Eve

"Gnolls?"

Alvin was puzzled for a few seconds, then a name slipped out: "Logul!"

It had been half a year since all the gnolls were settled across various parts of the Kingdom of Lordaeron. Logul, the leader of that pack, had been dispatched by the Archbishop to the forests north of Darrowmere Forest several months ago. Long periods of warrior training had almost made the boy forget about those gnolls.

Calculating the time, if there had been any progress, those gnolls should have already returned under the control of the Kingdom of Lordaeron by now. Alvin believed that those gnolls, still in a semi-barbaric state, could never have escaped the machinations of a high-ranking mage like Kel'Thuzad on their own.

The boy vaguely remembered that Archbishop Faol's original mission for that gnoll shaman was to locate the gnolls scattered throughout Darrowmere Forest while simultaneously spying on the activities of the trolls in Zul'Aman. As far as he knew, the Archbishop attached great importance to this operation, even going so far as to personally persuade his father to specifically deploy half of the kingdom's troops stationed in Stratholme to stand by at the newly built Northland Fortress, and even conscripting many young warriors from across the entire Darrowmere Forest.

Could something have gone wrong? That fellow was tied to the plans he had prepared for the upcoming Orcish Horde war; if something happened...

Thinking of this, Alvin felt a tightness in his chest and quickened his pace.

Somewhat unexpectedly, Abberton did not take him to the Archbishop's study, but instead led him to the entrance of the chapel, walking across a somewhat empty plaza. The large square in front of the chapel was off-limits to carriages, a rule passed down from many years ago—to show faith and respect for the Holy Light. No one could violate it; even if Terenas himself were to arrive, he would have to abide by such a law.

The Archbishop's private carriage was parked quietly at the edge of the plaza. The old, paint-chipped carriage was surrounded by a squadron of fully armed knights holding warhorses—all clad in silver-gray armor, wearing iron helmets, wielding long spears, and carrying longswords at their waists. The tabards they wore revealed their identity: the elite of the Royal Knights.

An old man wearing a simple linen robe revealed a side profile through the open carriage window, smiling as he called him over: "Alvin, come up quickly!"

Climbing nimbly into the carriage, the boy discovered that besides the Archbishop who had been waiting for him, Kel'Thuzad, who had been holed up in his laboratory for half a year without seeing the light of day, was also leaning against the carriage window, quietly resting with his eyes closed.

Although there had been some unpleasantness with Uther before, for a "minor matter" like teaching a lowly warrior a lesson, the young mage, who was entirely focused on arcane research, had simply turned around and forgotten it. Furthermore, he had spent the last half-year holed up in his room, obsessed with perfecting his spell research and writing records, and had not crossed paths with Uther since.

Years later, this fanatical pursuit of the arcane would eventually lead this brilliant mage into darkness. But before that, his efforts would still contribute to human spell research. According to news from a chat with Abberton a few days ago, Kel'Thuzad seemed to have completed two profound works in the past six months—Introduction to Conjuration Spell Application and On the Improvement of Evocation Spells: The Morphological Application of Frostbolt.

If Alvin's memory served him correctly, toward the end of the Second Orcish Horde War, this impossibly young mage would secure a seat on the Kirin Tor Council of Six by virtue of his powerful spell mastery and profound theoretical attainments. That would be the most glorious moment of his life, and also the turning point of his existence. For after that, he would come into contact with the dark magic of orcish warlocks and the necromancy strictly forbidden by the Kirin Tor, eventually falling into the abyss from which he could not extricate himself.

For this mage who cared for nothing but the arcane, Alvin had no thoughts of saving him, nor did he wish to have too much interaction with him.

However, etiquette was indispensable.

"Teacher, Master Kel'Thuzad."

After paying his respects, the prince sat beside the old man at Archbishop Faol's invitation, opened his eyes wide, and asked: "Teacher, where are we going?"

In the northern autumn, the lingering warmth of summer always dissipated particularly quickly. The Harvest Festival had not yet arrived, but a chill was already beginning to permeate the air. The elderly Archbishop wore a grayish-brown fur coat over his patched robe; his aged face could not hide his fatigue, but his slightly narrowed eyes still emitted a sharp light.

"Northland Fortress," the old man said softly, his tone a bit high, as if he had encountered something good.

"Logul has brought us a surprise; that gnoll shaman has led more than half of the Blackpaw Gnolls to surrender to us."

The old man's somewhat withered palm rested on the boy's shoulder, expressing his appreciation without any concealment: "There is also news of the gnolls scattered in other parts of the kingdom; we are no longer in the dark about the distribution of those beasts. In the face of the kingdom's military might, those gnolls will eventually understand how to choose. Your ideas are about to become reality, my disciple."

"As long as we can successfully reclaim those beasts roaming the mountains and wilderness, the power of Lordaeron will be greatly enhanced. When the potential war arrives, the scales of victory will tilt in our favor."

A kind smile appeared on Archbishop Faol's slightly gaunt cheeks as he dotingly ruffled the boy's golden hair, secretly rejoicing that he had been able to support this child's peculiar ideas at the time.

"Success!"

In the study of the Royal Palace of Lordaeron, Terenas tapped the tabletop lightly, expressing the excitement in his heart. After calming down, he closed the documents in his hand and issued an order to his captain of the guard: "Cyril, begin the final allocation of supplies now; I want all the warriors assembled after Brewfest. News from the south says that Stormwind City is being besieged by the Orcish Horde; we must complete this exercise before winter ends!"

"The gnolls who have chosen to defect to the kingdom will be left entirely to Alonsus. As for future prisoners, send them all to Stratholme; Alonsus knows what to do."

The king, whose energy was somewhat lacking, reached out his slender fingers to press his temples, paused, and then continued: "The Champions of Lordaeron are far more important than the grain piled up in the warehouses. Spread the news that Stormwind City is under siege; those fence-sitters won't have the guts to raise any objections!"

"As you command, Your Majesty!"