I'll do it

There's a special kind of embarrassment that makes you wish the ground would open up and swallow you whole. And then there's the other kind, the one that makes you wish you were dead. Duke, at this precise moment, was experiencing the latter. He also wanted to verify, for science, if there was a kind of love called "letting go," but frankly, in this particular predicament, it felt like he'd die whether he let go or not. Since he was a dead man walking either way, Duke simply threw in the towel and let his face luxuriate in the amazing, suffocating pressure of the 'Meat Mountain Demon King.'

At this moment, Alleria's entire body was radiating heat, every inch of exposed skin dyed a magnificent, fiery red that was, in any other circumstance, quite beautiful. The unsettling sensation of six pairs of eyes drilling into her back almost drove Alleria to the brink of insanity. She had absolutely no earthly idea how to respond to this mortifying situation. The more unexpected the situation, the more likely the brain was to short-circuit, and Alleria's was currently sparking like a faulty gnome invention.

Alleria made a decision so spectacularly stupid, it could only have come from a mind in full panic mode: she would cover it up and deny it to her dying breath! She actually glared at Duke fiercely, then slapped her left hand over Duke's eyelids, trying to force them shut. "Duke, this kid is truly drunk and confused," she stammered, hoping to pull the wool over everyone's eyes.

Alleria might have been able to fool Vanessa and Ilucia, but there was no way in the Light she was fooling her own sister. Sylvanas, Duke's legendary sister-in-law, was having none of it. The elves' long, pointed ears were naturally gifted with a special ability called "listening," which allowed them to pick up sounds far beyond human hearing, across a wider frequency spectrum. It was utterly impossible to hide the subtle shift in Duke's breathing from Sylvanas. In this emergency, Sylvanas simply cut to the chase.

"Sister," Sylvanas declared, hands on her hips, her voice dripping with a mix of exasperation and grim amusement, "although I'd love to save you some face, our kin are exposed to the orcs' front lines... Sister, even if it embarrasses you, I still have to say it – Duke is wide awake."

At this moment, Alleria wanted to die. She wanted to crawl into a hole and pull it in after her.

And at this moment, Duke's arms were still wrapped around the elf's impossibly slender waist, a death grip he seemed unwilling to release. Alleria's brow furrowed, trying to make her face look majestic and fierce, but it came off more like a constipated griffin. "Duke, why don't you let go?!" she demanded, her voice a strained whisper.

"You sisters promise not to hit me?" Duke mumbled, his eyes still rolling around in his head, the sound of his snorting echoing in the canyon between the deep peaks of Mount Hyjal.

Alleria was now practically worshipping Duke like a minor deity. "For the love of the Light, I can't even beg you enough, how in the blazes would I dare hit you?!"

Ten agonizing seconds later, the entire farce was finally over. Someone, pretending that nothing was amiss and affecting an air of decisive authority, reluctantly released the great demon Alleria. Duke then commanded the System AI to perform a rapid arcane blood filtration, letting the Phoenix Flame circuit evaporate the alcohol from his bloodstream, and then had Vanessa splash some cold water on his face. Finally, Duke was able to sit up, looking like a normal, if slightly rumpled, person, facing the still-blushing Alleria.

On one side of the room were the Windrunner sisters, looking like they'd just survived a particularly awkward family reunion. On the other side sat Duke, with Ilucia and Vanessa standing dutifully behind him, a small dining table acting as a demilitarized zone between the two parties. With Sylvanas's brief and painfully concise explanation, Duke finally grasped the gravity of the current situation.

"Duke," Alleria pleaded, her voice thick with desperation, "for my sake, please, send troops to save Quel'Thalas? Only your army, only you, can save my homeland."

Duke interlaced his fingers, resting the back of his hands against the tip of his nose, his eyes once again becoming deep, distant pools. He meticulously recalled every detail of the Second Dark Portal War that he knew, every twist and turn, every major player. He used to understand the story of a game as a mere player, a spectator. Now, he was a time traveler, a living, breathing participant, actively controlling the direction of a war that would shake the very foundations of Azeroth.

Everything was subject to change, every decision a potential butterfly effect, capable of having far-reaching, unforeseen consequences. At this point in the Second War, Duke could almost say, with a high degree of certainty, that even if he just sat back and did nothing, the Alliance still had a seventy percent chance of winning. The problem now was no longer limited to simply winning; it was about the shape of the world, the power dynamics, and the grand strategy after the victory.

You see, once the Third Dark Portal War kicked off, that would be the day the Lich King truly rose, and the entire northern continent of Lordaeron would be beaten to a pulp by the brain-dead Arthas. How much vitality could be preserved, how many lives saved, how much infrastructure left standing – that was the key. However, thinking of the Silvermoon Council, the absolute worst teammates in the history of teammates, Duke felt an overwhelming urge to just let them go down in flames.

The Silvermoon Council was arrogant, domineering, and utterly clueless. They were betraying their own people and their own king. They were a festering cancer on the world of the high elves. Aside from the last battle, where almost no one was left alive to tell the tale, the Silvermoon Council was, to put it mildly, a useless pile of garbage. Dealing with them in advance was like cutting off a limb to save the body, but it also meant potentially alienating humans and high elves.

Duke pondered for a long moment, the silence in the room thick enough to cut with a knife, and finally sighed. "Seamus is right. The Alliance cannot send troops before receiving Quel'Thalas's formal application to join the Alliance and a letter of request for assistance."

The moment Duke finished speaking, the Windrunner sisters, their eyes brimming with unshed tears, shot to their feet. Alleria bit her lip so hard that a tiny bead of blood welled up at the corner of her mouth. She slammed her hand on the table, making the goblets jump. "Duke, I misjudged you!" she shrieked, her voice raw with betrayal. "Thirty thousand innocent elven civilians will die because of the Silvermoon Council's idiocy and your wrong decision! Duke, I... I... I hate you—"

Alleria was practically vibrating with emotion, her chest heaving violently. Duke, however, had no intention of appreciating the magnificent, albeit furious, view.

Duke, too, was furious. "What am I supposed to do?!" he retorted, his voice rising. "You want me to play favorites, take the elite troops that Stormwind is relying on to rebuild our own kingdom, and just because you asked, illegally cross the border, storm into a forbidden country, and fight the Horde? And then, after we've done all the dirty work, the Sun King just says, 'Ah! I didn't invite you into our country,' like he just watched a dog fight and then sent us packing with a single sentence?!"

Duke was absolutely, unequivocally right. The root of Quel'Thalas's crisis was that the top brass in Silvermoon City were a bunch of deadbeats. This was the arrogance that the high elves had inherited for thousands of years, a deep-seated flaw that had nothing to do with Duke or any other race in the world.

Alleria burst into fresh tears, collapsing onto the table, sobbing uncontrollably. A beautiful woman's tears always tugged at the heartstrings, even Duke felt a pang.

Sylvanas, however, clenched her fists, her lips pressed into a thin, angry line. She couldn't help but shout, "Duke, my sister trusted you! Without the Phoenix Flame she gave you, would you even have the status you have today?!"

Facing Sylvanas's accusation, Duke offered a sad, almost bitter smile. "Then I suppose I can accompany you to Eversong Forest as a private citizen. After I die in battle there, I can repay Alleria's favor, right?"

A chilling silence fell over the room, cold enough to freeze the tears on Alleria's cheeks. For a moment, all the women in the room were stunned into shocked silence. Duke... Duke, the man who held a position of immense power, who could mobilize the forces of eight kingdoms, who boasted a string of brilliant military victories, and who carried the hopes of countless humans on his shoulders, actually had the guts to say such a thing?!

No one, not a single soul, doubted Duke's sincerity. Because Duke's words were almost synonymous with destiny itself.

Suddenly, the door was kicked open with a resounding CRASH!

"No! If you die in Quel'Thalas, what will happen to the millions of soldiers and civilians of Stormwind Kingdom who are waiting to restore their country?!" General Seamus roared, his face a mask of fury and desperation.

"I trust you, Duke, but what about the private soldiers who are loyal to you? What about your followers? You don't even have an heir!" Windsor thundered, equally enraged.

The Windrunner sisters, who had been so distraught moments before, were now utterly dumbfounded, their mouths hanging open like fish.