Prejudice

As noon approached, the sun's rays fell almost straight down from above. The warmth they brought to the ground, combined with the cool, moist air, made for a pleasant, comfortable feeling.

Alvin walked briskly behind the guards escorting the Gnoll, glancing now and then at the royal guard beside him, who had tried several times to speak but held back. A sly, lively glint flashed in the boy's eyes.

After hesitating for quite some time, the young knight could no longer hold back his question. "Your Highness Alvin, are you really planning to accept that Gnoll's allegiance? They've always been enemies of Lordaeron!"

Just as he'd expected. Seeing Abberton's conflicted expression, the boy understood.

Even though Abberton was loyal, fearless, and skilled in combat, the young man couldn't escape the influence of his society. He had a flaw common to most people born and raised in Lordaeron: pride and hostility toward outsiders.

That pride had taken root many years ago among the first waves of migrants from various kingdoms who crossed the Wall of Thoradin and settled in northern Lordaeron. As time passed, the seedlings grew into towering trees, becoming a common failing among nearly all the humans of Lordaeron.

Ever since the alliance of humans and elves defeated the Amani Empire more than 2,800 years ago and drove the Trolls into the depths of their forests, the peoples of the north had begun to spread out. Starting with the founding of Dalaran, the lords of Stromgarde, unwilling to sit idle, had ventured north to claim new lands. Gilneas, Alterac, Kul Tiras, and Lordaeron were all established as city-states during this period.

Humans reclaimed fertile land in the north, built sturdy walls, and made new homes. But their peaceful, happy days didn't last long. In a rainy spring, hordes of Trolls poured out of the mountains and forests, launching a brutal invasion against the humans, who had spread out across the region.

The defenseless common folk were slaughtered, and countless homes were burned to the ground. In the era following Emperor Thoradin's death, the descendants of the Arathor royal bloodline took refuge behind the Wall of Thoradin and fought a defensive war, just as they had against the High Elves. They ignored the city-states' pleas for help, even when messengers were sent to beg for aid.

In their desperate hour, the city-states, with nowhere left to retreat, summoned strength they'd never shown before. Countless heroes stepped forward, one after another, and marched to the front lines. The fires of war spread across northern Lordaeron, and hot blood was spilled on the land they loved.

The war lasted six months, ending only in autumn, when the rivers ran dry and the leaves began to fall. That autumn, countless old men lost their sons, countless wives lost their husbands, and countless children lost their fathers. Countless heroes gave their lives to keep the Troll army forever on the land it had coveted.

Once again, humans showed the Trolls that even if they couldn't match their enemy's physical strength or individual fighting prowess, they would never yield. Humanity had an unbreakable will and an undying faith!

From then on, every autumn, the people of northern Lordaeron celebrated after bringing in the fruits of a year's labor, remembering the heroes who had given their lives to defend the human race. That was how the Harvest Festival began.

It was also after that war that the northern city-states gradually drifted away from Stromgarde in the Arathi Highlands, eventually bringing about the breakup of the Empire of Arathor and the current state of rival kingdoms.

After enduring that Troll invasion, the people of the kingdoms north of the Wall of Thoradin grew increasingly proud. They believed their kingdoms had accomplished what even Emperor Thoradin could not: driven the Trolls entirely from human lands through human strength alone, without relying on outside help!

Faced with a pride that had endured for more than a thousand years, the people of Lordaeron even looked down on the humans of the Kingdom of Stormwind, calling them country bumpkins who'd never experienced war. And as for the Dwarves who lived in the snowy mountains and forests, most commoners couldn't even tell Bronzebeard Dwarves from Wildhammer Dwarves.

As for the High Elves, once their allies, the proud humans saw them as a people who had been kept penned in a tiny corner of the world by the Trolls. Years of peace had made the people of Lordaeron arrogant, and they'd gradually gone from looking up to the Elves, masters of the Arcane, to treating them with hostility.

In the eyes of most humans, Dalaran was full of people who'd learned magic from the High Elves and made a living dabbling in the occult. Powerful human warriors in particular both envied the mages' ability to wield great power with a wave of the hand and mocked their frail bodies, worn down by years of study. They were also jealous of the mages' nouveau-riche habit of throwing money around.

If even the High Elves, who had once allied with humans and lived alongside them in peace, were quietly shunned by the people of Lordaeron, it went without saying that Gnolls and Kobolds—who roamed the mountains and wilderness and often clashed with humans—were treated even worse.

In the eyes of most humans, these wolf-headed or dog-headed creatures were nothing but beasts that happened to walk upright. Calling them "people" was an insult to humanity. On top of that, these monstrous humanoids often raided human lands in small bands. Years of accumulated conflict had left people with more than enough reason to be prejudiced against these savage beasts.

After spending more than two years together, Alvin knew his loyal guard very well. Abberton had barely opened his mouth, and the boy already knew what the young man wanted to say: he was worried that accepting the Gnoll's allegiance might bring Alvin trouble.

He was right. If Alvin publicly announced that he was taking the Gnolls under his wing, word would spread, and his reputation in Lordaeron would plummet. Being branded a heretic would be the least of it; he might even end up despised like the mysterious mages of Dalaran.

After all, in the eyes of most ordinary people who didn't know the truth, those eccentric mages were a bunch of people whose souls had been corrupted. When they died, they would fall into an abyss where demons dwelled!

Although Alvin didn't care much about his reputation in Lordaeron, since he couldn't inherit the throne, a complete loss of face would seriously hinder his plans. It might even dishearten Abberton, the guard who had worked tirelessly to protect him.

So the prince shook his head without hesitation and plainly denied the guard's guess.

"You're overthinking it, Abberton. I'm not going to accept those beasts' allegiance for now." Alvin paused, then continued in a voice only the two of them could hear. "At least, not until the time is right."