Damn, It's the Nice Guy—We're Doomed! [Farewell to the Old Year, Happy New Year]

Dick had once remarked that among the six great primordial forces forming the underlying framework of Azeroth's universe, the Holy Light was the most idealistic.

This was not nonsense on his part.

True History of the Dark Portal contained many proofs of this assessment. Those Holy Light Walkers active throughout history often erupted with unimaginable power when pushed into desperate straits.

The most typical example was Tirion Fuding, the third wielder of the Holy Light artifact Ashbringer ten thousand years ago and High Lord of the Argent Dawn.

The latter half of this old paladin's legendary life—mockingly called "Old Fuding"—might as well have had the words "cheat mode enabled" written plainly across his face. His exploits included, but were not limited to, regaining the Power of Holy Light after being stripped of his Holy Light Doctrine and witnessing his son's tragic death; and facing an agent of Death Force, summoning heroic spirits with the Holy Light to grievously wound an opponent he had no chance of defeating.

And then there was the most outrageous scene atop Icecrown Citadel.

When he was frozen by pure Death Force and on the verge of having his soul return to the Shadowlands, he called upon the Holy Light for strength and cleaved Frostmourne in two with a single strike—the Force Artifact personally forged by Primus, one of the wielders of Death Force.

Although Old Fuding failed to activate his cheat mode at the end of his fate, during the Battle of the Broken Shore, because Fel Force interfered with him, these feats were more than enough to demonstrate the Holy Light's "idealistic" nature.

Besides the Holy Light's favored child, Old Fuding, there were also Velen, Archbishop Yrel from another timeline, Sir Zeliek, who could still wield the Holy Light even after being captured by Death Force, and other Holy Light Walkers who provided tangible proof of this "cheat-enabled" power.

The other primordial forces rarely, if ever, produced such phenomena!

Fel Force grew through crude and simple "energy infusion." Arcane power rested on daily study and research. Life's blossoming depended on environment and time. Death's march was an even more straightforward accumulation of quantity and quality. As for the most mysterious and sinister Void, its power perhaps lay more in the mind, spirit, and talent.

In short, "explosive cheat-mode growth" was the unique "idealistic trait" of the Holy Light. It was not to be missed.

Dick currently had no way to analyze the underlying logic of this sudden burst, but he guessed it was related to one's personal Holy Light Doctrine—just like the pattern of behavior when he activated his cheat mode for the first time in his second life.

The more a Holy Light Walker's actions aligned with the Holy Light Doctrine he had established, the more the Power of Holy Light favored him.

Since it was an idealistic power, the only thing that could determine whether one's Holy Light shone brightly was likely the firmness of one's mind and one's resolve in following their doctrine.

When Old Fuding had been filled with doubt and inner conflict, the Holy Light had abandoned him.

Yet when the entire world faced the crisis of being trampled by death, he had achieved a world-shaking reversal in the form of Divine Descent.

That example itself already explained everything.

Just like now, Dick, blessed by the Holy Light, carried a warhammer blazing like a radiant torch. With Purifying Consecration beneath his feet, every step he took toward Sarkir built his momentum higher.

Under the Holy Light's enhancement, his absolute strength had already surpassed his limits. Though the restrictions of his physical vessel meant this enhancement had its limits, it had nonetheless erased the previously insurmountable gap in strength between him and Sarkir.

When the old wizard saw this defender before him suddenly burst forth, the curiosity and interest in his murky eyes deepened.

But personal curiosity could not come before the resolve to accomplish great things. Thus, when Dick launched his charge, Sarkir immediately struck back.

A Death Coil mixed with Shadow Fury crashed down. Yet before the fel-saturated orb could approach Dick, it was incinerated by scorching Holy Light. The savage Shadow Fury roared as it exploded, but it could not shake the actor who had already spread his "wings."

The demon guards rushing out from the Fel Beam raised their great axes and charged in to kill him, only to be knocked down one by one with Dick's hammer.

The scorching warhammer looked remarkably like a lightsaber.

Every strike easily shattered the bodies of those lesser demons. Even those not instantly killed would be driven from the material world in moments by the terrifying burns it inflicted.

With every swing of Dick's hammer, the sacred patterns wrapped around his body lit up.

The flashing Radiant Runes drawn directly from the Power of Holy Light seemed to gather some sort of destructive force. When the fifth Radiant Rune lit up at Dick's side, even Sarkir sensed danger.

The old wizard did not dare be careless. As Dick charged at him with the brutish force of an enraged "Holy Light thunder elephant," he formed a summoning spell and summoned a Voidwalker overflowing with shadow power from the fel vortex behind him.

This thing was a pure entity of shadow energy. It was difficult to classify as a true demon, but it did serve in the Burning Legion and was often controlled by warlocks.

The Shadowwalker was "sacrificed" by Sarkir the instant it appeared. He violently drained its energy to place a heavy shield over himself, the defensive spell most commonly used by warlocks.

Almost at the same instant, the raised warhammer came crashing down with tremendous force. The moment it struck the demon shield, it smashed cracks into it.

Before Sarkir's widened eyes, the Radiant Runes orbiting Dick hummed and spun, transforming into pure destructive power and unleashing a second strike at the point where the warhammer had landed.

The scorching radiance made Sarkir feel as though he had been thrown into magma. Those dancing flames of Holy Light tore through his shield with unwavering purpose and wrapped around his fel-blessed body.

They roared, determined to burn their enemy into harmless ashes.

It was a unique technique that abandoned all healing power and converted every last bit of it into destruction.

Sarkir was certain that this was not a use of Argus defender tactics. It could only be attributed to Diakum's unique understanding of the Holy Light.

But in the end, he endured this powerful Ashen Judgment with its secondary damage. The shield formed by sacrificing a demon shattered, the body temporarily strengthened by Dark Resolve was afflicted with Holy Light burns, and numerous wounds appeared across his flesh, but he had withstood Dick's most destructive strike.

That proved that although his opponent had erupted in power, his absolute strength had still not surpassed Sarkir's.

"How can borrowed power seize victory?"

The old wizard sneered and swung his claws, causing savage fel scythes to split into three heavy strikes against Dick, who was still in the recovery lag after casting. They scattered the Holy Light from his body—but the problem was, Dick had never said his Ashen Judgment only dealt damage twice.

The scattered Holy Light, guided by Dick while the old wizard was also caught in casting recovery, erupted one final time.

The final strike of Holy Light Trifecta was the most spectacular!

The dancing Radiant Runes raised a scorching storm as Dick whirled his warhammer like a cyclone. Beyond the Whirlwind Slash warriors excelled at, they imbued him with equally destructive radiant strikes. Those shining, razor-sharp runes sang in joyous acclaim, materializing in an instant and sweeping the old wizard, who could not dodge, and every demon around him into their midst.

Ha!

Take this, High Lord's super, three-stack, full-judgment, Ashen Echo Divine Storm!

The demons' collective wails proclaimed the end of that smooth little combo. After leaving Dick's weapon, the Divine Storm did not dissipate. The Radiant Runes forged from energy were sharp as blades, shaping the most savage destruction with the holiest of forms.

When the final rune dispersed into a feather of light, every demon around Dick and Sarkir had already been flayed and stripped to the bone.

It was as if they had been thrown into a blade storm and churned through it once. Not even a single intact corpse could be found among the fallen bodies, while the flames of Holy Light continued to burn, clinging to fel-filled bodies as they faithfully carried out their purification.

At that moment, the Holy Light seemed to regard Fel Force as fuel.

Those drifting feathers of light greedily devoured despair, transforming it into the most blazing hope before bursting forth as sacred flame.

Rings of Holy Light fire spread through the council hall, creating one holy ground after another. Behind Dick, Defender Malderan also rushed forward with his warhammer.

He strode through those holy grounds, and with every step of his charge, the Holy Light cheered as it attached itself to his weapon.

Though this passive enhancement was borrowed from Dick's radiance, the old defender was clearly no weaker than the "Holy Gun" in his burst state when it came to combat skill.

The instant Dick unleashed Divine Storm, Malderan leaped into the air with a roar.

Sarkir, having been struck three times in succession, was about to cast a vicious Shadow Burn to kill Dick when a Holy Light warhammer descended from the sky and smashed directly into his head in the form of a "leaping cleave."

As everyone knew, once the unique combat technique known as "leaping cleave" succeeded, it came with a 100% headshot rate. If you did not believe it, go ask Mannoroth, who was still somewhere in some forgotten corner of the Twisting Nether happily wreaking havoc.

The famous "Destroyer" was the most renowned—and most miserable—victim of leaping-cleave artistry in True History of the Dark Portal.

Boom!

The explosion of light blasted Sarkir away like a cannonball.

With a miserable cry, his entire body was hurled into the Fel Beam ahead. The fel horn that had been smashed off fell before Dick, and the panting man picked it up.

Malderan landed on the ground, propped himself up on his warhammer, and asked Dick, "Can you keep fighting?"

"Obviously!"

Dick, having snagged some spoils of war, straightened up. The Holy Light's blessing had been partially consumed by the triple strike, but what remained was still enough to continue fighting.

His absolute strength had ultimately not reached the level where he could withstand more primordial power. He was merely a mortal Walker, not even a legendary one. Even if the Holy Light wished to grant him more power, it could not.

The main concern was that giving him too much of a blessing might accidentally "melt" Dick. That would be hilarious.

Sigh. A big shot had finally handed out a red envelope in a good mood, yet he could not receive the biggest share. It really was an awful feeling, as painful as losing tens of millions out of thin air.

"How do we deal with this ritual?" Malderan shouted as he swung his warhammer and killed the demons lunging at them. "Make a decision, Dick! We can't remain deadlocked like this."

"Either destroy it or purify it. There is no third option."

Dick and Malderan stood back-to-back against the attacks of an astonishing number of savage demons. Dick replied, "But destroying the ritual will cause Fel Force to surge underground. I suspect Sarkir used Mac'Aree's arcane nodes for this ritual.

"That means if Fel Force contaminates the energy nodes, demonic corruption will take root in Argus. That stuff spreads on its own.

"Oronaar City might have to be abandoned in less than a few months."

Malderan, who had already steeled himself for death, was startled by that answer.

Oronaar City was the Eredar's oldest and most prosperous city, home to millions. The consequences if it were contaminated were simply unimaginable.

"Then what about purification?" he asked. "How do we purify it?"

"We cannot do it! A grand summoning ritual on this scale is already directly connected to the Fel Force of the Twisting Nether. At minimum, a Naaru must come in person."

Dick sighed. "All we can do is hold out and kill the demons guarding the ritual, weakening the summoning ritual's energy. Those protected demon witches! Malderan, kill them!"

He roared and charged out, while Malderan rushed in another direction, both aiming directly for the demon witches still maintaining the ritual.

These creatures came in all shapes and sizes: furtive Soul Judges, Destroyer Witches with six arms, all spellcasting units of the Burning Legion, which was still in its early stages.

Since they had to maintain the summoning ritual, they naturally had no time to fight. Faced with the defenders' ferocious charge, men who had already resolved to die, they could only rely on their escorting demons to stop them.

But Dick was currently in his burst state. His three-stack Ashen Judgment had failed to kill Sarkir only because the latter had the leader template and an absurdly large health bar. These ordinary demons, however, died from a brush and perished from a touch.

By the time the bedraggled Sarkir roared and charged out of the beam once more, wreathed in Fel Force, four of the demon witches maintaining the summoning ritual had already been taken down.

Dick had claimed three kills, while Malderan had risked his life to take down one.

There were only five demon witches in the entire damned ritual hall!

The result of losing four of them was catastrophic. The flow from the Fel Well unleashed by the grand summoning ritual had gone from a flood to a trickling, sputtering stream.

The rate at which demons rushed through the Fel Well into the material world was abruptly choked off. Sarkir became so anxious that he no longer cared about any master's dignity. With absolutely no honor, he opened with a sneaky little combo: Death Coil plus Shadow Fury to hard-control Malderan, allowing the weaker man to be surrounded by demons, before howling as he lunged at Dick, who was still slaughtering demons.

After being blasted into the Fel Well earlier, he had entered his "second phase" by the time he came back out.

Blackish-green bone spikes had grown around his already warped, hunched spine, twisted from his focus on Fel Force. Savage Fel Force curled around Sarkir's body in liquid form.

His hands had completely transformed into scaled claws, and even the claw tips had been "enchanted" by Fel Force, taking on a crystalline form.

Dick sensed a vicious wind at his back. When he turned and saw Sarkir's appearance, he nearly cried out, Holy shit, when did Phase Two Gul'dan get here?

Perhaps it was because Fel Force, as a primordial power, was simply too lacking in creativity. The might granted by infusing power was always the same old routine.

In any case, Old Sarkir pounced with a set of "fel military boxing," powerful and heavy, carrying terrifying flames and double fel burns. Though the old wizard had never seriously practiced close-combat techniques in his life, the advantage was his now, so he just had to hit hard.

One force could break ten techniques.

His brute-force assault really did entangle Dick. Sacred light flames and filthy fel fire erupted continuously throughout the ritual hall. The two men blessed by primordial power no longer had any concern for collateral damage.

Neither held back anymore. Their energy collisions even produced distinct, Mach-ring-like shockwaves.

Any weak demon that dared approach was crushed by the complicated AOE, and only mid-to-high-ranking demons like Doom Guards were qualified to approach the battlefield. Even then, they were quickly knocked down by Dick, who had erupted under desperate circumstances.

"Anach kyree!!! Material world... I have come... Doom has arrived! Overlord Karak has arrived!"

Just as Dick and Sarkir were exchanging fists and kicks with great enthusiasm, a deep demonic voice echoed beside Dick's ear like a tape played in reverse. He abruptly turned his head and saw the silhouette of an enormous Doom Lord within the Fel Beam, which had already been constrained to a tiny size.

The Burning Legion had sent its vanguard of destruction!

Even while still on the other side of the Twisting Nether, the fel aura it radiated invigorated the wretched demons.

This was a demigod demon!

At the very least, a demigod.

"You actually summoned Doom Lord Kazzak?"

Radiant Dick punched Sarkir in the face, then seized the old wizard by the throat and roared, "Do you know Kazzak is the most brutal demon lord? Every world it lands upon is left with nothing but an extinguished planetary core! Do you truly hate your clan members that much, you old lunatic?"

"I am saving you, idiot!"

Roaring, Sarkir battered Dick's torso with fists covered in fel spikes. The destructive power of pure Fel Force, combined with the constantly erupting Shadow Fury that had become a passive skill, shattered the beams of light wrapped around Dick piece by piece.

The Holy Light's blessing was nearly exhausted.

It was not that the Holy Light could no longer sustain this power, but that Dick's body could not bear it. If such a terrifying concentration of energy continued, his flesh and blood would soon be "steamed dry."

"Holy Light! Grant me the strength for one final strike!"

Dick called out.

The Holy Light quickly answered the plea of the Hand of Fate. Amid dimming radiance, the Radiant Runes lit up once more.

That temporary eruption of energy almost transformed him into a small sun. As he punched Sarkir to the ground, he pulled out Archimonde's soulstone and crushed it between his five fingers amid Sarkir's furious roar.

The headmaster's despairing screams echoed around Dick's ears, but he no longer had any possibility of returning to the material world.

Dick kicked away Sarkir, who was trying to pounce again, and rushed toward the final demon witch. He casually snatched the demonsteel great axe from a nearby demon guard and poured every last bit of Holy Light into it, turning it into a crystal-like blade. One second before Kazzak's left hoof was about to step onto Argus Land, he hurled the battle axe with all his remaining strength.

He was not striking at Sarkir.

He was aiming at the final target.

The Holy Light battle axe shot forth with a howl, becoming a bolt of golden lightning. Under the horrified gaze of the Destroyer Witch desperately maintaining the summoning ritual, it struck her in the next instant.

Then it "melted" her.

The instantaneous burst of radiance triggered an explosion of light flames, reducing her and every demon around her to ash.

Dick lost the last of his strength as well.

The light over his entire body dimmed. Panting, he fell to his knees. When he turned back, he heard Kazzak's furious roar. Without enough guidance, the Greater Demon Lord nearing the material world was being expelled back into the Twisting Nether.

Dick also saw Malderan, who had fought his way out of the demon horde with great difficulty.

He smiled, but before that smile could last even a second, a fel spike pierced through his armor and torso from behind amid Malderan's enraged roar.

The bedraggled Sarkir gritted his teeth and drove the demon war spear in his hand downward, pinning Dick to the scorching ground of Consecration.

The old wizard cursed, "You! You self-proclaimed righteous fool! You have no idea that you are wasting the little time Argus has left. The Dark Titan's gaze has already turned this way...

"What I am doing is the one true path to salvation!"

With that, he left the severely wounded Dick behind and limped toward the closing summoning ritual. With a wave of his hand, he cast Death Coil to knock away the charging Malderan. Then he raised both hands and used himself as the summoning node, restarting the ritual through a form of "self-sacrifice."

It was no exaggeration to say that he was "melting."

Even with Sarkir's spellcasting mastery, summoning a demon demigod into the material world alone was nearly suicidal. Yet he did it anyway.

This was absolutely not a sacrifice an Ambitious Person who had lost his faith could make.

Perhaps, just as this old lunatic said, he truly believed everything he did was meant to save Argus and its people.

Kazzak's roar became clear once again. The Fel Beam that had vanished pierced the sky anew. Sarkir endured extreme agony, but his gaze remained firm.

Everything seemed to have returned to its proper course—until an enormous meteor smashed precisely into the center of the summoning ritual.

Before Sarkir's shocked and despairing eyes, streams of arcane light outlined the imposing figure of an Eredar holding a holy staff and clad in the robes of a Grand Arcane Mage.

"Sarkir, Enlightener, my aged predecessor and fellow traveler on the path of truth, stop."

Velen's voice carried suppressed fury and killing intent. He said, "This is your final chance!"

"Grand Executor! Quickly, ask the Naaru to purify this ritual!"

The gravely wounded Malderan remembered Dick's explanation. Spitting blood, he shouted, "Fel Force is contaminating our world. Only the Naaru's Holy Light can purify it!"

Velen froze for a moment, then revealed a subtle expression.

After glancing at the holy staff in his hand, a gift from the Naaru K'ure a thousand years ago, the Grand Executor seemed to make up his mind.

"The holy Naaru maintains the barrier protecting the entire city. It cannot come here quickly, nor can it abandon that sacred duty at a time like this, child."

He stepped forward. The roaring demons were blasted to dust by the barrage of arcane missiles Velen casually cast. Sarkir was maintaining the ritual and had no strength to break free from the fel energy's restraints. He could only watch helplessly as Velen walked to his side.

"But I can... Tonight, the hour foretold by fate has come!"

He heard Velen murmur, then saw the first strand of golden light erupt from Velen's hand.

At that moment, his arcane power was converted into radiant energy at an astonishing speed. Compared to the intensity and volume of Holy Light Velen was receiving now, Dick's earlier astonishing outburst could only be called a "tiny splash."

Glorious Holy Light gathered around the Grand Executor's resolute body, like a newly risen golden sun shining upon these ruins polluted by fel energy.

When the radiant Velen stretched out his hand and touched the Fel Beam before him, Sarkir knew what he intended to do.

"No, don't!"

The old wizard pleaded in the most pathetic manner:

"Velen, don't! This is our last hope. You will enrage Him! Argus will be destroyed because of this. Don't!"

"We once swore to protect our people, Sarkir, my old friend. You are the one who has disappointed this world..."

That was Velen's answer.

The next instant, blinding Holy Light swallowed everything.

Its brilliant radiance forced even Malderan to raise a hand to shield his eyes. The demons fled in terror in every direction. Dick, pinned to the ground by the war spear, struggled to turn his head. The last thing he saw was the Fel Beam that shot into the heavens being transformed into golden streams of light beneath Velen's first purification.

The disaster was over.

Sarkir knelt at Velen's feet and wept, as though he had lost the last conviction that had sustained him this far.

He had completely broken down, but he was not dead yet...

"Kill him... Kill..."

Trembling, Dick picked up a demon hand axe beside him and hurled it at Sarkir. He used the last of his strength to do it, then fell into a long coma.

As he sank into darkness, his final thought was that it would have been so much better if someone cruel enough—Kil'jaeden—had come instead...

Velen.

A good man, a hesitant man, a savior, a man who wavered.