A month had passed since Prince Galen, in a truly spectacular display of divine might, had transformed into a giant of light and summarily defeated the evil dragon, sending him scurrying back to his rocky lair. However, the heat of this incident did not die down in this month. Instead, it intensified in public discussions, reaching a fever pitch of speculation and wild theories! The taverns buzzed, the bards sang (terrible) songs, and even the grumpiest farmers whispered about it. Then, a new, utterly audacious guess began to infect everyone's minds, spreading like wildfire: They brazenly annexed Alterac, forcefully repelled a freaking dragon, and now they want to reorganize the Alliance?! Their prince might just become the second Emperor Soladin! The thought was so exhilarating, so utterly audacious, it made people want to spontaneously burst into patriotic song.
With a heart practically doing the Macarena of joy, Varokal, now a permanent fixture in the "Galen's Biggest Fan" club, began to decorate the palace with such fanfare, it probably used up half of Stromgarde's annual glitter budget. He was eagerly awaiting the arrival of forces from various countries in the East Continent, probably already picturing a grand parade.
The first to arrive at Stromgarde were the venerable Archmage Antonidas from Dalaran, looking as ancient and wise as a particularly dusty spellbook, and Kael'thas, the High Elf prince, who came for a "private visit" that was anything but. The high elves, still nursing a collective grudge against humanity, had no intention of joining the Alliance again. Kael'thas simply wanted to meet the strong man who had not only repelled Deathwing but had also, apparently, saved an entire city from being turned into a giant, smoking crater. He was probably hoping to pick up some tips.
Galen personally greeted the two, radiating an aura of casual competence. Although he wasn't familiar with these particular versions of the two individuals, he had a rather good relationship with Kael'thas in his own world, which mostly involved them not trying to kill each other. Soon after, Varian, Arthas, Jaina, and Muradin also arrived, looking like they'd just stepped out of a heroic painting.
Compared to the two mages who came with only some followers (because mages are notoriously bad at making friends), the forces from the south were much more impressive! An entire fleet of the Kingdom of Kul Tiras, looking like a flotilla of angry, very large ducks! It also carried the Storm Kingdom's most elite Seventh Legion, who probably had "heroic poses" as part of their training regimen! And among them was an elite secret room guard from Ironforge, probably a dwarf who could pick a lock with his beard.
Tsk tsk tsk! What a grand scene. A veritable who's who of Azerothian power players, all gathered to witness Galen's inevitable triumph. However, they, being cautious and probably a little suspicious, did not enter the territory of Stromgarde directly, but stayed in the port of Menethil in the wetlands, probably setting up a perimeter of highly suspicious scouts.
Galen, ever the pragmatist, did not wait for the perpetually absent Gilneas (who were probably still arguing about whether to open their gates or not) and convened the meeting directly.
"Everyone," Galen began, getting straight to the point with the efficiency of a well-oiled siege engine, "thank you for gracing my humble (and recently expanded) kingdom with your presence. A lot of… exciting things have happened in the north during this period, which has led me to the profound realization that it is, frankly, difficult for a single country to face those upcoming disasters alone. Especially when those disasters involve giant, angry dragons."
"Many years ago," Galen continued, his voice taking on a reverent tone, "King Terenas, a truly magnificent monarch, performed a great feat: he united all the countries in the East Continent and formed an alliance! A glorious, if somewhat short-lived, alliance!"
Everyone, as if on cue, turned their eyes to Arthas, who shifted uncomfortably, probably wondering if he was about to be blamed for something. Galen, ever the master of timing, seized the moment. "Let us pay tribute to the great man!" he declared, raising an imaginary glass. Anyway, he wouldn't be abandoned by the Holy Light even if he said a few words against his will, so Galen said it without any burden, a true testament to his moral flexibility. This, surprisingly, made Arthas, Varian, and the others look at Galen with much more familiarity, as if he were finally speaking their language.
Then, Galen, with the dramatic flair of a seasoned storyteller, revealed the shocking truth: the King of Alterac was actually the Black Dragon King in disguise! This, of course, provided him with a perfectly legitimate, utterly righteous reason to have sent troops to Alterac. Combined with the previous intelligence that Galen had, quite literally, repelled the black dragon, everyone believed it without question and praised Galen for his impeccable justice, probably while also wondering if they should start checking their own monarchs for scales.
"This time, the call comes from us in Stromgarde," Galen announced loudly, his voice echoing with newfound authority. "Just as His Majesty Terenas, in his infinite wisdom, helped Stormwind, Stromgarde will help the Menethil family regain their homeland. And we'll do it with extreme prejudice!"
Arthas, looking genuinely touched, nodded. "Prince Galen, thank you for your generosity! Your kindness knows no bounds, and your tactical genius is… truly something."
Varian, however, was even more radical. He stood up, slamming his hands on the huge table with a resounding THWACK! "Our army is ready to attack Blackmoore, that despicable usurper, at any moment! We'll storm his castle and make him regret ever being born!"
"Be calm, Your Majesty Varian!" Galen interjected, his voice laced with a touch of amusement, trying to comfort the somewhat irritable king. He was a little surprised that this guy had never experienced being split in two by a demonic sword. Without those character-building experiences, why was his personality still so incredibly irritable?
"Blackmoore is nothing to be feared," Galen continued, dismissing the usurper with a wave of his hand, "not even his powerful mage advisor, Kel'Thuzad, who is probably just a glorified librarian. It will be easy for Menethil to restore his country." Galen's tone was full of disdain for the two men, as if they were discussing particularly annoying gnats. "What I really want to worry about is the black dragon king hiding in the dark! He's a much bigger pest."
"Perhaps," Galen added, leaning forward conspiratorially, "we need to unite. After all, none of you can fight them alone. But I… maybe I can." Just so confident! It was almost sickening.
"Listen to me!" Antonidas, who had been watching the entire exchange with the quiet amusement of a man who had seen it all, finally couldn't help but speak. His voice was soft but powerful, like a velvet-wrapped hammer, and he looked like he could live at least another 20 or 30 years, probably just to annoy people. However, even at his advanced age, he had not been able to break the wizard's flamboyant habits. He held his intricately carved staff in his hand like a cane, and the top of the staff shone with light, dazzling everyone present, probably causing a few temporary blind spots. As veteran and powerful men of the human race, everyone turned around and listened to him quietly, because when Antonidas spoke, you listened.
The Archmage said: "We in Dalaran can certainly deal with that traitor Kel'Thuzad, who probably smells faintly of old socks and necromancy. But as for the Black Dragon King…" He frowned, a deep furrow appearing on his ancient brow. "That power is not something a mortal can resist! I have the courage to die in battle, but frankly, the other mages are terrified! If we ignore His Highness Galen's… generous offer, we will be in grave danger. And by grave danger, I mean 'Deathwing will probably turn our city into a giant, smoking crater.'"
Everyone was silent, contemplating the terrifying prospect of Deathwing's personal attention. Varian was indeed worried about Deathwing. He was not an adventurer alone, who could just find a secret place to hide from him and then emerge later with a witty one-liner. He was the ruler of a country, and the entire Stormwind City was located there, a rather large, vulnerable target. If the dragon really came to seek revenge, with the national strength of the Storm Kingdom, it wouldn't be able to die together with the Black Dragon King even if it wanted to. Therefore, even if there was a hidden threat in Galen's proposal, they were powerful and fearless. They could even ignore them and wait for Stormwind and Kul Tiras to be destroyed by the dragon before annexing their smoking ruins.
"Your Highness Galen," Varian finally said, his voice carefully neutral, "as you so confidently stated, you can help us deal with Deathwing. What price do we have to pay for this… extraordinary service?" Humans belonged to the same clan thousands of years ago, but now, Varian didn't believe in the idea of brother countries? Especially when someone would be selfless and generous enough to help other nations deal with that dangerous enemy. It just didn't compute.
Heh! Galen smiled in his heart, a truly devious, self-satisfied smile. Cost? Oh, I, Galen, know very well what price you, Varian, can pay. But, do you have anything that can actually attract me at the moment? I already know what good things there are in Azeroth, and I can simply plunder them at will in this time and space. Why bother with complicated negotiations?
"I need the minerals of Stormwind Kingdom, Kul Tiras, and the dwarves," Galen stated, his voice calm and businesslike, as if he were haggling over the price of a particularly large turnip. "For this, I can exchange the land of Alterac Kingdom! All of it. Consider it a gift. A very large, very bloody gift." Sincerity is always the secret weapon, especially when it's utterly fake.
"Southshore will be given to the Proudmoores, because Jaina probably needs a nice beach house. The Menethil family can take Brill and Caer Darrow, because nothing says 'restored kingdom' like a few haunted villages. And the lands in northern Hillsbrad can be given to Dalaran, because mages love empty land for their arcane experiments. If the Wrynn family doesn't mind having an enclave, Tarren Mill is currently ownerless. And probably smells faintly of old socks." Galen answered calmly, as if these lands were utterly worthless in his eyes, mere trifles to be tossed about.
"However," Galen added, a glint in his eye, "the five-year mining rights for all minerals within the territory of Lordaeron after its restoration are also granted. The same applies to the Moonbrook Mine in the fertile western plains of Stormwind Kingdom, the Fagodi Mine in Elwynn Forest, and the Jade Mine. Because a demigod's gotta eat, and by 'eat,' I mean 'fund a galactic empire.'"
"As for Ironforge," Galen continued, turning his gaze to Muradin, "if you can give Stromgarde five million tons of various ores at once, I can tell you about the origins of dwarves and gnomes, and the precise, exact location of related ruins! Secrets that will blow your tiny dwarven minds!"
Is Galen's proposal tempting? Lure! Is it costly? Acceptable!
Varian and Arthas looked at each other, a silent conversation passing between them. Both raised their hands in agreement, probably already picturing the vast wealth flowing into their coffers. Of course, Dalaran and Kul Tiras couldn't just take advantage of them for free. They would also pay corresponding money and minerals in exchange, because even in a grand alliance, there's no such thing as a free lunch. The dwarf Prince Muradin had absolutely no reason to refuse. When it came to mineral output, the dwarves were afraid of no one. Compared to the earth-shattering secret of the origins of dwarves and gnomes, a mere 500 tons of ore was nothing. A paltry sum!
After the meeting, everyone recognized Galen's position as the undisputed leader of the Alliance, and at the same time, they also got to know the ruler of Stromgarde again, realizing he was far more cunning and manipulative than they had previously thought. It's not that they didn't think about whether there might be some deeper, more sinister meaning behind Galen's actions, but the kings of the new alliance were not political creatures; they were heroes, warriors, and occasional idiots. So, they couldn't figure it out without racking their brains, which, frankly, they preferred not to do. Thus, Galen once again earned the glorious title of "The Generous One," a title he wore with a smug, self-satisfied grin.
Varian, ever the loyal friend, brought troops from his kingdom to help Arthas. Although the number of people was small, it was an elite legion, each soldier probably capable of taking on three orcs while blindfolded. Of course, the more important force was some of Lordaeron's native noble lords, who were thoroughly dissatisfied with Blackmoore's usurpation of the throne. As long as Arthas raised the banner of national restoration, most of them would undoubtedly respond to the call and unite to increase the number of their troops, like a snowball rolling down a hill of disgruntled nobility.
Sure enough, when Arthas led the Seventh Legion into the West Wilderd, Lord Fordring of Hearthglen, a man who probably smelled faintly of old leather and righteous indignation, and a group of equally disgruntled nobles greeted him in Andorhal, practically throwing themselves at his feet. And the nobles of East Wilder, led by the Mograine and Abidis families, also chose to stand on the side of Menethil's orthodoxy, because nothing says "orthodoxy" like a good old-fashioned civil war.
In addition to attacking Arthas in the east, Varian took the armies of Ironforge and Stromgarde and launched a devastating attack on the south of the royal city of Lordaeron by water from Lake Lordamere, turning the peaceful lake into a scene of utter chaos. In just half a month, Blackmoore, the self-proclaimed king, lost two entire provinces and finally had to retreat to the Tirisfal Glades, probably wondering where it all went wrong.
When the two armies successfully met at the north gate of the royal city of Lordaeron, Blackmoore, perched atop his crumbling castle, simply couldn't understand why he was the overlord of the northern part of the East Continent three months ago, but three months later he was beaten down to only an isolated city? What happened?! What about his country? Where is his army? What about his allies? Did they all just decide to take a vacation? He felt like he was being played, and he hated it.
On the top of Lordaeron, Blackmoore, wearing black armor that looked suspiciously like it had been spray-painted on, and holding a huge sword that was probably too heavy for him, looked at the Alliance army below and fell into a deep, existential doubt…
Arthas, now wearing the gleaming, standard armor forged by the reorganized Knights of the Silver Hand, held the mighty hammer of Menethil's power, and rode a magnificent brown warhorse. He stood out from the crowd, a beacon of righteous fury, and shouted loudly toward the city wall: "Blackmoore! Your end is here! And it's going to be glorious!"
"I will take back the sovereignty of Lordaeron from you and save my people from your evil, utterly incompetent rule!"
"The reign of evil?" Blackmoore laughed, a harsh, bitter sound that echoed across the battlements. "You little bastard of the Menethil family! I! Blackmoore is a hero of the Alliance! I'm practically a living legend!"
"It was I who defeated Orgrim Doomhammer in combat! I saved the Alliance! And you! Your Menethil politicians are the dirty ones! You're all just a bunch of backstabbing, power-hungry bureaucrats!"
The two sides went back and forth, yelling insults and accusations across the city wall, confronting each other and arguing with each other like two particularly stubborn children. Finally, the young Arthas, who had a rather low tolerance for meaningless conversations, couldn't stand it anymore. He waved his warhammer forward, pointing at the top of the city with a furious roar!
"Attack! Warriors of the Alliance! And let's make this quick, I'm getting hungry!"
Following Arthas's order, the first to be hit was the heavy and tightly closed door of Lordaeron's north gate, which suffered a round of fierce artillery fire that probably made the very stones weep. The city gate was severely damaged, and Blackmoore's face instantly darkened, turning a shade of purple that probably matched his inner rage. However, as a hero of the Second War, who rose from a minor noble to become a king (albeit a temporary one), he had the script of being the protagonist of this timeline, or so he thought. Blackmoore remained calm in the face of danger, a testament to his misplaced confidence, and shouted out orders: "Ballista, counterattack! Counterattack quickly, you useless lumps! Attack their artillery positions! And try not to miss this time!"
Boom! Boom! Boom!
Flaming cannonballs and crossbow arrows streaked across the sky between Lordaeron Royal City and Brill, turning the air into a chaotic, fiery mess. For a moment, the battlefield was filled with smoke, screams, and the distinct smell of burning wood. In the end, the artillery battalion from Stromgarde, superior in both firepower and sheer destructive enthusiasm, was the first to destroy a section of Lordaeron's wall!
"What?!" Arthas showed a look of pure, unadulterated joy, like a child on Winter Veil morning. He was about to lead the vanguard to charge, probably screaming something heroic, but someone grabbed his arm.
Arthas looked back in confusion and saw that it was Varian, who looked remarkably calm for a man in the middle of a siege. "What's wrong, Varian? Are you getting cold feet?"
Varian shook his head, a slight smirk on his face, and dissuaded him: "Wait a moment, my friend. We'll go up later. Let them soften up the enemy a bit more." Varian understood the anxiety in Arthas's heart. He felt the same way when he learned that the Alliance army had counterattacked outside Stormwind City. However, at this moment, the crossbows and archers in the royal city of Lordaeron still had the ability to counterattack, and they were also on high alert. A rash charge at this time might cause some unnecessary casualties to them. Anyway, the artillery camp of Stromgarde still had a lot of ammunition, enough to level a small mountain, so it was better to continue the bombardment, which could not only expand the collapsed city wall but also utterly undermine the morale of the enemy. Why not? It was free destruction!
After some careful explanation, Arthas was finally persuaded. The paladin who was determined to restore his country suppressed his impatience, probably by counting to ten very slowly, and continued to wait for the opportune moment.
In the clouds in the sky, Galen was riding a griffin, holding his daughter in his arms, observing the Battle of Lordaeron on the ground. He looked like a particularly proud, slightly unhinged, celestial tourist. As Galen watched, he murmured, "Is this the nth time I have watched the Battle of Lordaeron? I didn't expect that I could still enjoy this scene in another time and space. It's like my favorite reality TV show, but with more explosions."
"Father, has Lordaeron been attacked by the enemy many times?" Artoria asked, her eyesight not good enough to see the battle on the ground in detail. She could only see the ashes of artillery fire, like fireworks at the Feast of Winter Veil, only with more screaming.
"Oh, quite a few, Leah. Dad has participated in all of them," Galen replied, resting his chin on the top of Artoria's head, a nostalgic glint in his eye. "The first time was more than ten years ago. At that time, the King of Lordaeron was still your grandfather, bless his heart. The orcs attacked the royal city and even reached the top of the city. Fortunately, Sir Lothar and I came in time with support. We saved the day. It was quite dramatic."
"The second time was when your uncle Arthas made a big mistake. A really big mistake. Later, dad helped mom take back the royal city and ascended the throne as king. It was a whole thing. Lots of paperwork."
Artoria nodded her little head, her eyes wide with fascination. She really liked listening to the elders talk about the magnificent and epic events of the past, especially when her father was the hero.
"Then it's the third time," the little girl said cleverly, connecting the dots. "This time it's the uncle from this time and space who's going to attack the city!"
"Ah! Yes…" Galen wanted to say that in fact, in a certain, particularly bizarre timeline, the city had been attacked by a plate armor priest (himself, naturally), but he decided against it. No need to confuse the child with too many temporal paradoxes.