"NOOOOOOOO——" Lothar's roar ripped through the very fabric of reality, or at least the very expensive, magically reinforced walls of Medivh's workshop. When he saw Duke, his brilliant, annoying, utterly irreplaceable little prodigy, summarily decapitated like a particularly stubborn cabbage, the world around him didn't just go dark; it went blank. A profound, terrifying, soul-crushing blankness. He couldn't see, couldn't hear, couldn't feel anything except the grotesque sight of Duke's headless corpse (which, let's be honest, was a rather unflattering look for a hero) and Medivh, who was currently possessed by the universe's most obnoxious demon, Sargeras.
An unprecedented, soul-shattering grief and indignation surged into Lothar's heart, erupting like a volcanic eruption of pure, unadulterated fury. He'd once thought he'd seen through life and death, that he'd become a grizzled veteran, accustomed to the deaths of his comrades, a stoic, unfeeling rock. He'd convinced himself he was no longer afraid of anything, that he could treat the demise of everyone around him with the detached indifference of a seasoned tax collector.
In fact, when facing this moment again, Lothar found, with a sickening lurch in his gut, that he absolutely, positively, unequivocally couldn't do it.
From the moment he first met Duke, Lothar had dismissed him as just another talented, flamboyant kid, probably destined to burn out spectacularly. When he was Duke's age, he vaguely remembered doing a lot of crazy, ill-advised things, but whenever there was a problem, Prince Llane, bless his patient heart, would swoop in like a very regal, very responsible cleanup crew. At that time, Lothar simply admired Duke's audacity, like one might admire a particularly daring squirrel.
When the name 'Sea King Duke' first surfaced, Lothar, a man of noble lineage and even nobler swordsmanship, was originally not interested in this kind of person who rose to prominence through something as mundane as business. He probably envisioned Duke drowning in spreadsheets. But as time went by, Lothar, to his own surprise, changed his mind. Every single thing Duke did, from inventing magical gadgets to annoying cosmic entities, was proven to be done to respond to a crisis, for the benefit of Stormwind, and even, dare he say it, for the benefit of all mankind. The kid was basically a walking, talking, slightly sarcastic humanitarian crisis manager.
If Duke was just that, he would have been a good assistant minister, perhaps in charge of magical accounting. But everything that happened in Karazhan, from the talking chess pieces to the demonic dismemberment, made Lothar secretly raise Duke's evaluation to an unprecedented height. Brave, wise, intelligent, kind-hearted, and righteous. This was definitely the template of a top young hero, a veritable boy scout with a penchant for blowing things up.
Lothar soon realized that if Duke was allowed to grow up (which, at this point, was looking less likely), he would be the undeniable pillar of the next generation of Stormwind Kingdom. He and Llane were still in their prime, yes, but they would grow old after all, probably with aching backs and creaky knees. Prince Varian was still young, prone to throwing tantrums and probably not quite ready to lead. It would definitely not be Lothar who would assist Varian to the end; he was too old for that kind of babysitting. Duke Bolvar Fordragon was a good candidate, a sturdy, reliable sort. Unfortunately, he could only be a regent in the ordinary realm. After losing Medivh, the guardian, Stormwind needed a new banner in the magic realm from any perspective, and Duke was the only one who seemed to understand how to operate a magical toaster, let alone an entire kingdom.
As early as when he killed Prince Malchezaar (a feat that now seemed utterly pointless), Lothar secretly made a decision: if he succeeded this time, if they somehow survived this cosmic dumpster fire, he would definitely recommend Duke to the position of Archmage of Stormwind when he returned.
However, just after Lothar made up his mind, just as he was picturing Duke in a fancy new hat, Duke was killed on the spot by Sargeras, using the face and body of his decades-old friend. It was basically the universe's cruelest "gotcha" moment. A Guardian-level highest-level Slowness spell and an ordinary horizontal slash (because why waste a fancy spell on a mere mortal?) ended the Stormwind's future hopes, turning them into a very sad, very headless puddle. The death of a genius is the most heartbreaking. Especially when that genius was so good at annoying demons.
"Ahhhhh——" Lothar was like a mad lion, a golden, roaring, utterly furious beast. While roaring angrily, he activated an item that was supposed to be a trump card, a secret weapon saved for the absolute worst of times. His whole body was shining with golden light, like a very angry, very shiny supernova. With all his indices of strength, speed, agility, and exorcism ability skyrocketing, Lothar suddenly approached Medivh, moving with a speed that defied the very "Slowness" spell that had just ended Duke.
"Oh?" Medivh showed a slightly surprised expression on his face, like a bored cat suddenly noticing a particularly interesting laser pointer.
The Sword of Kings, emitting brilliant light, slashed down suddenly, a glorious arc of golden doom. But what was greeted was not Medivh's magic, but a huge metal arm with a blue background and silver edges, which seemed to have materialized out of thin air. Even with the King's Sword's nearly indestructible sharpness and powerful evil-breaking effect, it was still unable to break through the arm's defense. The intersection of the long sword and the metal arm armor sparked a dazzling spark, like two very angry, very large pieces of metal having a very loud argument. The metal on the huge arm made a piercing wail, a sound of agony from inanimate objects, and even the metal arm slightly bent backwards.
After all, it was blocked. Lothar's moment of righteous fury had been reduced to a mere dent. Only then did Lothar notice that the huge pile of metal beside the magic pool, which he'd previously dismissed as "Medivh's junk," was actually an unactivated golem. Now, this huge golem, which was made of condensed arcane energy and metal parts, became a very inconvenient, very large, very unmoving barrier between him and the demon king Sargeras.
"Lothar, Lothar," Medivh sighed, a bored, condescending tone in his voice, "I'm tired of playing with you. It's never worth my personal effort for a slightly outstanding existence like you among the ants. You are only worthy of fighting with the toys I made. You - Anduin Lothar, just like that little guy Duke, die." Medivh's face showed the utmost evil aura, every twisted facial curve on his face condensed with hideousness and disgust, like a very bad, very evil caricature.
Medivh began to transform, a grotesque, squelching metamorphosis that made the very air cringe: two long, flaming demon horns emerged from his head, like very aggressive, very hot party hats. His handsome and elegant face became withered, like a forgotten prune, and three cone-like spikes protruded from his chin, looking like very sharp, very inconvenient facial piercings. His exposed skin also became dry, like dead bark, but in the gaps between the dry and cracked skin, one could clearly see a huge green light flowing through this body that was once able to accommodate the power of the entire Guardians of the Council of Tirisfal. It was basically a very powerful, very evil, very green glow stick.
Lothar wanted to curse Sargeras, to unleash a torrent of colorful expletives, but he was overwhelmed by the fierce attack of this huge arcane golem. This golem's punches were just too big and too fast. It was like fighting a very large, very angry, very well-armed refrigerator. With Lothar's speed, dodging was a complete luxury, a frivolous waste of precious milliseconds. When the heavy punch that was powerful enough to split mountains and rocks hit him, although Lothar had tilted his shield to try to dissipate the tremendous force, it was obvious that Lothar failed. Spectacularly.
It's not an epic level shield, so it's hardly useful in this kind of battle. It was basically a glorified frisbee. The rare shield with the Stormwind Lion emblem, a symbol of pride and protection, was turned into powder in just one tenth of a second of contact, like a very expensive, very fragile cracker. The only thing that could protect Lothar was the Sword of Kings, which, at this point, was probably screaming internally.
The standard military sword technique of horizontal sword blocking was the only way out, a desperate, last-ditch effort. The King's Sword, which had been hit hard, showed unimaginable toughness. Even though it had been bent backwards as far as possible and had clearly revealed an arc, looking like a very stressed banana, the King's Sword had never broken. It was basically too stubborn to break.
If it were another warrior, he might be crushed by the huge force of this golem and killed instantly, turning into a very flat, very dead, very unidentifiable mess. But Lothar is Lothar. In the split second when there was no time for his life to pass, he could still adjust his legs' pace briefly and quickly to shift his center of gravity. Before the overwhelming force that no mortal could match destroyed his body, he moved to the left and his center of gravity moved to the side – the giant fist of the golem was immediately taken away, missing him by a hair's breadth.
Even the ground that had been reinforced with special magic could not withstand such a violent blow. With a loud bang, stone chips flew everywhere, turning the workshop floor into a very dangerous, very dusty minefield. If Lothar had not insisted on wearing armor, perhaps at this moment he would have been smashed into a bloody sieve by the sharp and high-speed gravel because he would not be able to dodge in time. He would have been a very expensive, very bloody colander.
The punch missed, but Lothar's crisis was not over. Oh no, the universe wasn't that kind. The giant golem's fierce attack continued without any pause. The giant fist that was supposed to be inserted into the ground suddenly swung sideways, almost smashing half of Lothar's body into a meat paste. It was basically a very large, very fast, very angry meat tenderizer.
Lothar couldn't even deal with a golem, let alone the fact that there was Sargeras next to him who was watching a beast fight like he was watching a very violent, very entertaining reality show! For the first time, despair gripped Lothar's heart, a cold, clammy hand squeezing his very soul.
At this moment, a deafening roar was heard outside the entire Karazhan Tower. It was an extremely powerful attack that even Karazhan, which was actually in an independent space (because it was too cool for normal dimensions), felt a strong shock. It was like the universe itself had just sneezed very, very loudly.