Jarod was the most talented commander in the history of the Night Elves. When he led the allied forces of Mortals and Demigods during the War of the Ancients, the current prominent generals of the Night Elf Republic, Shandris and Navaz, were still mere nobodies.
Even the habitually defiant Tyrande had to admit Jarod's military talent. If Jarod hadn't left, with Tyrande's limited ability, it would have been impossible for her to seize military power from this prestigious and meritorious commander.
Andreas had said before that Jarod's biggest problem was his inability to recognize his own worth.
He had rendered great service during the War of the Ancients. If Jarod hadn't been coordinating everything, the allied forces would never have survived the Burning Legion's frenzied assault.
But in his own eyes, he had only done some insignificant work.
After the war, he held great power but felt no attachment to it. To allow the Night Elves to transition power smoothly after the War of the Ancients, he voluntarily handed over military command and vanished from everyone's sight. Even his elder sister, Maiev, did not know where he had gone.
Although Shandris and Navaz had grown rapidly through the trials of many battles and were now capable of leading an army...
But if a war truly broke out with the Qiraji Empire, Andreas would definitely not let the Night Elves take the brunt of it alone. Including the Tauren and the Dragonflight, Andreas would try to bring in as many reinforcements as possible to reduce the attrition of Night Elf soldiers.
Such a multi-racial allied army would inevitably need a commander. Shandris and Navaz admitted they didn't have the ability to integrate the various races. The most suitable candidate was Jarod Shadowsong, who had similar experience and had performed perfectly.
Since her return, Maiev had remained in a rather anxious state of mind, occasionally losing focus while handling government affairs. Such mistakes were almost unimaginable for the previously meticulous Maiev.
Strict with others and even stricter with herself—that was Maiev's creed. But now, because of news about Jarod, she was rarely shaken.
When Tyrande sent word that she had finally persuaded Dalaran to help mediate, Alfonso returned with Prisim's reply almost at the same time.
Having personally taken action, Prisim found traces that likely belonged to Jarod.
Jarod was likely living on a hilltop near an oasis in the northwestern part of The Barrens. After several explorations, Prisim discovered signs of intelligent life inhabiting the area around this barren mountain.
The Night Elf Republic had never developed The Barrens, and one wouldn't take this path to reach the Stonetalon Mountains. However, the Tauren had a relatively large range of activity in this region.
But according to Prisim's intelligence, the footprints she found were clearly not from Tauren. After all, there was a significant difference between Tauren hooves and Night Elf footprints.
After listening to Alfonso's brief report, before Andreas could ask for further details, Maiev had already rushed out of Andreas' office like the wind.
"...Is there really such a rush?"
...The Barrens was theoretically Tauren territory, but their population was clearly insufficient to fill this vast land.
After Marshanhi suffered heavy losses, the most favored settlement for the Tauren was undoubtedly the verdant Mulgore grasslands.
Although there were many traces of Tauren activity in The Barrens, they were mainly concentrated in two fixed settlements.
The Crossroads leading to the Stonetalon Mountains and Camp Taurajo leading to Mulgore.
The barren mountain and oasis suspected to be Jarod's secluded home were located northwest of The Crossroads. Andreas was currently circling over the largest hilltop on the eastern side of the oasis.
Nothing could be seen from above, but the two stealth experts, Maiev and Prisim, discovered important clues from the ground.
A cave.
When Andreas landed on the hilltop, he understood a little why Jarod had chosen this place.
From this high mountain, Jarod could gaze at the Ashenvale forest from afar, witnessing the developmental trajectory of the Night Elves over the past thousands of years from the sidelines.
"Wait, Sister... Ugh!"
As Andreas landed on the ground, the impatient Maiev had already rushed into the cave first. Soon, a chaotic commotion could be heard from within.
When Jarod was hauled out and thrown to the ground by a hostile-looking Maiev, he had a very obvious black eye. A beautiful and gentle-looking blue-haired woman followed nervously behind the siblings.
This woman was wearing a typical white priestess robe. From this, her identity could be inferred—a Priestess of the Moon under Tyrande's administration.
After all, the priestesses of the Shadow of the Dark Moon wore purple robes, which were significantly different from regular priestesses.
Seeing Jarod's dejected appearance, Andreas' brow twitched slightly.
'Are you actually worried about your brother, or did you just want to find him so you could give him a beating...'
Jarod looked gloomily at the Rogue scouts guarding the perimeter. He sighed helplessly and asked, "How did you know I lived here? Was it exposed when Sarahill was purchasing supplies?"
Andreas raised an eyebrow. "Sarahill? Is that the lady behind you?"
"Yes, she is my wife."
"Hmm?"
Hearing this, Maiev turned her sharp gaze toward the priestess named Sarahill. Their eyes met in the air, seemingly having a conversation through their stares.
'So eye-contact communication really exists...'
Andreas cleared his throat and said, "We didn't find you through Lady Sarahill. We just used a clumsy method of elimination."
After briefly explaining the process of searching for him, Andreas squatted down and patted Jarod on the shoulder as he gave a bitter smile.
"You've been in seclusion for nearly 9,000 years; surely that's enough? The Night Elf Republic is about to face a major crisis. We need you to come out and lead the army again, guiding the various races of Azeroth through this difficulty."
Jarod's eyes narrowed. "What crisis?"
"The Qiraji Empire."
Seeing Jarod's bewildered expression, Andreas explained it to him in detail.
Born a commoner, Jarod's knowledge was far less extensive than that of nobles who had received elite educations since childhood. This was also one of the reasons for his excessive modesty.
However, talent is simply unreasonable. Even without knowing anything or receiving systematic training, Jarod could rely on his innate battlefield intuition to execute strategies and deployments that Shandris couldn't even imagine.
"The Ahn'Qiraj Empire? I've heard Sarahill tell this story."
Jarod rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "I heard that the Great Troll Empire once fought a major war against the Ahn'Qiraj Empire. Are the Qiraji descendants of the Aqir?"
"Yes, and direct descendants at that."
After the Ahn'Qiraj Empire was defeated, it split into three races: the Qiraji, the Nerubians, and the Mantid.
Among them, the physical structures of the Nerubians and the Mantid had undergone massive transformations compared to the Ahn'Qiraj, while only the Qiraji Empire inherited the true legacy of the Ahn'Qiraj Empire.
Although Jarod had been in seclusion for many years, it was clear from his choice of residence that he still carried concern for his people in his heart.
After finishing her eye-contact exchange with Sarahill, Maiev patted Jarod on the head from behind.
"What are you hesitating for? Get back here right now! The country and the people need you."
Jarod rubbed his head aggrievedly and wanted to argue, but Sarahill shook her head slightly at him.
"Sigh..."
Jarod sighed and stood up from the ground with a gloomy expression.
"Fine. In any case, let's head back first. I need to learn more about the Qiraji Empire."
When Andreas and the others returned to Nordrassil, Malfurion, who was working intense overtime (996), had not expected them to actually bring Jarod back.
"Long time no see, Jarod."
Although Malfurion was extremely tired, he still welcomed Jarod's return with a gentle smile.
Jarod was also a good-natured person, and he politely shook the hand extended by the Archdruid.
"Thank you, Malfurion... but why do you look so haggard?"
"Hehe~"
Malfurion forced a smile and twitched his lips, "Trust me, you will soon experience firsthand why."
The Night Elf Republic today is no longer in the state of disrepair it was immediately following the War of the Ancients; traces of Night Elves activity can be found almost everywhere across the continent of Kalimdor, not to mention the need to manage intelligence in the Eastern Kingdoms.
As the largest and strongest nation in Azeroth, the daily governmental affairs that needed handling were far beyond what Jarod could have previously imagined.
Undoubtedly, upon Jarod's return, he would certainly secure the position of military leader. Even with Deputy Shandris assisting him, his future life of overtime... could almost be foreseen.
After finding Jarod, Maiev's mood was subtly excited. She slapped him hard on the back, causing him to stumble and nearly fall to the ground.
"Stop talking nonsense and let's get to work. Ask for whatever materials you need. With the collection in the Eversong Great Library, I can bring you any book related to the Ahn'Qiraj Empire."
As Sarahill glared disapprovingly at Maiev, Andreas and Malfurion exchanged glances.
'Is Maiev the type who bullies the people she likes the most?'
'I don't know. I haven't interacted much with her outside of official business. Perhaps Tyrande knows her better than we do.'
Andreas and Malfurion, who had unconsciously learned to communicate via glances, didn't have time to delve deeper into gossip before Tyrande, weary from travel, pushed open the door of the Council Hall and walked in.
"Malfurion, I'm back... Jarod?"
...With the return of the High Priestess and Maiev gradually returning to normal, the High Council finally resumed its normal operations.
While Malfurion and Maiev helped Jarod gather materials, Andreas and Tyrande gathered to discuss the situation in the Eastern Kingdoms.
Tyrande, who had just returned from Dalaran, brought back the latest war report from Tirisfal Glades.
"Before I left, Lordaeron's army had already begun its offensive. However, Helude's defense is extremely tenacious, and they should not be defeated so easily in a short time."
As a race that migrated from the Northland of Northrend, the Helude female warriors led by Brunhilde possessed a unique resilience and ferocity.
Even though they were at a severe numerical disadvantage, the Helude female warriors did not retreat in the slightest. Relying on their tacit coordination and fierce fighting style, they temporarily held back the attack of Lordaeron's 100,000-strong army.
However, the overall strength disparity between the two sides was enormous. Lordaeron still maintained war potential and could continue to mobilize troops domestically, but the 50,000 soldiers Helude could muster was already its limit.
The stronger the fighting power displayed by the Helude female warriors, the greater the interest of the current King Menethil in subduing them.
However, with the successive intervention of the Night Elf Republic, Quel'Thalas, and Kul Tiras, King Menethil gloomily realized that his rash decision to attack his own kin had resulted in condemnation from multiple nations.
The Night Elf Republic is incredibly far from the Eastern Kingdoms, and Quel'Thalas has had increasingly less interaction with humans since the fall of the Arathor Empire.
Menethil could brazenly ignore the protests of those two nations, but Kul Tiras... this Maritime Kingdom brought Lordaeron enormous goods and profit annually, and King Menethil had to consider the potential risks of offending Kul Tiras.
To make matters worse, Dalaran, which had initially been wavering, recently came out publicly to accuse Lordaeron of provoking a human civil war.
As the saying goes, when the wall falls, everyone pushes. Gilneas and Alterac followed closely behind Dalaran, speaking up one after another, looking gleeful as they made sarcastic remarks following the other nations.
Major nations successively became involved in this war of words, with only Stromgarde, which was quietly focused on development, and the Kingdom of Stormwind, located far in the south of the continent, remaining silent.
"Oh? I didn't expect Gilneas and Alterac to stand up and support us."
Andreas asked in surprise, "High Priestess, did you lobby them while you were there?"
"No."
Tyrande shook her head, "These two nations were already dissatisfied with Lordaeron's status as the strongest human kingdom. This time was just a convenient opportunity for them to find a reason to ridicule Lordaeron."
Regardless, facing the diplomatic pressure exerted by multiple nations, even wealthy and militarily strong Lordaeron had to consider its actions carefully.
If they truly ignored the opposition of various nations and continued to attack Gilneas, it might cause public outrage.
King Menethil considered things more deeply: if Gilneas and Alterac had a chance to strike at Lordaeron's prestige, they would certainly not let it go, and might even pull Stromgarde along to challenge Lordaeron.
The era of peaceful development among the Human City-States had long passed. Now, aside from Dalaran, which claimed complete neutrality, all the kingdoms maintained a state of both cooperation and competition.
Competition was not limited to the economic and military spheres. This diplomatic crisis made Lordaeron aware of its weaknesses, and a new round of Vertical and Horizontal Alliance maneuvering would likely soon unfold.
"In other words, this war shouldn't be able to continue, right?"
Tyrande nodded, "That's about right. However, Lordaeron is unwilling to retreat so meekly. They want to fight a glorious battle before withdrawing their troops, allowing them to retreat with dignity."
Andreas smiled knowingly, "A reasonable choice, but... will it really be that easy for them to get what they want?"
...
Western Mountains of Tirisfal Glades, Helude.
Brunhilde was still sitting in the Lord's Hall, wearing a flowing, snow-white dress and resting with her eyes closed. However, she had a magnificent Sheathed Two-Handed Greatsword propped on the ground between her hands, silently listening to the report from her female warriors regarding the front-line situation.
"Chieftain, under strong external pressure, Lordaeron intends to withdraw its troops. However, they seem planning to win a battle before they leave, so they can return in triumph."
Brunhilde suddenly opened her eyes, her sharp gaze sweeping across the Lord's Hall like lightning. The female warrior reporting below, who had been holding her head high, shivered and quickly bowed her head respectfully.
"A victory?"
Brunhilde slowly rose, and her imposing aura gradually climbed as she straightened her body.
"Then let them come. I want to see whose this victory will truly belong to!"
Brunhilde shouted loudly and boldly, "Someone, arm me! I will personally take the field in this battle!"
Gently pulling the Two-Handed Greatsword in her hand slightly out of its sheath, Brunhilde said mockingly, "I wonder what the people of Lordaeron, who style themselves as the inheritors of Arathor, will think when they see this sword?"
On the front lines of the Tirisfal Glades battlefield, the Lordaeron army significantly increased its pace of attack.
The Gilneas people had built a sturdy fortress at the entrance of the easily defensible valley. Relying on relatively primitive siege weapons used by humans in this era, such as catapults and Battering Rams, it was difficult to breach the fortress' defenses in a short time.
Weapons were one factor, but the combat effectiveness of the personnel was also a major factor influencing the battle situation.
The training intensity of the Lordaeron army was unmatched among the Seven Kingdoms of Humanity; only Alterac and Stromgarde, which frequently faced Troll incursions, could barely compare.
However, these elite soldiers gained no advantage against the fiercer Gilneas Female Warriors, and in siege warfare, they couldn't even leverage their numerical superiority.
The current Gilneas Warrior Chief, Geroviel, stood on the city wall, leading by example. After dodging another round of catapult attacks, she gripped her spear and was the first to charge out from the battlements.
Lordaeron soldiers climbing up the scaling ladders were successively impaled by Geroviel's lightning-fast spear. A momentary vacuum formed around the Warrior Chief; no one could approach within three meters of her.
"Clang!"
Arrows shot from below the wall were also deflected by Geroviel using her exquisite Spearmanship. Immediately afterward, she rudely extended her muscular, shapely long leg and kicked the scaling ladder.
The explosive, powerful force sent the ladder, with five soldiers climbing it, flying away. The helpless Lordaeron soldiers screamed in the air, ultimately smashing into the ground along with the ladder; they clearly wouldn't survive.
Geroviel's bravery was just one microcosm of the battlefield. The performance of this group of female warriors from the Northland made the Lordaeron Generals wince; they had never seen such fierce and valiant women.
In siege warfare, the attacking side suffers greater losses. Normally, when the fighting reached this point, Lordaeron commanders would sound the horn and wave the flag to order the soldiers to retreat.
But today was different. Following the passionate attack horn, Lordaeron began charging the walls regardless of losses, displaying a determination to breach the city.
Geroviel swung her spear again, destroying another scaling ladder, and paused briefly, drenched in sweat, to catch her breath.
"Are the Lordaeron people crazy? If they keep fighting like this, their losses will definitely be more severe."
"They are not crazy."
A calm female voice came from behind Geroviel. "Lordaeron is under immense Diplomatic Pressure. Today should be their final assault; win or lose, they must retreat."
After Geroviel recognized the speaker, she respectfully bowed her head and saluted. "Chieftain, why have you come in person?"
Brunhilde, clad in magnificent ice-blue full armor, smiled and gestured for Geroviel to dispense with the formalities. "Warrior Chief, you are in armor; there is no need for excessive courtesy."
"Lordaeron wants to win this last battle to save face and allow themselves to retreat honorably. I certainly don't intend to be their backdrop."
At this moment, Lordaeron's catapults were reloaded again, and flying stones once more rained down upon the already riddled city wall.
Geroviel's expression changed, and she hastily advised Brunhilde, "Chieftain! The enemy's stone attack is coming. Please take cover inside the battlements!"
"No need."
Brunhilde discarded the decorative cloak behind her, stepped ahead of Geroviel, and swung an Energy Blade toward the incoming stones.
"Hah!"
Strange, spectral blue energy extended from the blade of the stormcaller. The city-destroying projectiles were completely unable to cause any damage before Brunhilde; her effortless sword strikes cleaved every stone heading toward her.
"Boom!"
The dismembered boulders made heavy crashing sounds as they landed on the city wall. The Lordaeron soldiers below the wall watched the scene, their eyes wide with horror.
The Gilneas people, however, were greatly encouraged by the divine bravery displayed by their Chieftain. Their previously exhausted bodies found renewed strength, and the intensity of the city defense increased once more.
King Constantine Menethil, who had personally come to the front line to observe the battle, opened his mouth in astonishment. "...Is that truly something a human can do?"
After defending against Lordaeron's new round of stone attacks, the Ballistas inside the battlements launched a counterattack under Brunhilde's loud command.
Massive crossbow bolts shot out, targeting the catapults that had just fired and were being reloaded. The immense force caused chaos in the enemy's siege weapon positions.
Taking advantage of the brief lull in the battlefield, Brunhilde walked to the edge of the city wall and casually swung her longsword. A crescent-shaped blade of energy spread out, and most of the scaling ladders leaning against the wall were pushed away by this skillful force.
"I am Brunhilde, Chieftain of the Gilneas people!"
The heroic and valiant Brunhilde pointed the stormcaller in her hand toward the Lordaeron army's position. "Menethil of Lordaeron, I know you are observing the battle. Step forward and answer me!"
Constantine's expression was somewhat grim. The Generals beside him collectively advised, "Your Majesty, don't stoop to the level of this savage woman, she..."
Constantine waved his hand, stopping the Generals' advice. His gaze was fixed on the Two-handed Greatsword Brunhilde had extended over the city wall.
"Court Mages, enhance my vision."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
As the Mages behind King Menethil cast their support spells, blue and purple Arcane light flickered around Constantine's eyes, and his vision was enhanced to some extent.
"...If the portraits passed down by my Ancestors are not mistaken."
Constantine gazed intently at the top of the city wall. "That sword should be the Sword of the Emperor, the stormcaller, Warbreaker, which disappeared along with Emperor Thoradin."
"What?!"
"How is that possible?"
"Why would Emperor Thoradin's sword be in the hands of a group of barbarians?"
Constantine was born in a time of peace. Although he had spent some time training in the army when he was a Prince, his personal combat ability was not considered strong.
Lowering his head in contemplation, King Menethil arranged for his Personal Guards to follow him, and finally spurred his white horse to the front of the formation.
"I am Constantine Menethil, King of Lordaeron!"
Constantine maintained a composed demeanor as he looked at Brunhilde on the city wall. "Gilneas people, the Treasured Sword in your hand does not belong to you. As long as you are willing to surrender it, I swear by the name of Menethil to immediately withdraw our troops, without fail!"
"Hmph!"
Brunhilde stepped onto the edge of the wall, leaped down from the wall—which was over eight meters high—and landed steadily in front of the city gate, utilizing the mechanics of a Heroic Leap.
"Menethil, do you think I am stupid and unaware of this sword's origin?"
"Clang!"
Planting the blade of the stormcaller into the ground, Brunhilde said coldly, "The stormcaller is a Sword of the King, but it is also a Warrior's Sword. If you want Thoradin's Personal Sword, you must take it from my hands through combat!"
"I will give you a chance. If anyone from Lordaeron can defeat me, I will hand over the stormcaller without a word and lead the Gilneas people to submit to you."
"But if none of you can defeat me, Lordaeron must recognize the independence of Gilneas, and I demand the right to equal interaction with the Seven Kingdoms of Humanity!"
For Lordaeron, the Hyldnir were a hard bone to chew sooner or later.
Once the Hyldnir established equal diplomatic relations with the Seven Human Kingdoms, it would not be so easy to scheme against them.
Constantine absolutely could not accept Brunhild's demands.
Seeing that Brunhild had no other guards around her, Constantine had a fleeting thought of swarming her, killing her, and seizing her treasure.
But recalling Brunhild's valiant demeanor from before, he barely managed to suppress the evil thought in his heart.
If he truly fought Brunhild with the guards and court mages behind him, whether he could kill this Hyldnir leader was debatable, but if she wanted to take him down with her, it was basically a certainty.
Constantine, accustomed to a life of ease, did not want to take this risk.
He stared intently at the sword on the ground, weighing his options for a long while before letting out a long sigh.
Strom'kar, the Warbreaker, the sword of Thoradin, the founding king of the Arathor Empire.
This sword was initially just a simple longsword for combat.
When Thoradin founded the empire, to strengthen the sense of belonging of the various human clans to Arathor, he threw the weapons of the clan leaders into a forge.
The best human blacksmiths then forged them, and the result was this king's sword, Strom'kar.
After being tempered by the Troll Wars, Strom'kar was sublimated, becoming an indestructible divine artifact in Thoradin's hands.
But what Constantine valued was not the power of this sword; its political significance alone was enough to make the kings of the Seven Human Kingdoms, who had split from Arathor, envious.
Since Strom'kar disappeared with Emperor Thoradin many years ago, the legend of this sword had been circulating among the Seven Human Kingdoms, even becoming more exaggerated with each telling.
Some said that if any king could obtain this sword, he would gain the moral authority of the legitimate successor to the Arathor Empire and command all human kingdoms.
For the kings of the Seven Human Kingdoms, the symbolic meaning of this sword far outweighed its significance as a weapon itself.
Including Constantine, successive human kings never imagined that this human king's sword would appear in the hands of the Hyldnir, a group of rebellious matriarchal clan leaders.
"Lady Brunhild."
Constantine narrowed his eyes, looking at the extremely beautiful female warrior opposite him, "Can you tell me where you got this sword?"
Brunhild pulled Strom'kar out of the ground again, a slight smile playing on her lips, "This sword is my spoils of war, and it can also be considered Thoradin's apology for his reckless actions."
'Spoils of war? An apology?'
Constantine frowned, "Forgive my bluntness, Lady Brunhild looks to be less than thirty years old, how could she have interacted with Emperor Thoradin from over a thousand years ago?"
Brunhild smiled noncommittally, "That's none of your business; let's get back to the main topic."
"My conditions have been put forward; whether to agree or not depends on your decision, King of Lordaeron."
Constantine asked earnestly, "Is there no room for further discussion?"
"No, I only give you ten minutes.
If you don't agree, we'll continue to meet on the battlefield."
Leaving these words, Brunhild agilely used the damaged parts of the city wall for leverage multiple times, returning to her kinsmen.
After a deep look at Brunhild's retreating figure, Constantine, protected by his close guards, rode back to the camp.
Constantine was not fooled by the sweet bait Brunhild threw out.
He calmly ordered his generals, "Ignore her provocation; continue the attack."
"The first person to break through the city wall will be granted the title of Viscount, with a real fief in Westweald.
We must seize the sword from Brunhild's hands."
Westweald was the later Western Plaguelands.
In this era, Westweald was Lordaeron's largest granary, with very fertile land suitable for training, second in importance only to Tirisfal Glades, which was close to the capital.
Heavy rewards would surely attract brave men.
The real noble fiefdoms offered by Constantine tempted many generals without noble titles.
Lordaeron had learned from the Arathor Empire's lessons and was very cautious with noble enfeoffments.
Except for the initial group of meritorious officials who followed Menethil to open up Tirisfal Glades, unless they made significant contributions, most nobles who received enfeoffment only had a noble title and no actual fiefdom.
"Attack! Take this pass! Promotion and wealth are within reach!"
Brunhild on the city wall frowned and looked towards Lordaeron's military camp.
"To remain so calm in the face of Strom'kar's temptation, this generation's King of Lordaeron is no easy opponent."
Geroviel asked, "Leader, Lordaeron's army is attacking more fiercely.
Should we call up the reserve forces from the rear?"
The Hyldnir's war potential had basically been exhausted.
The so-called reserve forces were militiamen who normally farmed and performed various artisan jobs within the town.
Once militiamen began to be used, it meant that the Hyldnir had reached a desperate situation, and every militiaman's death would have a significant impact on post-war recovery.
"No need."
Brunhild stood confidently on the city wall, "Let them come.
I want to let these frogs in a well know what true power is."
The rewards offered by Constantine motivated the entire Lordaeron army.
Enticed by promotions and wealth, Lordaeron's soldiers held nothing back, their eyes red as they charged the Hyldnir's defenses.
"Promotion and wealth…"
"Get out!"
The first soldier to climb the city wall had not even finished his hypnotic chant when Brunhild charged forward.
Her left shoulder, covered in heavy armor, crashed into the young soldier's chest, caving it in.
As he flew off the city wall, his eyes lost their light.
The death of a mere soldier had no impact.
Lordaeron's mage corps had just completed their incantations at this moment, and a massive Combined casting of a massive fireball (combined cast of a huge Flamestrike) flew towards the city gate.
Brunhild took a deep breath and gathered her strength slightly; the blade of Strom'kar gleamed with a light blue glow.
"Swish!"
The sword light flashed, and the Flamestrike was split in half down the middle.
The spell, losing its core, dissipated almost instantly.
Brunhild's eyes began to flash with lightning.
As a kin of Thorim, the Storm King, at the moment her tribe faced crisis, she finally stopped restricting her power.
Not only her armor, but even the blade of Strom'kar was entwined with the power of lightning transmitted from Thorim.
The previously somewhat clear sky suddenly became overcast, and a dull rumble of thunder echoed across the battlefield.
The low pressure before the torrential rain gave Constantine a bad premonition.
"Is it going to rain heavily?"
Heavy rain was a huge obstacle for the attacking side, not to mention that this pass was built at the entrance of a valley.
Once the ground became muddy, attacking uphill from below would become even more difficult.
However, Brunhild did not give Constantine more time to worry about a rain battle.
Shining with a ghostly blue light, she raised Strom'kar in her hand towards the sky.
"Storm King, your loyal kin and follower implore your help; please grant us the powerful strength to clear away our enemies!"
... "Hmm?"
Far away in Uldaman, Thorim was discussing with Azadas how to advance into Uldum and take the Forge of Origination.
The sudden tremor in his heart made him involuntarily look up at the completely enclosed ceiling of Uldaman.
"Thorim?"
"Wait a moment."
Thorim closed his eyes, remotely transmitting his lightning power through the energy channel connected to his kin...
"Crack!"
A thick bolt of lightning finally fell from the sky.
To Constantine's horror, this lightning bolt seemed to have a will of its own, striking among Lordaeron's army, and in an instant, it blasted out a large pile of charred corpses from the ground.
"...You've got to be kidding me, right?"
The lightning ravaging the battlefield specifically targeted Lordaeron's army; even a fool could guess it was the enemy's doing.
"This... what kind of spell is this?"
Constantine, who had remained relatively calm until now, finally began to panic. "Court mages! Can you control lightning like this?"
The lead mage, wearing a Crown of the Three Sages, gave a bitter smile and shook his head. "While the Arcane can harness ice and fire to an extent, and even the rare lightning bolt, a scale like this... please forgive our helplessness."
"I am certain even the Archmages of Dalaran could not achieve this, unless... they utilized an artifact."
"An artifact..."
Constantine suddenly looked toward the top of the city walls, where Brunhilde, surrounded by crackling electricity, stood out prominently among the crowd.
"Boom!"
A massive bolt of lightning struck near Lordaeron's camp. This display of heavenly power caused the morale of the Lordaeron soldiers, which had been bolstered by the lure of rewards, to instantly drop to the freezing point.
"Your Majesty! We cannot fight any longer!"
A general, his face covered in blood and soot, stumbled back from the front lines. "We have already lost over ten thousand men in today's battle. The enemy can manipulate powerful lightning; continuing to fight is just sending soldiers to their deaths. We must retreat!"
Constantine gritted his teeth in resentment. As an ambitious and capable monarch, facing such an unreasonable rout on the battlefield filled his heart with a sense of absurdity and frustration.
'Can a human truly become this powerful through their own strength alone?'
"...Retreat."
After adjusting his mindset, Constantine gave the order in a low voice. "Pass down my command: the entire army is to pull back and retreat to Lordaeron."
"Until we find a way to counter the enemy's lightning attacks, we cannot go to war with the Gilneans again. Withdraw!"
"Yes!"
"Hooo~"
The high-pitched sound of horns echoed across the battlefield. The Lordaeron soldiers, their spirits nearly broken by the lightning, immediately scrambled to retreat from the front lines.
That they hadn't collapsed until this point was a testament to the Lordaeron army's discipline. Finally hearing the order to retreat, these soldiers lost all their former ambition for promotions and titles; every one of them wished their parents had given them two extra legs to run with.
Seeing Lordaeron finally retreat, a pale Brunhilde stopped receiving Thorim's lightning power.
Wielding power on the level of a Titan Keeper with a mere Mortal body, even with the artifact stormcaller sharing the burden, Brunhilde felt waves of exhaustion wash over her.
Thud!
Just as Lordaeron retreated and before the Gilneans could even cheer, their leader collapsed to the ground and lost consciousness.
"Leader!"
Jarowell felt her scalp tingle with worry, but she remained calm and stopped the female warriors from panicking.
"Don't panic! Cheer for our victory first! Don't let the Lordaeronians see any weakness!"
The female warriors were stunned for a moment but quickly understood the Captain's intention.
"Ohhh!!"
"We won!"
"The ball-less Lordaeronians have finally been routed!"
News of the Battle of Tirisfal Glades quickly spread throughout the northern Eastern Kingdoms.
Although various nations had guessed Lordaeron would eventually withdraw, the cunning kings had speculated that Lordaeron would try to reclaim some honor in the final battle.
However, the result left them wide-eyed with shock; the battle ended in a complete rout for Lordaeron.
Rumors that the Gilneans could control the forces of nature, manipulate lightning, and possessed the Sword of the Human King, stormcaller—thereby holding the legitimacy of the Kingdom of Arathor—quickly spread among the six human nations and Quel'Thalas.
As for the Kingdom of Stormwind... they were still fiddling around by themselves in the south of the continent.
According to the news Andreas received, significant changes had occurred within the Kingdom of Stormwind.
As time passed, the descendants of the defunct Arathor royal family continuing to rule the Kingdom of Stormwind became increasingly seen as an eyesore.
Through the secret maneuverings of the nobles within the Kingdom of Stormwind, Faldir's descendants were gradually stripped of their power.
The tide of the times is irreversible; it is very difficult for a dead nation to be restored.
Sensing this, the current Arathor royal family prepared to pass the throne to a noble descendant most loyal to them, planning a clever substitution.
As it turned out, they succeeded.
The Arathor royal family officially abdicated recently, and they designated a staunch noble named Wrynn to succeed the throne.
From then on, the Arathor royal family changed its name to the Lothar family. They maintained a good relationship with the newly established Wrynn royalty, and the abdicated Arathor royals were granted hereditary duke titles by the first King Wrynn.
However, this ordained method of choosing a king left other power-hungry nobles very dissatisfied. Consequently, the Kingdom of Stormwind fell into internal turmoil with undercurrents of unrest, marking the beginning of the rift between the nobles and the Wrynn royalty.
By the time Andreas received the news from the Tirisfal Glades, everything had already been settled.
A single rout forced Lordaeron to temporarily retreat and lick its wounds. While human nations like Gilneas and Alterac gloated, they also grew wary of the Gilneans who had defeated Lordaeron.
Although Andreas did not witness the end personally, he knew that an attack of such massive scale could not be sustained by Brunhilde, even as Thorim's follower, without a heavy burden.
Furthermore, the Gilneans suffered significant losses in this war. Although they repelled Lordaeron's attack, they would need a considerable amount of time to recover their strength.
The Gilneans hoped for independent autonomy and equal relations with other nations on the continent, while Lordaeron hoped to incorporate Gilneas into its own territory.
However, neither side successfully achieved their strategic goals in this war; it was a classic case of both sides suffering.
Subsequent news from Gilneas confirmed Andreas' suspicions. Brunhilde had fallen into a coma after the battle. The Gilneans, at a loss, secretly sent a message to the Night Elf Republic, hoping they could send someone to the Tirisfal Glades to check on their leader's condition.
As the Qiraji Empire's movements became increasingly undisguised, the main forces of the Night Elf Republic gathered at Shadowglen Harbor in Moonshadow's Rest, preparing to sail south.
When the distress letter from Hild Village arrived, Andreas had just been planning to head to Silithus.
"Hmm..."
After considering for a moment, Andreas said to Prisim, "How about this: secretly send someone to Uldaman and tell Thorim about Brunhilde's situation. He is the one who knows best how to save her."
In truth, Brunhilde's coma was easy to understand. She had used too much power that did not belong to her, and her body, unable to withstand the immense pressure, had automatically entered a dormant state.
Thorim should have a way to alleviate her symptoms, though Brunhilde likely wouldn't wake up for some time. The Gilneans would need a temporary leader to guide their development, and it would be most appropriate for Thorim to designate one.
Prisim quickly took the order and left.
As the breath of war approached, her scout teams would inevitably face even greater pressure.
Prisim would stay by Andreas' side for a long time to handle coordination, organizing the intelligence gathered from various places before handing it to him.
For this war, Andreas planned to personally head to the front lines. Tyrande and Malfurion would remain at Anathiss, while Maiev and Jarod would accompany him.
The undercurrents in Kalimdor did not affect the Eastern Kingdoms. Although Andreas had issued many calls to arms, the attitudes of most nations remained very ambiguous.
Including Kul Tiras and Quel'Thalas, they believed this war did not concern them and had no intention of participating.
Instead, Dalaran was quite interested in the ecology of the Qiraji insects and planned to send a mage unit of fewer than fifty people in the name of an investigation team... though this was of no damn use at all.
Just then, Malfurion received a reply from Zandalar via the Troll Druids of the Cenarion Circle.
"The Zandalari God-King and the Zanchuli Council have had a heated discussion. The current God-King has made the final call: they will send troops to Silithus to strive for a final settlement with their ancient enemy."