My Name Is Duke, and I'm the Best

A genius! An absolute genius!

An unquestionably once-in-a-millennium genius!

Not even Khadgar, Medivh's disciple, had displayed such earth-shattering talent at the tender age of thirteen or fourteen!

The only one whose talent could possibly rival Duke's was likely Medivh, the current Guardian of the world!

But who was Medivh?

His mother was Aegwynn—the strongest Guardian in a thousand years of the Council of Tirisfal, which had been secretly founded by the Magocracy Council of Dalaran, humanity's sacred land of mages, and the High Elves' Silvermoon Council in distant Quel'Thalas to prevent calamity and the destruction of the world!

Even his lesser-mentioned father, Nielas Aran, had been a renowned court mage of Stormwind.

He had the most impeccable pedigree imaginable!

Yet Duke, this little brat who had crawled out of who knew what mountain backwater, possessed equally astonishing talent. That drove the mages mad.

In the world of mages, aside from mage families that had produced mages generation after generation, factions were generally divided according to the inheritance of particular schools of magic. For the Stormwind Royal Academy of Arcane Arts, which took disciples throughout the human world and even in the High Elf kingdom of Quel'Thalas, one's background did not matter. There were simply too few promising mage candidates among humans.

If one became Duke's master, wouldn't one have a chance to cultivate a court archmage?

Mages had never been solitary individuals.

Every mage usually had followers, their own fief, and their own power base, ensuring they could obtain sufficient resources for advancement and funds for magical experiments.

Many mages who had originally been on good terms with the Brando family immediately tossed the Brando family's request to the back of their minds upon seeing this.

Snatch him! They had to snatch him!

Whoever took Duke as their disciple might soar to greatness alongside him.

Duke's performance in the seventh round made the mages' eyes turn bloodshot!

What had Duke done?

He had actually circled along the outer edge of the opponent's [Blizzard], then, while the Blizzard crackled as it hurled down chunks of ice, fired a [Frostbolt] through a gap in the hail and took out his opponent.

He cleared all seven rounds!

His victories had been utterly clean and decisive.

Just as a whole crowd of mages in the observation room rose, preparing to go meet Duke, this once-in-a-millennium genius, they suddenly discovered that Duke had entered the eighth round.

"What!? Aren't there only seven rounds?" Every mage froze, and in the next instant, they all thought of one possibility...

The change in the scene before him left Duke somewhat dumbfounded as well.

Seven consecutive duels had made him nearly forget that there was also such a thing as Karazhan Chess.

The chessboard was no longer a chessboard.

What the other mages saw was Emperor Thoradin commanding a human Alliance centered around the human Arathi Tribe in a great battle against the Northern Troll Empire.

But what entered Duke's field of vision was a vast prairie at dusk.

The two armies faced each other. The prairie was filled with the heavy breathing of human soldiers, the neighing of horses, and the low, teeth-grinding roars of enormous black-furred dire wolves.

The two sides were like colossal beasts about to fight to the death on the plains. Just feeling that dense, weighty battle intent was enough to make any rookie stepping onto a battlefield for the first time wet themselves.

The slanting sun crossed the low, rolling hills in the distance and poured its light across the prairie. Heaven and earth were awash in orange-red, as though preparing to witness the blood that would soon be spilled upon this land!

Not far from Duke, Stormwind's King Llane's golden, ear-length hair gleamed brilliantly beneath the setting sun.

Llane—he was the center of this battlefield!

As long as Llane was killed, the Horde would achieve total victory. Conversely, if Chief Blackhand of the Horde was slain, the Alliance would win!

Duke followed Llane's gaze into the distance, the formations of both sides reflected in his eyes.

Before him was no longer a monotonous chessboard, but a true battlefield.

The voice of Stormwind's commander, Lothar, echoed in his ears.

Standing beside Llane, Lothar swept out his hand. His powerful roar resounded across the field: "Prepare for battle! First combat formation, form a shield wall! Baros, Jiajia Sha, get the cavalry on both flanks moving! Prepare to countercharge the wolf riders!"

Stormwind's nobility was rotten, but it had to be said that under the great Lothar's training, the Stormwind Guard, one of the strongest armies among the human kingdoms, performed flawlessly.

Facing orc soldiers who stood two heads taller than them at a minimum, they showed no disorder whatsoever. They moved almost instantly. The soldiers in the first rank drove the pointed bases of their greatshields into the ground beneath their feet, then the soldiers in the second rank braced their greatshields atop those of the first rank.

The spearmen in the third and fourth ranks leveled their spears. With a rustle, a forest of gleaming, cold lances appeared outside the shield wall.

Anyone who tried to assault such a formation would undoubtedly pay a terrible price.

Five minutes! Only five minutes!

In Duke's field of vision, an incomparably disciplined battle line had already formed before him.

"Warriors!" King Llane raised his warhammer high. "Would you allow those filthy enemies to gallop across the lands of the Stormwind Kingdom? Yet with the enemy's arrival, war has become unavoidable—behind you lies your home, Stormwind! Many of you may sleep here forever, but your families and your countrymen will survive because of your brave struggle! And once we win, from this day onward, across the lands of the Eastern Kingdoms, in every tavern and from the lips of every elder, our names will be passed down from generation to generation."

"For the Alliance—fight!"

With Llane's shout, the soldiers' momentum instantly surged to its peak.

"Fight—"

Thousands upon thousands of voices and countless wills merged into one. Even though Duke knew this scene was an illusion, his heart still swelled with fervor.

At that moment, Duke suddenly noticed Anduin Lothar walking over. This incomparably handsome Alliance hero, with his charming full beard and square face, patted Duke on the shoulder and smiled. "The magical support strikes are up to you. With you here, I don't think Stormwind will fall into a disadvantage in the battle of magic."

With you here...

With you here...

With you here...

For some reason, warmth rose in Duke's heart. Even though he knew this was an illusion, even though he knew this Lothar was fake, he still felt needed and acknowledged.

"All right! Leave it to me!"

Behind Duke, a young mage who looked like a high-ranking mage stepped forward and said to him, "Esteemed archmage, the Stormwind Mage Corps will act entirely according to your instructions. Wherever your spells strike, the Mage Corps' attacks will surely follow."

Oh? So this was like having the archers fire in volleys?

Duke smiled.

But the Stormwind army could not smile. They had fallen into an absolute disadvantage in the magical clash. The Horde warlock corps on the other side kept using [Meteor Shower] to teach Stormwind's soldiers a lesson. Meanwhile, Duke's Mage Corps fought like drunken men, firing wildly without the slightest idea what they were doing.