Paladin

Three small heads poked out cautiously from a slightly opened glass window in the conference room. However, they only caught the first half of Anduin Lothar's impassioned speech before a voice suddenly rang out from far behind them.

"You three little ones over there—"

The rough, booming voice made the three, already feeling guilty like thieves, spin around in unison. They discovered a short "iron can" standing in the courtyard not far away. No, to be precise, it was a fully armored Dwarf.

With a prominent bulbous nose and brown-yellow whiskers braided into three long plaits that hung past his waist, each braid was tied at the end with a gleaming silver ring. Aside from his sturdy forehead and exaggerated beard, the stranger was encased from head to toe in solid plate armor, looking just like a stout iron can.

Even more eye-catching were the battle-axe and warhammer on the Dwarf's back, which looked larger than his own body. The polished surfaces of the weapons shimmered slightly under the sunlight, drawing everyone's gaze. Mountain King. After scanning the stranger's attire from head to toe, Alvin quickly reached a conclusion in his mind.

Unlike their kin who were obsessed with developing new firearms or traveling the world to unearth the mysteries of Titan relics, Mountain Kings were born solely for battle. They turned the Dwarven legacy of ale, blood, hard drinking, and thunder—of blood-stained axes and bone-crushing hammers—into a tradition that had endured for thousands of years.

They were the most revered idols of the Ironforge warriors, the most powerful champions among the Ironforge Dwarves, and the eternal guardians of Ironforge. Many Mountain Kings were descendants of nobility or prestigious houses; only those with ancient bloodlines could truly awaken the Titan power within them, becoming mighty beings capable of wielding thunder and transforming into living statues.

At this juncture, with the Orcs on the verge of invasion, the only Mountain King who could appear in the Lordaeron palace in full battle gear was Muradin Bronzebeard, who would later go missing in Northrend due to Arthas, become the King of the Frost Dwarves, and eventually help establish the Council of Three Hammers.

However, it was clear that not everyone had the leisure to carefully observe someone else's attire. By the time the boy regained his senses, Varian, having been caught red-handed, had already stepped forward to whisper an explanation to the burly short man: "Your Excellency, you have misunderstood..."

Unlike the anxious Varian, Arthas had already recognized this envoy from Ironforge by his unique physique and exaggerated beard. He stepped quickly to Varian's side and bowed respectfully, "Lord Muradin!"

He had already been notified that his father intended for this Dwarf warrior, skilled in axes, hammers, and combat, to serve as his martial arts instructor during his stay in Lordaeron. The young prince, of course, did not realize his father was laying the groundwork for his future connections; he simply did not want to embarrass himself in front of his future teacher.

"Three of you..." As he spoke, the Dwarf warrior swept his gaze over the two children who were roughly his height, though he paused slightly when he tilted his head up to meet Varian's eyes. "Hmm, Your Highness, eavesdropping is not a good thing."

It was well known that besides their short, stocky stature and the importance they placed on their beards, the greatest characteristic of Dwarves was their booming voices, which were louder than trumpets. Even what they considered a whisper could be heard clearly by someone on the other side of the street.

If they continued to tangle with him here, the guards stationed nearby would have to react based on their identities, but if it interfered with the discussions in the conference room, that would be a real problem. Therefore, Alvin spoke up to admit their mistake directly.

"Of course, this was just a small accident. I believe a powerful and loyal Dwarf warrior wouldn't speak ill of a few children behind their backs, would he?"

After saying this, the boy turned to look at Varian and Arthas. At the boy's signal, the two nodded repeatedly, clearly not wanting to escalate the situation.

Facing three children who were still just kids, the straightforward Dwarf warrior naturally didn't want to make a scene. He waved his hand, his armor plates clattering with a dull sound. "Fine! Don't let it happen again, you crafty little ones."

The warm currents of early spring quietly drew the curtain on the final act of late winter. The old carriage wheels turned with a rhythmic "rumble," emitting a crisp clatter as they struck the gravel on the road. Accompanied by the steady beat of horse hooves, the joyous babbling of forest streams, and the clamor of birds and beasts, it sounded like a lullaby.

Inside the warm carriage, equipped with a constant-temperature magic array, Archbishop Faol—who had left the Lordaeron palace shortly after arriving and was now heading north again with Alvin—had fallen into a deep sleep after the exhaustion of days of travel.

The boy carefully lifted the curtain, observing the disciplined squad of knights surrounding the carriage and the guests from Stormwind riding in the middle of the procession—Anduin Lothar, his lieutenant Turalyon, and a small group of young soldiers who had followed them in their flight from Stormwind City.

"Paladins."

The boy whispered, his small face—marked by two large dark circles—wearing a strange expression: excitement mixed with a hint of regret, disappointment laced with a touch of relief.

According to the information the Archbishop had revealed to him, their journey north was for a new profession system the Archbishop had developed over the past six months: the Paladins, a concept the boy had been longing for.

It was created so that priests, who spent all their time in prayer and praise of the Holy Light due to a lack of combat talent, would understand that fighting was not base or shameful, and that donning armor to charge into battle was also a form of praise for the Holy Light. It was also to allow ordinary warriors who believed in the Holy Light but lacked the talent to be priests to use divine magic, becoming a force for humanity to combat disaster.

Over the past six months, Archbishop Faol had made progress with the help of his disciple Benedictus and the two most renowned warriors in Stratholme, Uther and Saidan Dathrohan. Next, he would guide those warriors willing to pledge loyalty to Lordaeron and ordinary priests with insufficient talent into the path of the Paladin in Stratholme.

However, according to Archbishop Faol, this profession system was not suitable for the boy at the moment. Or rather, a priest with overly exceptional talent could hardly become a Paladin—

Advancing to this brand-new profession required an individual to open their heart and mind, immersing themselves in communion with the Holy Light. But a priest with such high perception as Alvin would not only feel the majestic power of the Holy Light during the ritual but would also be influenced by the omnipresent power of the Shadow, making success difficult.

Coupled with the boy's physical weakness resulting from years of continuous slumber, becoming a knight who donned plate armor to charge across the battlefield was clearly asking too much.

To paraphrase the old man's lecture to the boy—

"When the heavens bestow something upon a person, they will inevitably take something else away; this is what is called destiny. Although everyone can sense the Holy Light, not everyone can become a knight favored by it. Besides, a priest is not necessarily weaker than those hulking knights."