brought a wave of relief to the gatekeeper, who was under immense pressure. Abendis rubbed his brows, a bitter smile playing on his lips as he addressed his subordinates. "I thought only Lothar was a true warrior, but I never expected the genius Duke to be so brave. With those two, Stormwind doesn't have to worry about restoring the kingdom… Alright, send out all the Griffins to welcome our heroes!"

"But the Griffins are no match for the Flying Dragons!" Abendis's adjutant reminded him, a note of panic in his voice.

"You dolt! Those fools on the opposite side really dare to go against you? Wouldn't you fly close to Deputy Commander Edmund? The high elf archer goddess is right there!" Looking at Sylvanas, Abendis felt an indescribable envy. That was a top-tier elf ranger hero! She might not seem like much in open warfare, but once she entered the jungle, where rangers truly excelled, a ranger of her caliber was like a god. In her eyes, heavy infantry, mages, and hulking orcs were all just targets for an arrow. There was no difference at all. Give her enough time and arrows, and she could wipe out an entire legion by herself. On the surface, they claimed they came to support Lothar, but in reality, they just followed Duke from beginning to end; no one else could command them.

"Well, if I had to choose, I'd rather have a ranger heroine than a princess," Abendis muttered to himself, a thought he dared not voice aloud, lest King Terenas, who had failed to marry off his daughter, give him an earful.

Duke marched through Thoradin's Wall and arrived at Tarren Mill. The current Tarren Mill was a far cry from the death-ridden town ruled by the Forsaken in later generations. No messy poisonous gas, no gloomy bones. Now, Tarren Mill was just a territory under the rule of Alterac, belonging to the Barov family. At this moment, a large army was gathering on both sides of the road south of the town. The blue lion flag with gold edges, held high by the leading knight, clearly indicated which side this army belonged to: the Kingdom of Stormwind. King Llane sat on his horse, straight as a sword. The king who had lost his capital and was like a stray dog now looked completely different. He was surrounded by loyal knights. And behind him were 50,000 elite infantrymen. In the distance, he saw a scout waving from the hill. A smile appeared on Llane's resolute face.

"Line up!" As soon as the order was given, the messenger blew the horn immediately. The soldiers, who had been resting by the roadside, performed flawlessly. Not a hint of panic. Each of them seemed to be an automatic puzzle piece, guided by an unseen force. They found their positions in an instant, forming long, straight marching squares. Their armor was well-secured. Since they were marching, each soldier only wore half-armor, but the shields strapped to their hands were tied perfectly. At the slightest disturbance, they could immediately draw their swords and raise their shields, forming a solid wall with their comrades. As the team moved closer to the inside, the spearmen would instantly raise their spears, transforming the formation into a bristling hedgehog. The commanders of each squadron stepped out, one by one, to inspect their subordinates' formations. In reality, they were just playing a supervisory role; the team captains had already kept their men in line. In just ten minutes, an orderly marching array appeared on both sides of the road. At that moment, a small cavalry team came galloping towards them from afar.

Seeing this sight from a distance, Llane and General Tom Seamus, standing beside him, both showed obvious joy. Not only them, but every Knight of Stormwind broke into a warm smile. At the front of the approaching group were a man and a woman. The woman was an elf ranger, her pride and wildness rivaling the stars in the sky. Her impressive record, including her aerial duels with dragon riders and nearly four-digit confirmed kills, was enough to make her the undisputed leader of the entire Alliance's archer corps. The man was an incredibly young mage, and the star emblem on his left chest proclaimed him an extremely rare young master mage. But what truly captivated everyone was his calm demeanor and effortless grace, his supreme presence that seemed capable of shattering entire armies with a chuckle and a witty remark. The wisdom in his eyes fully revealed his commanding temperament.

Llane sighed softly. "Lothar fought exceptionally well in Silverpine Forest."

General Seamus replied, "Yes! Marshal Lothar is a born commander." While Duke was tied up with the brutal battle in the Arathi Highlands, Lothar had been busy doing his thing. He'd cleverly exploited the Horde's eagerness to expand its territory, feigning a collapse of the defense line. After sacrificing nearly 100 kilometers of defensive ground in the southern part of Silverpine Forest, he'd organized all his cavalry to surround the orcs in a deadly salient. Then, working with the FFF Regiment's flamethrower troops, he'd managed to encircle and wipe out 50,000 orc soldiers in one fell swoop. This completely shifted the power balance between the Alliance and the Horde in Silverpine Forest. After this battle, the Horde basically lost the ability to break into Tirisfal Glades. However, with Grom Hellscream digging in his heels and choosing to defend to the death, the Alliance's attack on the Horde camp felt like trying to push a rope uphill – utterly futile.

It was truly a blessing for a country to have such a talented leader. Who would have thought that the two most brilliant commanders in the entire Eight-Nation Alliance were both from Stormwind? Even Llane, who had watched Duke rise through the ranks, felt a sense of pure joy, like finding a hot meal when you're starving to death. After a series of brutal wars, not only were the people saved, but Stormwind had also forged a new generation of elite soldiers. Soldiers who had never seen real combat were just greenhorns, easily killed no matter how well they were trained. Looking at the eight countries in the Alliance, which one was as lucky as the Kingdom of Stormwind, which had successfully trained a full 120,000 hardened soldiers through two defensive battles, with the 50,000 elite soldiers originally evacuated from Stormwind City as their backbone?

And that was just a rough estimate. In fact, following Duke's subtle guidance, there were "gladiatorial contests" in the areas controlled by Stormwind – disguised acts of killing prisoners. It wasn't entirely fair to accuse Stormwind of outright killing prisoners, because the name of the game was a "gladiatorial contest." But it usually involved ten fully armed militiamen, who had received four weeks of military training, against a single orc. The militia could kill orcs at will, but orcs were not allowed to kill militia. The death of any militia would result in the immediate beheading of twenty orc captives. Stormwind used this brutal method to quickly and effectively train all its adult men. Although the Church of the Holy Light had grumbled about this behavior, Lordaeron also had its own arena, and killing captives in this manner was, technically, beyond reproach. Besides, among the hundreds of thousands of refugees in the Kingdom of Stormwind, who didn't have a blood feud with the orcs?

If Stormwind were truly desperate enough to throw everything into the war, it could immediately mobilize 300,000 soldiers. One had to wonder if the orcs would be shaking in their boots then. Of course, until the very last moment, Llane would never send every last man in Stormwind to the battlefield, because that would be a nightmare for his plans to restore the kingdom. Fortunately, King Llane had Duke. A commander who was as calculating as a goblin accountant, achieving the greatest victory at the lowest possible cost.

"Duke—" Seeing Duke approach, Llane dismounted first and opened his arms, a gesture of profound respect and relief.

"Uh." Duke was a little taken aback. In his and everyone's impression, only Anduin and Medivh, the king's ride-or-die childhood friends, had received such treatment from Llane. Even Duke Bolvar, the heir of the Fordragon family who had been loyal to Royal House Wrynn for a thousand years, didn't get that kind of royal hug. It was obvious that from now on, Edmund Duke would be a name etched in stone among Stormwind's inner circle, a true big shot.

"Duke, you've worked hard." Llane's eyes were filled with undisguised tears. It was a mix of pity, a deep sigh of relief, and a whole lot of 'I could just hug you forever' emotion. Everyone knew that once the Horde was defeated, Stormwind would definitely hit the jackpot. It would go from being a ruined country that only existed on paper to becoming a powerful nation that could run the whole show. The people were still there, the army was strong, the navy was powerful, and what was lacking was the rich land they once owned. Finally, when Llane finished his bone-crushing bear hug and Duke was freed from the suffocating embrace, he managed a smile.

"No, for Stormwind, everything is worth it."

"Why are you being so humble?" General Seamus laid it on thick, complimenting Duke frankly: "We all know your great achievements in the Arathi Highlands. 35,000 orc soldiers and 12,000 laborers were killed, and 23,000 were seriously injured. You fought like a banshee in this blocking action." Duke rubbed his nose with his index finger, a little embarrassed. "No, I didn't do anything. The key point is that I found a record of Princess Myzrael in the ancient book of Karazhan, and then I untied her imprisonment, defeated her, and then imprisoned her... Well, I think I was just killing time." Duke spoke so lightly of defeating the frenzied attack of an army of tens of thousands of orcs that it actually made the people around him feel jaw-dropping awe.

Patting Duke on the shoulder, Llane, cutting straight to the chase, said: "Okay, I'll leave these 50,000 elite soldiers to you. You rescued them before, and even though I have absolute confidence in you, I have to say this in advance. Every man lost in Stormwind is a punch to the gut. I don't want you to lose them on my watch." Duke promised: "Don't worry. I will take 50,000 people with me, and I will at least bring back an additional 100,000 hardened warriors for the Alliance, ready to kick some green butt."

Almost at the same time, in the Hinterlands.

"There, my king! Look!"

Kurdran Wildhammer – King of the Wildhammer Dwarves, a dwarf king whose beard flowed like a fiery orange waterfall. As the most famous griffon rider in the Wildhammer tribe, his main squeeze was his griffon, Skarre. He followed the direction pointed by a dwarf named Farand under his command. Kurdran's sharp eyes caught something.

He kicked Skarre with his heel. His griffon mount whickered softly in response, tucked its wings and plummeted earthward like a stone. Soon he could vaguely see a blob of something moving through the forest below.

Troll? No, absolutely not. Ever since the War of the Three Hammers 230 years ago, the Wildhammer dwarves left Khaz Modan and headed north to the Hinterlands, where they licked their wounds and regrouped in Aerie Peak, and have had many conflicts with the trolls here.

Even a Wildhammer dwarf would recognize what a troll looks like if he was burnt to a crisp. The guys below had green skin similar to that of the disgusting forest trolls, but they were walking on the ground instead of swinging through the branches.

As creatures that knew the forest almost as well as elves, their steps were too heavy-footed and clumsy. It should be said that those guys didn't even bother to cover their tracks, like a bunch of drunk goblins.

As they crossed an open field, Kurdran saw the creatures clearly. They were taller and more muscular than humans, with muscles like tree trunks and legs like elephantine pillars. They were carrying or shouldering weapons that could fell a small tree, like giant axes and hammers. Whatever these guys were, they were preparing for war.

"By the beard of my ancestors, those green monsters are uglier than a trogg's backside!"

Kurdran pulled back on the reins, causing the griffin's head to snap back, signaling a climb. Skarre swung its long golden tail, spread its huge wings and flapped them vigorously a few times, kicking up a gale, and climbed into the sky again. There, Farand and the other Griffin Knights were circling, waiting for their king. Kurdran piloted the Skarre and joined the flying formation.

"Go back!" Kurdran called out, and the entire team of griffin knights began to fly at high speed. The wind was whistling in his ears, and everything in his sight was flying backwards at high speed.

The strong wind blew his well-groomed beard and hair to the side, pulling his chin. Flying day after day also made his skin rough and full of the smell of weather. Even so, he and his men were still lost in the sheer bliss of defying gravity and could not extricate themselves. Fly. This is more thrilling than a barrel roll through a thunderclap! After a high-speed flight, a huge eagle-shaped stone sculpture was looking down at the land of Hinterland from west to east in a lordly manner. That is his and all the Wildhammer dwarves' home - Aerie Peak.

Ever since the terrible War of the Three Hammers, the dwarves have been divided. Although they had no fundamental conflicts with their Bronzebeard brothers, they chose to refuse to live under someone else's roof, crossed the huge strait, climbed over the Arathi Highlands, and came to Aerie Peak. Here, they became thick as thieves with the griffin tribe that lived here. Flying in the sky with their griffin friends always brought them pride and joy, like a dwarf with a fresh pint. Unfortunately, this flight did not bring any good mood to Kurdran.

The trolls attacked, bringing with them a host of meaner than a junkyard dog and ruder than a goblin tax collector humanoids.

"Everyone gather together, unless you want to see those ugly green monsters strolling through our land! Having a barbecue with our fallen kin as the main course!"

Kurdran roared in his voice that could wake the dead. In a moment, the entire Aerie Peak was awakened.

"Strap on your boots, lads. We're going to show those greenskin monsters they're about as welcome in the Hinterlands as a cold shower." Kurdran swung his hammer.

Half a day later, the Stormwind army marching northeast of Hillsbrad Foothills got the skinny. After completing the handover, King Llane returned to Southshore and held down the fort at Southshore with Bolvar. The commander of this army was, naturally, Duke – who else?

"Are you sure they have united and not just taking a scenic stroll?"

Sylvanas asked an elven ranger with a knot in her stomach. With only one combat group left, these elven rangers were not enough to even sneeze at in a real fight, and all of them were sent out by Queen Sylvanas to play spy. The scout's report sent shivers down Sylvanas's spine. If the trolls and orcs really became allies, it would nail down Duke's wild speculation. Even if Duke sent Alleria and the elite of Windrunner back early in the morning, it would still cause a world of pain.

The ranger snapped back, bristling with indignation: "I am dead sure! I heard their conversation. Those damn trolls and orcs communicated in the choppy human common tongue. In order to make each other understand, they bellowed every word, like a couple of deaf ogres. It was obvious that they reached some kind of blood pact of offense and defense." The elf echoed Sylvanas's deep concern, a shared knot of dread:

"They are preparing to attack Aerie Peak and then head to Quel'Thalas."

Quel'Thalas is the heart and soul of the high elves. Just as the soldiers and civilians of Stormwind Kingdom hated the orcs who slaughtered Stormwind citizens like pigs, the elves and trolls also hated each other. Over the thousands of years of fighting over the forest, too much blood had been shed. Their hatred had seeped into the very soil of the blood-stained forest, thick as treacle and impossible to wash out. If the trolls joined the Horde, it would be clear that the Horde would turn its attention directly to Quel'Thalas to give a big 'thank you' to its new allies. Sylvanas turned her head to look at Duke.

The playful glint, the competitive spark, the cool indifference that usually clung to her like a second skin, had vanished. Her entire aura crackled with a focused intensity, as if her sheer fighting spirit had frozen time itself, anticipating the long-awaited moment of troll-slaying. Sylvanas's ability to switch her aura at any time and at any place made Duke let out an inappropriate sigh - well, Queen Sylvanas has both the fire of a Windrunner and the ice of a general.

This superwoman who could perfectly blend those two wildly different temperaments, honestly, who could ever tame that? In Duke's memory, until very late in the story, there was no memory of Sylvanas, the future Queen of the Forsaken, ever getting cozy with anyone. And the later the story went on, the more… unhinged Queen Sylvanas became.

Uh, let's not think about that for now. What really changed the situation of the Alliance was the Third Dark Gate War. Duke shook his head, driving away those thoughts that were out of place from his mind.

"Well, things just got a whole lot more interesting. Since the trolls are likely to join the Horde, we must quickly inform the Wildhammer dwarves not to pick a fight with the Horde just yet."

Duke turned his head and looked at Windsor: "Reginald, you and the main force haul that contraption over here, double-time." Windsor nodded.

Duke looked at Tom Seamus again: "Tom." "Foot to the floor? Got it." Duke blinked and said, "I need you to make your grand entrance at the perfect moment.

I will beam you the details via magic message." General Tom and Illucia nodded. Finally, Duke looked back at the anxious Sylvanas, who looked like she was about to chew off her own arm, and said,

"Since you are so anxious, then... take a ride with me?" Watching the griffin riders bringing in two majestic griffins, Sylvanas finally managed to squeak out:

"I'm about as good at riding as a fish is at climbing trees."

"Chicken?" Duke's eyes widened, a mischievous glint in them.