The Journey

After years of human settlement and cultivation, Eastern Tirisfal Glades was no longer covered by vast forests as it once had been. Instead, it had become one of the Kingdom of Lordaeron's major grain-producing regions.

It was home to several of the largest farms in the Kingdom of Lordaeron—Felstone Field, Dalson's Tears, and Gareth's Farm. Countless fields surrounded the heart of the region, Andorhal.

Snowmelt from the high mountains in the north of Eastern Tirisfal Glades surged southward, gathering in Lake Darrowmere. At the same time, snowmelt from the western part of the land, in the Alterac Mountains, flowed east along the rivers into Lake Darrowmere every spring. At last, the accumulated waters found an outlet to the south, crossing all of Hillsbrad Foothills from north to south before emptying into the sea.

The people living on the continent of Lordaeron collectively called these three rivers, which formed a Y-shaped junction, the Thondroril River. It irrigated the land and nurtured the cultures along its banks.

With convenient water transport and fertile soil blessed by good weather, Andorhal, situated on the shores of Lake Darrowmere, enjoyed advantages few places could match.

As time passed, the small town's advantageous location helped it grow into the shipping hub of central Lordaeron. Ships docked at its wharves every day, while others set sail from them. Trade brought wealth and cultural exchange, and these two pillars helped Andorhal gradually become an important town in the Kingdom of Lordaeron.

But just as light and darkness depended on each other, the long years of peace and Andorhal's economic rise brought the town not only vitality and wealth, but other problems as well.

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

The gray-black walls stood more than twenty feet high, and from a distance they already looked somewhat ancient. Since the town lay in the heart of the human kingdom, it had rarely experienced real warfare and had no moat. Its gates were nothing more than two heavy iron slabs.

Compared with the elite guards of Lordaeron's royal capital, the soldiers at the town gate lacked strict discipline and an imposing presence. Instead, they had a touch of a merchant's slickness.

Alvin had been watching the outside through the carriage window. He saw clearly that as his carriage approached the gate, flanked by two squads of guards, several soldiers lounging in the sun beside it rose like wolves who had spotted prey and slowly closed in.

The prince frowned. He disliked those predatory looks, and he disliked soldiers who failed to do their duty. But he didn't need to handle this himself. Abberton, promoted to captain of the guards for this journey, had already ridden over to speak with them.

The young Warrior merely lifted the cloak covering his armor a little, revealing the emblem engraved on his left breast. The soldiers, who had been acting so brazenly moments earlier, seemed to become different people. They respectfully returned to their posts, carrying themselves with a bearing almost equal to that of the royal capital's garrison.

Though he had already seen plenty of strange things, Alvin still couldn't help rubbing his eyes at the sudden change. After confirming he hadn't imagined it, he looked questioningly at Archbishop Faol, who had remained unruffled in the carriage.

Unlike Alvin, who had barely ever left Lordaeron's royal capital, the Archbishop had traveled through nearly every human kingdom in his youth and thus had a general understanding of the customs and conditions in each place.

The old man gently stroked Alvin's small head and smiled kindly. "Andorhal is a prosperous town, but its defenses are divided into two groups. One is the constables, who maintain order in the docks and inspect cargo. The other is the garrison soldiers standing before us."

"Although this town in Eastern Tirisfal Glades has almost never suffered an attack by outsiders, every autumn these garrison soldiers patrol the major farms around town, guarding against Gnolls and Kobolds straying out of the mountains and forests."

"So this is what they call compensation?"

The boy was quick to catch on. After a little thought, he already had his answer.

Archbishop Faol sighed softly and shook his head. "They are true warriors. They have given so much for the peace of the Kingdom of Lordaeron, so Andorhal's mayor and constables turn a blind eye to their usual behavior. Besides, most of them don't go too far."

When he finished, the old man gave the prince a deep look, silently adding to himself: Because they come from the common folk, these men can only be assigned to a team like this—an easy one, but with its share of danger—instead of becoming busy yet safe dock guards like Warriors from minor noble families.

In his eyes, Alvin might not seem to care much about class differences in his everyday behavior, but a child couldn't truly understand matters like these. His task was to shape the boy's views gradually, not force his own understanding onto him.

"No one is obligated to give themselves for others. We call such people heroes." Archbishop Faol drew the carriage curtain closed and patted the prince on the shoulder. Then he closed his eyes and leaned back against the cushions. "You need to learn, little by little, how to allocate resources and win people's hearts. Only then can you become a worthy lord."

"A lord?"

Alvin's lips moved, but no sound came out. Had his father already discussed with the Archbishop where in Lordaeron to send him, so he could become some kind of mountain chieftain? Was that perhaps why he had been assigned to accompany Archbishop Faol to Stratholme to study?

The boy had a vague feeling that he'd guessed something. He closed his eyes and began calculating what his possible future might hold.

Though summer had yet to arrive, the midday sun was already somewhat scorching. In the training grounds of Lordaeron's royal palace, young Arthas swung his practice sword with all his might. The prince's royal combat instructor stood nearby, carefully pointing out the flaws in his movements.

Seeing the prince, who had been listless for a while, putting in several times more effort than usual, the middle-aged Warrior smiled with satisfaction. When the hourglass set aside had run completely empty, the man raised a hand to stop the prince, whose posture was beginning to falter from exhaustion.

"Your Highness Arthas, that's enough for today. Too much training won't do your growing body any good."

Arthas nodded and silently accepted the towel his attendant handed him. A fierce determination burned in his eyes.

Although he didn't possess Alvin's outstanding talent as a Priest, physically he had advantages far beyond those of ordinary people. In the distant future, he would become the king of Lordaeron. He didn't want his younger brother to be forced to leave Lordaeron again because he was unable to protect him.

But the young prince had no idea that their father had already planned out separate paths in life for the two brothers. The king's will would not change, no matter how hard Arthas tried.