Guidance

The prince, looking like a deer caught in the headlights, raised a hand in a gesture of apology. "I didn't mean to eavesdrop on your conversation," Kael'thas stammered, his face a sudden shade of crimson. "I just... happened to hear it when I came here. Honest."

Alleria merely shrugged, a subtle twitch of her lips indicating she'd sensed his presence about five minutes ago. "It's okay. I don't mind," she said, her tone as cool as a winter breeze.

The prince, still looking like he'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar, asked anxiously, "Is this what you call 'hunting'?"

"Yep! You hit the nail on the head!" Duke declared, a mischievous glint in his eye. "If I'm not wrong – and let's be honest, that's a rare occurrence – my very presence here is enough to make the chieftain of the Horde, Orgrim Doomhammer himself, throw in the towel on Silvermoon City and try to drag his troll allies out of here. But Orgrim, bless his thick-headed heart, clearly underestimated the sheer, unadulterated hatred, the frothing madness, and the pig-headed persistence the trolls have for the elves. So, the division of the Horde is practically etched in stone, inevitable as taxes and bad weather. At the earliest, the main force of the Horde will pack up their tents and hit the road tonight, leaving only the trolls to keep banging their heads against Silvermoon City's gates."

Duke's words hit the prince, Alleria, and the three Windrunners who were shamelessly eavesdropping, like a bolt from the blue, their eyes practically lighting up like a Christmas tree.

"Really?!" Five voices, a booming baritone and four eager female voices, cried out almost in unison.

Damn it all to the Twisting Nether! Duke thought, his face burning. Even if Alleria was his rumored girlfriend, and his legendary future sisters-in-law were practically hanging on his every word, did they have to expose themselves like that? What in the blazes was this, a family reunion or a top-secret strategy meeting?!

Duke, ever the master of playing it cool, could only pretend he wasn't in the middle of a romantic confession to Alleria. He raised the wine glass he'd strategically placed on the terrace fence, adopting his most businesslike expression. "Yes! A hunt," he reiterated, his voice brimming with false gravitas. "It's a small token, a little gift from me, to commemorate our blossoming friendship with Kael'thas."

Awesome!

So awesome!

Kael'thas's eyebrows practically shot up to his hairline with pure, unadulterated joy, threatening to disappear into his golden locks. Of course, this is a hyperbolic flourish; don't take it to the bank.

But the prince's happiness wasn't simple; it was a profound, soul-deep relief. Kael'thas had lived for over a thousand years, and for every single one of those years, he'd been a straight-laced, by-the-book paragon. He had always been portrayed as the model of perfectionism, constantly living in the suffocating gap between crushing responsibility and unattainable glory. He was terrified of not measuring up, of failing to be the shining example the elves expected. Therefore, Kael'thas had always been stricter with himself than a Virgo with a freshly polished floor, adhering to a perfectionist creed that would make a drill sergeant blush.

Since his army had been utterly routed, he'd been under a mountain of pressure, enough to flatten a gronn. Even if he tried to plug his ears, he could still hear the whispered criticisms from his subordinates, the mournful sighs, and feel the haunted eyes of the bereaved families, their grief a palpable weight. Those were the lives of twenty thousand high elves, gone in a blink! The high hopes, the grand expectations of the Horde's defeat, had been utterly crushed by his failure.

Perhaps he could explain the defeat away by citing various objective circumstances, a thousand excuses. But for Kael'thas, this wasn't just a defeat; it was the absolute train wreck of a first battle. If you lose, you lose! No matter what sugar-coated explanation he used, this was a blot on his escutcheon he'd never scrub clean, a stain that would accompany him for the rest of his noble, yet now tarnished, life.

These days, he'd tried to stay strong, to comfort and encourage himself, but his mental fatigue had spiraled worse and worse, a relentless, gnawing exhaustion. He truly didn't know when the huge mountain of mental pressure would finally flatten him, leaving him a broken mess.

Just when he felt like he could hardly bear it anymore, on the verge of total collapse, Duke actually said he would hand him a great achievement, a glorious victory on a silver platter?! Even though he knew, deep down, that the greatest credit would undoubtedly belong to Duke, Kael'thas couldn't help but practically do a jig.

Right! Even if you win by default, by doing absolutely nothing, it's still ten thousand times better than not winning at all!

Here, Alleria, ever the diplomat, smoothly ran interference for the prince, tactfully resolving his embarrassment. "His Highness Kael'thas is an excellent prince, truly," she said, her voice gentle. "But unfortunately, the situation forced him to bear such a heavy burden too early. If he were to do it step by step, His Highness would definitely do better, shine brighter."

"Yes! The previous battle was a crying shame," Duke chimed in, nodding sagely. "It threw Kael'thas, who had absolutely no military experience, into the deep end..."

"Kael'thas?" Kael'thas repeated, the name sounding strange on his own tongue.

Duke... Duke, that lovable rogue, was seriously spinning yarns he wouldn't buy himself, making up "truths" on the fly.

"Well," Duke began, launching into his elaborate fabrication, "in my hometown, when we're close to someone, we often give them a playful, shortened nickname. So I just got into the habit of calling you 'Kael.' My apologies if it's not to your liking, I can certainly stop..."

"No, no, no, I like the name 'Kael'!" Kael'thas interjected, practically beaming. He voluntarily embraced his new nickname, entering full "Kael" mode. "Please, return to the previous topic!"

Well, even the Titans couldn't save him from himself now.

"Alright, 'Kael'," Duke continued, leaning in conspiratorially. "The reason humans have knight candidates and reserve soldiers is actually the same principle. You, a 'Kael' who has never commanded any army, are suddenly asked to command twenty thousand people. To be honest, you're not the one who messed up; it's the parliament that threw you to the wolves, forcing you into the commander's seat."

Kael'thas frowned slightly. "But Duke, you don't seem to have any battlefield experience before?"

"No, no, no! I certainly do!" Duke insisted, continuing to spin his tale with a straight face. "When I first became an Adept Mage, I commanded a dozen mercenaries to deal with some pesky gnolls. Then, I tackled the fishermen and the naga. After that, I led the most combat-experienced Sir Lothar and over two hundred elite troops on a daring raid of Karazhan! And then, I organized the defense of an entire district in Stormwind City during the first invasion!"

Duke had indeed risen step by step in this manner, but his miraculous knack for curb-stomping the Horde was all because he was a time traveler and was intimately familiar with "history"! This was fine, anyway; it was enough to fool the inexperienced Kael'thas. Alleria, listening in, didn't sound like she found anything wrong with his embellished narrative.

"So, 'Kael'," Duke concluded, his voice resonating with an almost theatrical flair, "what you need most now is a mentor who can give you practical experience, someone to guide you through the tense situations and lead you to victory. That's right! That person is me, your Duke!"

It sounded incredibly mysterious, utterly full of deception, like a snake oil salesman's pitch. Unfortunately for any skeptics, Duke's track record was too scary, too real. His reputation for turning the tide with a single, audacious move, for defeating thousands of troops with one flag, was too awesome, too legendary.

Kael'thas had no choice but to believe it. If there was anything that sealed the deal on his last shred of hesitation, it was undoubtedly the good news that hit him like a bolt from the blue, delivered by a breathless messenger.

"Your Highness! Good news! There was an internal conflict in the Horde just now! The main force of the Horde, mostly Orcs, is packing up their tents and heading out! Only the trolls are left to pick up the pieces!"

Kael'thas and the other guys were all shocked, their eyes wide with disbelief. And when Kael'thas looked at Duke again, his eyes were filled with almost fanatical awe, like a puppy seeing a steak!

Duke gave a mysterious, knowing smile. "What did I just say?" he asked, his voice a low purr.

Kael'thas couldn't care less about the niceties. He bowed his head, adopting the most humble, almost reverent tone he could muster. "Duke! No! Mentor Edmund! Please, teach me how to win this battle!"

Duke quickly helped Kael'thas up, clapping him on the shoulder. "Drop the fancy titles, 'Kael'," he said, a genuine warmth in his voice. "I'm your friend, so it's no problem for me to give you some pointers. As long as you listen to me, I guarantee you'll shake off this funk and come out on top."

"Really?" Kael'thas asked, a flicker of hope in his eyes.

"Yes! The first thing you have to do is to wait for the main force of the Horde to leave. Then, before my reinforcements arrive, use only the elves' troops to severely damage the main force of the trolls!"

"What?!" Kael'thas was speechless, his jaw hanging open.

"Please, pull yourself up by your bootstraps, okay?" Duke egged on, oh no, he was definitely egging on Kael'thas. "You are now facing an army of trolls who, bless their pointy little heads, are about as magically inclined as a brick, save for a few of their witch doctors. Haven't you high elves magically curb-stomped the trolls for millennia? Just do it now as you did before. I'll teach you how to knock those big boys on the other team down a peg or two..."