In the Stormwind Port, separated by a city wall that had seen better days, tens of thousands of elite warriors witnessed what would go down in history as the mother of all barbecues.
The flames didn't just rise from the ground—they erupted like a dragon with severe indigestion, shooting straight into the heavens with the fury of a thousand suns. Hell, you could probably see this inferno from the next kingdom over, and maybe even from the moon if you squinted hard enough. The fire turned night into day, making the sun itself jealous.
From this day forward, Stormwind City wouldn't just be called Flame City—it would be known as "That Place Where Everything Went to Hell in a Handbasket."
"Sweet mother of pearl, what in tarnation is that?" King Llane finally managed to stammer, watching Duke return escorted by Lothar and his battle-hardened soldiers, all looking like they'd been through a meat grinder and came out the other side grinning.
This wasn't your garden-variety house fire. If you had to put a name to it, you'd call it "The Apocalypse's Angry Cousin."
Duke mopped the rivers of sweat from his brow with Windsor's offered towel, looking like he'd just arm-wrestled the devil himself.
"That, my good king, was Medivh's magical defense system—but with a Duke twist that would make a tornado jealous. The old wizard planned to set up fire walls in each canal to keep invaders from steamrolling through our districts like a bull in a china shop. But I figured, why build a fence when you can build a furnace?"
"A twist?" Llane knew the city's layout like the back of his sword hand. The canals and walls weren't just for show—they were designed to let defenders fight tooth and nail for every inch, with secret tunnels connecting districts so they could pop up behind enemies like jack-in-the-boxes with sharp pointy things.
"You bet your crown I twisted it! I had the Suicide Squad torch the whole damn city and block every street, herding those green-skinned sons of guns into the river like cattle to slaughter. Then..."
Duke let his words hang in the air like smoke from a campfire. Everyone present had brains bigger than walnuts—they caught on faster than fleas on a hound dog.
It was a trap within a trap within a trap, slicker than a greased pig at a county fair.
By corralling the orcs and bunching them together tighter than sardines in a can, Duke had turned their safe haven into their final resting place. Nobody in their right mind would've suspected that the canal—the one thing that should've saved them from becoming crispy critters—was actually the world's biggest oven.
Suddenly, everyone felt luckier than a rabbit's foot that Duke was batting for their team.
The Warchief was deader than a doornail, and a fire hotter than the hinges of hell had cooked a hundred thousand Horde warriors medium-rare. This victory was so spectacular it made the soldiers cheer loud enough to wake the dead.
But the cheering died faster than a candle in a hurricane, because everyone still felt like they were stuck between a rock and a hard place.
Tens of thousands of troops packed Stormwind Harbor tighter than clams at high tide. The massive harbor square groaned under the weight of fifty thousand souls, all wondering if they'd live to see another sunrise. Sure, they'd blown the cliffs to smithereens with goblin explosives to avoid getting surrounded like sitting ducks, but if the Horde came back madder than a wet hen after the flames died down, these fifty thousand brave souls would be fish in a barrel.
...
The name Edmund Duke had become legend—the kind of legend that made grown men weep and enemies wet themselves.
Now everyone was shocked to realize they were about to become part of this unfinished legend, like extras in the greatest show on earth.
Nobody knew what Duke would pull out of his hat next, but everyone believed he could move mountains if he set his mind to it.
This was trust earned through blood, sweat, and more explosions than a Fourth of July celebration.
Duke had proven himself more times than a Swiss watch, and now it was just another day at the office for the Duke legend to reach heights that would make eagles dizzy.
Under the gaze of thousands of eyes, Duke strutted onto the dock like he owned the place, heading toward the dark sea that looked meaner than a junkyard dog.
The sea was throwing a tantrum—waves higher than houses and winds that could knock a giant flat on his backside. The only thing certain was that there wasn't a single boat in sight, not even a bathtub with a sail.
Duke had sworn on his mother's grave to every Stormwind leader that he'd get these fifty thousand soldiers out safe and sound. But how in Sam Hill was he going to manage that?
"Is Master Duke fixing to open a portal?" whispered one knight who thought he knew a thing or two about magic.
"Impossible as a snowball's chance in hell! I've seen wizard portals—they're shakier than a leaf in a tornado. Even the best archmage can't teleport more than ten people without something going sideways," his buddy shot back.
"It ain't no portal," General Tom Seamus chimed in, sounding sure as death and taxes. "Even that Dark Gate that brought the orcs here can't handle more than five hundred at a time. Fifty thousand? That's like trying to stuff an elephant through a keyhole."
Before anyone could blink, Duke had reached the end of the pier.
"Holy moly!" came the collective gasp as Duke seemed to slip and fall into the drink like a stone.
But then Duke took his next step as solid as if he were walking on his own front porch.
Ice!
By all that's holy, it was ice!
Cold air spread from Duke's boots faster than gossip in a small town, freezing everything in sight quicker than you could say "Jack Frost." The massive waves charging at him froze solid, looking like they'd been caught red-handed trying to cause trouble. The angry sea turned docile as a lamb, frozen in place like it was posing for a portrait.
The entire ocean in front of the pier turned into Duke's personal ice rink.
This wasn't just any old ice spell—this was ice magic that would make winter itself tip its hat in respect.
Duke's ice shield expanded like it had a mind of its own, bigger than a barn and twice as impressive. Every drop of seawater that touched his magic froze instantly, while ice tornadoes inside the shield spun like the world's angriest blenders, smoothing out every bump and spike until the surface was flatter than a pancake.
The sound of ice chips grinding filled the air like nature's own symphony.
With each step Duke took, a colossal ice platform grew beneath his feet, bigger than anything anyone had ever dreamed of.
This wasn't just an iceberg—this was an ice continent.
The pier was wide, but this ice platform stretched three hundred meters across and kept growing like Jack's beanstalk on steroids.
From where they stood, it looked like the world's most impressive ice ship—a vessel so massive it made every other boat look like a child's toy.
Three-masted ships? Five-masted ships? They were nothing but dinghies compared to this floating ice palace.
Even the aircraft carriers from Duke's previous life would've looked like bathtub toys next to this frozen leviathan.