Chapter 511: You Die, I Live

In this very moment, Dalaran was cloaked in an eerily tense atmosphere.

"The elite of Lordaeron have been defeated?"

"Fear not. We still have Duke Marcus!"

"Indeed! As long as he stands, there's nothing we need to fear."

What was supposed to be a historic large-scale elite assault, beyond anyone's imagination, became a colossal joke. Just like the naive orcs who naively tried naval warfare with the humans and ended up fodder. Today, Lordaeron became the butt of all jokes.

Having assembled the elite knights from half the kingdom, in less than an hour, at least seventy percent were slaughtered. King Terenas could already envision the upcoming days filled with criticisms from the entire Lordaeron nobility.

If it was just a mere defeat, it would be bearable. The entire Lordaeron could share the blame and together, they could heal their wounds. But no, there was Duke.

Who would have thought that Duke, presumed dead in some corner, would emerge and perfectly use Lordaeron's elite as bait, drawing away a bunch of Horde chieftains.

Wasn't it agreed that he would lead?

How did the great nation of Lordaeron become a mere pawn?

Terenas was almost suffocated by the surge of rage within him. His face turned as dark as coal.

He was trembling all over. To others, it might seem like grief for the loss of the elite, but only he knew the resentment he felt towards a young man, a junior he once looked down upon.

Both Anduin Lothar and Duke Marcus, the choices for Alliance commanders, were seen as desperate measures.

The plan was simple: use Lothar, of noble birth, as a mascot and when things go south, discard Duke. That way, a general from Lordaeron would naturally rise to the rank of Alliance commander.

Who could have predicted that Anduin and Duke would cooperate perfectly? One would dominate the western battlefield while the other would coordinate the entire Alliance, organizing multiple successful military actions and expanding the Alliance from eight to ten nations?

Terenas was boiling inside.

A mere compromise resulted in two rookies from two southern remote countries becoming heroes of the Alliance. Despite Lordaeron's investment of money, manpower, and effort, it was not given a core position...

Terenas was on the verge of secretly ordering an assassination on Duke right then and there.

But he held back.

Whether or not the issue with the Red Dragon Queen could be resolved was still uncertain. If he acted against Duke now, the Alliance might collapse, which would be detrimental to Lordaeron.

Despite his brief lapse, the seasoned politician managed to suppress his emotional outburst, gradually calming himself.

"It seems the future of the Alliance lies in the hands of youngsters like Marcus," Terenas remarked, his tone now devoid of regret or excitement. If not for his previous outburst, one might think him a benevolent elder looking out for the next generation.

But no, Terenas had decided on his course of action with Duke: if suppression didn't work, he'd resort to flattery. By his estimation, the young man wouldn't see through such a tactic. And once Duke got carried away with pride, that would be his downfall.

A cold smirk appeared on Terenas' face.

Little did he know, Duke wasn't some naive sixteen-year-old from a remote village in Azeroth.

Duke, far away from Terenas and oblivious to his thoughts, wasn't concerned about the huge blunder made by Lordaeron.

In truth, the unexpected assault by Lordaeron, which ended up acting as a decoy for him, was completely unforeseen. From the beginning, Duke never intended to sabotage the Lordaeron forces.

After all, why would a minor power like Lordaeron intervene in a battle that surpassed mortal comprehension?

Terenas's blunder was his own doing. Why should Duke take the blame?

Duke's focus was solely on finding Alexstrasza.

From the start, the two ancient guardian dragons, the Red Dragon Queen and the Black Dragon King, were the focal points of this grand tale.

Sadly, Duke had no idea what was about to unfold. As a butterfly effect instigator that shifted the course of history, the changes Duke brought about were numerous.

In the original history, with the majority of Orgrim's forces defeated and only the Dragonmaw clan left to guard Grim Batol, the orc warlock in control of the Demon Soul, Nekros, took the most idiotic route. He fled the fortress, taking a vast number of red dragon eggs with him.

Now, with the Horde's main forces not entirely vanquished, the balance of power hadn't tipped in the Alliance's favor. Especially with several ancient red dragons assisting the Horde.

Nekros wasn't likely to flee, indicating a tough battle ahead.

As expected, Nekros appeared.

Silently, the grotesque head of an orc seemed to float in the darkness, the eerie blue glow illuminating the deep, weathered crevices of his green, old face. His long facial hair looked like withered grass rooted in parched earth. With sunken cheeks and a complexion reminiscent of a corpse, one could mistake Nekros for an undead rather than a living orc.

Nekros's tightly pressed lips revealed two sharp tusks that had carved slits into his lower jaw. His hood, embroidered with demonic runes, cast shadows over his eyes, the orbs within glowing with a lifeless light.

Nekros finally spoke in a voice that evoked images of death, his Common tongue rough but understandable, "Duke Marcus, the nightmare of the Horde. I never expected you to come."

Duke leaned on his staff, "In this world, it's the Horde that's the nightmare."

Nekros let out a coarse, ugly laugh, "Regrettably, after today, only one nightmare will remain."

He was right. The Red Dragonflight was the Horde's last trump card. After successive losses of the Blackrock and Warsong clans, the Horde no longer had the advantage in numbers or quality. The Alliance's terrifying military mobilization capabilities were now on full display.

Duke smirked, concluding the pointless debate, "

You die, I live!"