The Kingdom of Alterac. Ah, Alterac. A country so small, its national anthem was probably just a single, mournful kazoo. Its population was so sparse, you could probably count them on one hand if you were a particularly clumsy ogre. Their previous king, a man whose political acumen was on par with a particularly dense turnip, had betrayed the Alliance during the Second World War, leading to sanctions so crippling, the entire country probably had to share a single, rusty spoon. As a result, the king, bless his deluded heart, had completely lost his mind and, in a fit of suicidal grandeur, joined forces with the orcs and a black dragon to reopen the Dark Portal. Twice! His two acts of utterly self-destructive idiocy directly deprived him of his throne, paving the way for Prestor's ascension.
But Prestor? Oh, Prestor was no "serious person." He was, in fact, Deathwing himself, the glorious, magnificent Black Dragon King, disguised as a human in a truly baffling attempt to control the human kingdoms and generally mess up the world order. How, pray tell, could the most arrogant, self-absorbed, and perpetually enraged Black Dragon King possibly govern a country well? The answer, of course, was: he couldn't. Therefore, after conveniently losing General Haas (who probably ran screaming into the sunset), Alterac was left with no generals who weren't either completely incompetent or actively trying to set themselves on fire.
The situation on the border was precisely as Galen had predicted, with the precision of a cosmic clockwork mechanism. The experienced Marshal of Stromgarde, a man who probably ate tactical manuals for breakfast, had the defenders of Alterac in such a glorious mess, they were practically tripping over their own feet. After repeated, exquisitely subtle provocations (which mostly involved poking them with long sticks and yelling "You're ugly!"), the Alterac army, bless their short tempers, could no longer bear it. They spontaneously crossed the border, probably screaming something about honor and dignity, and proceeded to utterly demolish a single, rather flimsy outpost of Stromgarde.
Then, in a move that would make a seasoned strategist weep with joy, the Stromgarde militia, who had been patiently lurking in the darkness like particularly well-trained ninjas, emerged. They surrounded the smoking remains of the outpost and, with impeccable timing, captured the bewildered Alterac soldiers red-handed. The Marshal then, with a flourish of self-righteous indignation, sent a messenger to question the general of Alterac. As a result, the Alterac general, clearly suffering from a severe case of misplaced pride, publicly executed the messenger in the military camp, on the utterly flimsy grounds that the messenger had "offended Alterac!"
When this news, delivered with the speed of a startled gazelle, reached the east of Wall Thoradin, the entire Stromgarde exploded in an uproar! Although the kingdom's national strength had declined, it was because of poverty, not lack of spirit. As the old saying goes, "poor mountains and bad waters produce unruly people," and the Arathi Highlands, a land practically oozing with warriors, was no exception! The people of the Highlands, already itching for a good fight, were absolutely ecstatic. And Galen, ever the populist, followed public opinion and, with a magnanimous nod, declared war!
In the King's Square, directly in front of the palace, an army was assembled. These were Galen's personal base troops, a terrifying mix of heavy infantry (who looked like they ate mountains for breakfast), archers (who could probably shoot a fly off a dragon's nose), heavy knights (who were basically living, breathing battering rams), and a smattering of priests and wizards (who were probably just there for the snacks and the occasional divine intervention).
Galen stood at the palace gate, surveying his magnificent army and the cheering, frothing-at-the-mouth populace around the square. He took a deep breath, and then, with a voice that didn't need any amplification spells and still managed to rattle the very foundations of the city, he bellowed, "Where are the warriors of Stromgarde?!"
CHOKE!
Without a single extra word, the heavy infantrymen drew their swords in unison, a sound that was less a scrape and more a thunderous swoosh of impending doom! The light reflected from the polished blades illuminated the entire square, turning it into a dazzling, terrifying spectacle, and the synchronized drawing of swords made the blood of the onlookers boil with a primal, uncontrollable fury.
"The Kingdom of Alterac," Galen roared, his voice echoing through every alleyway and tavern, "has repeatedly rioted on our borders, like a particularly annoying gnat! And this time, they brazenly attacked our outposts, probably while giggling like deranged goblins!"
"After so many years," he continued, his voice dripping with righteous indignation, "the people of Alterac may have forgotten the sheer, unadulterated bravery of our Arathi people! This time, I, Galen Trollbane, will fight in the name of Stromgarde! And I will fight with the fury of a thousand angry bears, and the tactical brilliance of a particularly cunning badger!"
"If you want to fight, I will fight!" Galen continued to shout, his voice now a crescendo of pure, unadulterated warlust. "People of Stromgarde, do you still dare to fight?! Or are you just going to stand there and look pretty?!"
"Fight, fight, fight, fight…!" Loud shouts, a primal, guttural roar, echoed throughout the entire city. Not only the army, but even the ordinary citizens, from the grumpiest old man to the most excitable toddler, were mobilized. They waved their fists, shouted loudly, and probably spontaneously grew extra muscles. They had been suppressed for too long, their lives in recent years a miserable, hardscrabble existence. Just a year ago, they had been ignominiously driven out of their own city by the Syndicate thieves and ogres! And when people heard that the Syndicate thieves were actually minions of the former Alterac royal family, everyone's fury reached a fever pitch. Now, the kingdom's declaration of war had directly ignited their emotions, turning them into a screaming, bloodthirsty mob of patriotic zealots!
"The First Legion of Stromgarde!" Galen roared, a triumphant grin on his face.
"Attack!"
The people, now a single, unified entity of vengeful fury, spontaneously made way for the road, forming an impromptu honor guard. The army, looking utterly terrifying and impeccably organized, marched in an orderly manner along the grand Kingdom Avenue.
"I miss it so much!" Galen mused, a wistful, almost nostalgic expression on his face as he watched this scene. He couldn't help but recall the military parade that had been held along this very route when his first legion, the legendary Red Flame Army, had been established. He was only a teenager back then, right? But even with his age before the time travel, his style was still so… immature. Especially the number of the Red Flame Army… thinking about it now, it was just so utterly embarrassing. This, he decided, was also the reason why he did not give this legion another name. No need to remind himself of past, less glorious, failures.
The Kingdom of Alterac in this time and space was just like his own world. Most of its territory had been carved up by surrounding countries due to the repeated betrayals of its former, idiotic king. Nasande Watch Fortress, a rather pathetic little stronghold, became the garrison closest to the front-line battlefield of Arathi. When the mighty army of Stromgarde approached the city, the defenders there, who probably consisted of a few terrified conscripts and a particularly cowardly squirrel, all became quivering cowards. They dared only hide in the castle on the peak of Alterac, too terrified to even poke their heads out.
As the commander of this magnificent army, Varokal, a man whose confidence had grown exponentially since Galen's arrival, looked at the solid city wall and had a brilliant, utterly destructive plan in mind.
"Mortar battalion, move out! And try not to hit yourselves this time!"
Following his order, three hundred men from the legion marched out in a perfectly straight line. They were in groups of two, one carrying a black cannon barrel that looked suspiciously like a giant, angry pipe, and the other carrying a yellow-brown backpack that probably contained enough explosives to level a small village!
"Target building ahead! Launch indiscriminate bombing! And make it messy!"
The mortar battalion, having received the order, began to set up artillery positions in front of the two armies with the practiced ease of a well-oiled killing machine. Soon, with the gunners working non-stop, 150 mortars were ready and poured a large number of mortar shells at the designated targets, looking like a swarm of angry, metallic bees.
Call out!Call out!Call out!
After the sharp, whistling sound of breaking through the air, the shells slammed into the wall of the opposite sentry post, causing a series of explosions that would make a dragon proud. In an instant, the entire outpost fortress transformed into a hell of fire, smoke, and screaming. Most of the defenders on the city walls were blown into flying pieces of flesh and blood before they could even react, probably still wondering what hit them! The remaining defenders, now utterly terrified and probably covered in bits of their former comrades, had no courage to resist whatsoever. They simply fled directly from the north gate, probably leaving a trail of wet pants behind them.
Half an hour later, the army of Stromgarde, without a single casualty (unless you counted the poor Alterac messenger, but he was already dead), captured the outpost of Alterac. Three days later, Southshore, a town known for its quaint fishing and utterly terrible defenses, fell. Ten days later, Tarren Mill, a place that probably smelled faintly of stale bread and fear, also fell. Aiden Perenolde, the former king of the Kingdom of Alterac, was originally a cowardly and opportunistic man, which explained a lot. When he founded the Kingdom of Alterac, he chose to build his capital on the steep Alterac Mountains, probably thinking no one would bother climbing up there. Now, after the relentless, utterly devastating attack of the army of Stromgarde, all of the already scarce plains in Alterac had been taken, leaving only the barren, desolate land on Broken Ridge.
The military action of Stromgarde shocked the entire Eastern Continent! No matter how weak Alterac was, it was still a complete country! As long as it entered a state of war, the entire Alterac could, theoretically, mobilize 30,000 troops. What was truly shocking was that the utterly inefficient Kingdom of Alterac still failed to organize an effective resistance. Even the nobles who had lost their land couldn't seem to locate their mysterious king, who was probably off somewhere disguised as a particularly grumpy rock. The nearby kingdoms of Gilneas, Kul Tiras, and Dalaran were all on the sidelines, sipping tea and waiting for the reaction of Blackmoore, the king of Lordaeron, who was probably just as confused as everyone else.
At this time, the news of the war in the north, delivered by a series of increasingly panicked messengers, finally reached Stormwind Kingdom and landed squarely in the hands of the best friends, Varian and Arthas, who were probably in the middle of a particularly intense game of chess.
Arathi Highlands, night. After a dinner that probably involved more roasted bear than was strictly necessary, Galen and Artoria were enjoying the night view from the top of the Tower of Thoradin, a structure that now felt significantly more secure. Suddenly, Galen's head snapped towards the northwest, his eyes piercing through the very fabric of the night sky through the window on the top of the tower! There was a powerful individual, moving with the speed of a particularly enraged comet, approaching the Arathi Highlands!
"Artoria," Galen said, his voice unusually solemn, "go to the underground secret room in the cathedral area. Stay there for a while. Do not, under any circumstances, come out until I personally come and retrieve you." Galen's face was grim, a rare sight for the usually jovial demigod. He opened a shimmering portal, its arcane energy crackling ominously.
"What happened, father?" The girl, sensing the shift in his demeanor, asked, her voice tinged with concern. This was the first time she had seen such an expression on her father's face.
"A strong enemy is approaching, Ria," Galen explained, his voice low. "I may not be able to take care of you if a fight starts. And by 'fight,' I mean 'cosmic brawl that will probably involve a lot of screaming and property damage.'" He gently touched his daughter's head, lifting a tuft of her hair.
"Okay," Artoria said, enjoying the rare moment of paternal affection. The sensible girl said nothing more and obediently stepped into the portal, probably already planning her next snack.
After his daughter vanished, Galen barked orders at the palace guards, instructing them to send someone to sound the alarm bell in the center of the city!
Dangdang Dangdang!
The alarm bells, usually reserved for particularly bad tax audits, sounded urgently, their metallic clang echoing through the night. The citizens of Stromgarde were utterly confused as to why, but their prince had conducted many drills since they returned from the Refuge Valley. So, with the practiced efficiency of a well-drilled fire drill, they methodically grabbed their most valuable (and probably entirely useless) items, their wives, and their children, and streamed into Fadil Bay from the south of the city.
"Coming!" Galen muttered, his eyes fixed on the horizon. In the bright moonlight, a gigantic creature, a shadow of pure, unadulterated terror, flew over Stromgarde! The shadow cast by its immense form enveloped the people who hadn't had time to evacuate, plunging them into sudden darkness. They looked up at the sky in horror, their faces pale with fear! What kind of monster was that?! A giant dragon, a hundred meters long, looking like it had eaten a few too many mountains!
Thousands of Griffin Knights, who had been foolish enough to stay in the city, bravely (or perhaps foolishly) took off into the air to meet the enemy, which, for a brief, fleeting moment, made the people feel a tiny spark of relief.
The next moment!
ROAR!
After a deafening roar that probably shattered every window in the city, the sheer force of the shockwaves caused hundreds of griffin knights to simply lose their lives and fall from the sky like particularly heavy rain. This horrifying scene terrified the people so much that they were, quite literally, pissing and shitting themselves. Fortunately, the city guards, bless their brave little hearts, still had some courage left and tried their best to maintain the evacuation order, probably while also discreetly checking their own pants.
In the sky, the giant dragon stretched out its pair of black wings, covering the entire night sky of the city, turning the moonlit landscape into a terrifying, inky blackness. Its eyes, like two enormous, malevolent yellow lanterns, stared down at the tall tower on the ground with an expression of utter contempt. His strong, reptilian intuition told him that the person he was looking for, the source of all his recent headaches, was among them.
"Deathwing…" Galen muttered, his voice grim. Through the window, he looked at the ferocious dragon in the sky. He could clearly see Deathwing's terrifying, metallic dragon body, covered in thick plate armor. As the former guardian of the earth and the black dragon king who was surprisingly good at close combat, he possessed strong limbs full of explosive power, sharp, long claws that could probably tear a tank in half, and red magma that oozed from his huge dragon mouth, looking like he'd just had a particularly spicy curry. He was full of pure, unadulterated oppression.
But what reassured Galen, a tiny, almost imperceptible flicker of amusement in his eyes, was Deathwing's plate armor! Adamantite plate armor! Heh! Deathwing was still wearing his original, un-shattered adamantite plate armor when he flew over Stromgarde! Although Galen didn't know what had happened in this timeline to prevent Khadgar from lock-picking his armor off, he was still wearing the original version! Then, Galen thought with a mischievous grin, he would simply correct history himself!
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Under Deathwing's relentless dragon claws and his scorching magma dragon breath, the thousands of Griffin Knights were wiped out before they could even scratch his defenses! They were like particularly annoying flies being swatted by a very large, very angry fly swatter. Galen knew that he should take action. If he didn't, this ancient capital of mankind, which had been passed down for thousands of years, would be razed to the ground. Although it wasn't the Stromgarde he had personally poured so much effort into, he would need to stay here for a while, and he certainly didn't want to move to an unfamiliar, smoking crater!
He jumped out of the window, and as he fell, his body began to expand and grow, stretching and morphing with a series of sickening cracks and pops! Throwback to the ancestral Vrykul form! Then, the golden Guardian of Ancient Kings, a colossal, shimmering entity of pure light, appeared and hugged Galen in his Vrykul form from behind, like a particularly enthusiastic, glowing bodyguard!
Both in one! The nearly 100-meter-tall giant of light, a beacon of holy retribution, appeared once again!
In the sky, Deathwing, who had been casually incinerating the remaining Griffin Knights, saw the man of light below and instantly realized that he was the infuriating individual behind the attack on Alterac. The army of Alterac might not be able to defeat the army of Stromgarde, but the king of Alterac, Prestor (who was, of course, Deathwing himself), could definitely destroy the royal family of Stromgarde and level the royal city of Stromgarde! With this thought, Deathwing, a flying mountain of rage, descended!
After growing bigger, Galen's vision became distant and vast, allowing him to see the world with a newfound, terrifying clarity. He casually fired a holy light cannon at the monster in the sky, a golden beam of pure energy. He didn't actually expect this ordinary holy light cannon to hurt the Black Dragon King, but it was worth a shot. After firing, he took two steps at a time, hurdling over the western wall of Stromgarde with the grace of a particularly agile giant, and landed directly in Palatine Bay. In Galen's own world, he had defeated the Hell Dragon in Palatine Bay. Today, in this bay, he wanted to make Deathwing fall here too! It was a matter of principle, and perhaps, a touch of personal tradition.
In the sky, Deathwing, surprised by the unexpected holy light cannon, dodged by turning sideways, his dragon eyes glowing red with a mixture of annoyance and fury. He flapped his huge wings, creating miniature hurricanes, and chased after the Giant of Light with the relentless pursuit of a particularly angry, flying mountain.
Less than a hundred meters away from the coast, Galen felt a tingling sensation on the back of his heart! This was the warning from years of combat intuition, a cosmic alarm bell screaming "DANGER, YOU IDIOT!" He didn't take it lightly and executed a perfect side flip, plunging into the sea with a splash that probably registered on distant seismographs! The next moment, Deathwing swooped down, passing by Galen's back, his right claw reaching out for the heart, just missing him by a hair's breadth! A man and a dragon, a cosmic dance of death, passed each other in a blur of motion!
The average depth of the Palatine Gulf was about 18 meters, and the deepest part reached more than 80 meters. Galen's violent rolling movements and the furious flapping of Deathwing's wings caused the seawater in the bay to surge, triggering a localized tsunami that probably wiped out a few unsuspecting fishing boats. After Galen stood firm, his feet planted on the seabed, he stretched out his right hand and made a rather insulting gesture towards the Black Dragon King: "Come on, you overgrown lizard! Let's fight! And try not to drown!"
Deathwing executed a beautiful turn close to the sea surface, a graceful maneuver for a creature of his size, and looked back at Galen, his eyes blazing. "Ant, you are the only one who can rely on me! And you're about to be flattened!" A thick, silver stone cone materialized instantly in the air, glowing with raw earth energy, and flew towards Galen at a terrifying speed! Source Arrow! This was Deathwing's unique attack method, a terrifying display of his authority over the very earth itself!
Although the source arrows were incredibly fast, Galen's light giant was also surprisingly agile. His massive figure flashed and disappeared on the spot like a stream of light, leaving behind only a faint, golden afterimage. The huge source arrow, missing its intended target, slammed into a high mountain not far from the coastline.
BOOM!
A deafening bang! The Dun Garok Mountain, which had been hollowed out by the Stormpike dwarves to build a fortress (and probably a very cozy tavern), was now only half of its original size! The entire upper part of the mountain was completely obliterated by the attack of the source arrows, turning into a shower of pulverized rock! Rocks flew everywhere, slamming into the sea, causing waves to burst out again on the sea surface, which had not yet calmed down from the previous tsunami.
Deathwing, observing the sheer agility of the glowing giant, realized that although it was huge, it moved very quickly, and his long-range attacks were utterly useless against the annoying little light-man below! So, he decided to defeat the Black Dragon (himself, ironically) in close combat, where he was undoubtedly best at!
Bang!
Deathwing, with a splash that probably registered as a minor earthquake, slammed into the sea, ready to get up close and personal.