The Journey

After years of pioneering and cultivation by humanity, the Eastern Tirisfal Glades are no longer dominated by vast forests, having instead become a primary grain-producing region within the Kingdom of Lordaeron.

Several of the largest farms in the Kingdom of Lordaeron are located here—Felstone Field, Dalson's Tears, and Gareth's Farm—with numerous fields surrounding the heart of this land: Andorhal.

Snowmelt from the high mountains in the north of the Eastern Tirisfal Glades flows mightily southward, converging into Lake Darrowmere. Simultaneously, snowmelt from the Alterac Mountains to the west of this land flows eastward along rivers every spring to join Lake Darrowmere. Finally, the accumulated lake water finds an outlet in the south, traversing the entire Hillsbrad Foothills from north to south before emptying into the sea.

These three rivers, forming a Y-shape, are collectively known to the people living on the continent of Lordaeron as the Thondroril River; it irrigates the land and nurtures the culture that has flourished along its banks.

With convenient water transport and fertile soil blessed by favorable weather, Andorhal, situated on the shores of Lake Darrowmere, possesses unique and advantageous conditions.

As time passed, the small town, taking advantage of its geographical position, gradually became the shipping hub for the central part of the continent of Lordaeron. Every day, ships dock at its piers, and ships set sail from them. Exchange brought the accumulation of wealth and the fusion of cultures; these two pillars supported Andorhal as it slowly grew into an important town in the Kingdom of Lordaeron.

However, just as light and darkness are interdependent, the years of peace and Andorhal's economic rise brought vitality and wealth to the town, but also brought other problems.

After a difficult journey of nearly ten days, on a bright afternoon, the carriage carrying Alvin and the Archbishop finally arrived before the town.

The twenty-foot-tall grey-black walls looked somewhat ancient from a distance. Because it is located in the heart of the human kingdom, this town, which has not experienced any real war, lacks a moat, and the city gates are merely two thick, heavy iron plates.

Compared to the elite guards of the capital of Lordaeron, the guards stationed at the city gate lack strict discipline and an intimidating aura, instead carrying a touch of merchant-like slickness.

Observing the outside through the carriage window, Alvin clearly saw that as their carriage, escorted by two teams of guards, approached the gate, the group of soldiers lounging and sunbathing by the gate looked like a pack of wild wolves that had spotted prey, slowly closing in.

The prince frowned; he did not like this aggressive gaze, nor did he like soldiers who failed to perform their duties. However, this matter did not require him to step forward, as Abberton, who had been promoted to captain of the guard due to the plans for this trip, had already ridden his horse forward to negotiate.

The young warrior merely lifted the cloak draped over his armor slightly, revealing the emblem engraved on his left chest. The soldiers, who had been boorish just moments before, seemed like different people, standing respectfully back at their posts and displaying a posture almost equal to that of the garrison of the capital of Lordaeron.

Although he had long since seen many strange events, Alvin could not help but rub his eyes at such a change and discrepancy. After confirming he had not seen wrong, he looked with some confusion at Archbishop Faol, who remained calm and composed in the carriage.

Unlike Alvin, who had hardly ever left the capital of Lordaeron, the Archbishop had traveled to almost every human kingdom in his youth, and thus had a general understanding of the customs and practices of various places.

The old man gently stroked Alvin's small head, a kind smile appearing on his face as he spoke: "Andorhal is a prosperous town, but its city defense system is divided into two categories: one is the security force that maintains order and inspects goods in the dock area, and the other is the garrison we see before us."

"Although this town in the Eastern Tirisfal Glades has almost never been attacked by outsiders, these garrison soldiers must patrol around the major farms near the town every autumn to guard against Gnolls and Kobolds wandering out from the mountains and forests."

"So, is this a so-called compensation?"

The boy's reaction was quick; after a simple moment of thought, he had the answer in his heart.

Archbishop Faol sighed slightly and shook his head. "They are true warriors who have sacrificed much for the peace of the Kingdom of Lordaeron, which is why the mayor and the sheriff of Andorhal turn a blind eye to their usual behavior. Moreover, most of them do not go too far."

After speaking, the old man looked deeply at the prince and silently added in his heart—because of their commoner origins, these people can only be assigned to such idle yet dangerous teams, rather than becoming busy but stable dock guards like warriors of minor noble birth.

In his eyes, although Alvin usually does not seem to care about the differences between classes, these things are not something a child can truly understand. What he must do is subtly shape the child's own values, rather than forcibly imposing his own understanding upon him.

"No one is obligated to sacrifice for others; such people, we call them heroes." Archbishop Faol pulled down the curtain on the carriage window, patted the prince on the shoulder, and closed his eyes, leaning back against the cushion. "You need to slowly learn how to allocate resources and control the hearts of men; only then can you become a qualified lord."

"A lord?"

Alvin's lips moved, but he made no sound. Could it be that his father had already discussed with the Archbishop where he would be assigned in Lordaeron to be a local ruler in the future? Perhaps this was the reason he was arranged to accompany Archbishop Faol to Stratholme for study?

Vaguely, the boy felt he had guessed something. He closed his eyes and began to calculate in his heart for a possible future.

Even though it was not yet summer, the midday sun was still somewhat scorching. In the royal palace of Lordaeron, young Arthas was swinging his practice sword with all his might in the training ground, while the prince's royal martial arts instructor stood to the side, carefully pointing out the problems in his movements.

Seeing the prince, who had been listless for a while, show several times more effort than usual, the middle-aged warrior revealed a satisfied smile. When the hourglass set aside had completely run out, the man reached out to stop the prince, whose posture was about to collapse from fatigue.

"Prince Arthas, it is time. Excessive training is not beneficial to your physical growth."

Arthas nodded, silently taking the towel handed to him by the attendant, his eyes burning with intense fighting spirit.

Although he did not possess the outstanding priestly talent that Alvin had, he had a physical advantage far beyond others. In the distant future, he would become the King of Lordaeron, and he did not want his younger brother to be forced to leave Lordaeron again because of his own incompetence.

However, the young prince would not have guessed that his father had long since arranged their respective life paths for the two brothers; the King's will would not be changed by his efforts.