Chapter 38: City Hall

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Duran’s boots crushed shattered elven reliefs, each step kicking up scorching ash.

“The City Hall still has rangers resisting!” The voice of the elven elder they had just met echoed in his ears, confirming the earlier intelligence.

Jiana hurried to catch up, the tip of her staff crystallizing frost, leaving a white mist trail in the scorching air. “The undead density is too high; we need to avoid a frontal assault.”

“Avoid?” Duran grinned, swinging his long-handled battle axe in his right hand. “I’m a humanoid dragon now.”

Before his words finished, the ruins ahead suddenly exploded!

Three stitched abominations burst through the wall, their rotting flesh embedded with iron hooks and chains, writhing with maggots in their bellies. Their roar was a cacophony of countless dying souls, shaking the ground beneath them.

“Left side, I’ve got this!” Duran roared, charging headlong.

The abominations swung rusted greatswords down, but Duran neither dodged nor flinched. With his right hand, he slammed his battle axe—

Boom!

A shockwave erupted, warping the greatsword mid-air. The abomination’s entire arm burst in pieces, rotten flesh and pus splattering like rain. The creature staggered backward, a flicker of terror flashing in its single eye.

“Hell yeah!” Duran shook his wrist but noticed blood seeping from his knuckles. (Tch, mortal flesh after all…)

On the other side, Jiana plunged her staff into the ground.

“Frost Nova!”

A brilliant blue magic circle spread instantly, freezing the other two abominations into statues. Vakaya seized the opportunity to blow his bone flute; shadows slithered like poisonous snakes around the ice sculptures, causing the decayed flesh to consume itself.

“Move out!” Jiana grabbed Duran by the collar. “Don’t get attached to the fight!”

The three dashed past the twitching undead corpses and turned into a narrow alley. Once a floral path for elven merchants, it was now littered with withered marigolds and broken arrows.

Suddenly—

A bone arrow embedded itself at Duran’s feet, its shaft wrapped in a sickly green plague mist.

“Roof!” Vakaya warned hoarsely.

Over a dozen skeletal archers had somehow taken the high ground, bows drawn taut. Their arrowheads were blackened—clearly coated with necrotic poison.

Jiana was about to cast, but Duran was quicker, flinging a handful of copper coins. Amid the whistling arrows, the skeletal frames shattered into fragments.

“My money!” He inhaled deeply, pained. “You damn skeletons! You forced me to use the ‘All In’ throw. Luckily, it was just copper!”

Jiana stared dumbfounded at this man who still fussed over loose change.

“Hurry up!” Duran pulled out more copper coins, clenching them in his left hand. “No time to waste on these boneheads! Just toss a handful of coins and move on!”

Jiana was speechless. “That works?!”

“The undead love money too~” Duran tossed the coins proudly, only to be yanked down abruptly by Vakaya.

A shadowy arrow as thick as an arm whizzed past his scalp, corroding a large hole in the stone wall behind him.

From the shadows at the alley’s end, a necromancer floated out slowly, his decayed robes revealing a grisly ribcage.

“Living… damned…” he croaked hoarsely, summoning shadow energy in his palm again.

Vakaya’s dark eyes narrowed to slits. Suddenly, he drew a crimson vial from his waist and smashed it on the ground.

“Dance of the Blood Mist!”

In the ensuing red explosion, countless shadowy wasp-like entities swarmed the necromancer, instantly devouring him to a clean skeleton.

Duran coughed, struggling to his feet. “You should’ve used that move earlier!”

The shadow hunter grinned, “The potions are expensive. Gotta charge extra.”

The City Hall’s towering walls were finally within reach.

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Duran, Jiana, and Vakaya hid behind a half-toppled elven statue, observing the battlefield.

“The front gate’s blocked.” Jiana whispered, conjuring a tiny arcane eyeball that floated upward to scout. “There are abominations and necromancers mixed in—at least thirty, with more ghoul cannon fodder, and…” she frowned suddenly, “Death Knights.”

Duran followed her gaze.

Behind the undead ranks stood a towering knight clad in black armor. A heavy sword brimming with death energy was thrust into the ground before him, its blade wreathed in eerie blue mist. He didn’t join the assault, silently “watching” City Hall, as if waiting for something.

“Not Arthas.” Duran exhaled in relief. “But still trouble.”

Vakaya sniffed the air. “Lots of living inside the walls. The scent of rangers’ sweat and blood… and…” he grinned, revealing sharp fangs, “the perfume of elven nobility. Horrible.”

Duran rolled his eyes. “Priority target: find Sylvanas, then—”

Boom!!!

The eastern wall of City Hall suddenly exploded open, stones flying. An abomination roared and charged inside, swinging its iron hook to bisect two elven rangers.

“No time for plans!” Jiana’s staff blazed with piercing blue light.

Duran led the charge, star soul power boiling within him. He leapt over rubble, smashing his battle axe hard onto the skull of a nearby skeleton warrior—

Crack!

The skull shattered, but more undead turned toward him.

“Jiana! Now!”

Jiana blinked and blinked out beside him, then unleashed a flash of arcane light.

“Frost Nova!”

A dazzling blue magic circle erupted around Jiana, instantly freezing undead within twenty yards. Vakaya hurled three vials of green-smoked potions; the glass shattered among the ice statues, the corrosive liquid dissolving undead into foul sludge.

“East wall breach!” Duran roared, knocking away an attacking ghoul with a punch. “The rangers have to be there!”

The trio rushed toward the gap, undead falling like wheat stalks. But the closer they got, the stronger the resistance—

Five necromancers suddenly emerged from shadows, staffs all aimed at them.

“Shadow Arrows, fire!”

Black energy beams tore the air. Jiana hastily raised an arcane shield, which cracked like a spiderweb.

“Tch.” Vakaya ripped off a string of bone talismans from his neck, crushing them fiercely. “Try this!”

The talisman powder formed a snarling troll face midair. The next moment, all necromancers’ shadows “came alive,” transforming into spikes that pierced their own chests!

“Shadow backlash…” Jiana inhaled sharply. “Forbidden magic!”

Vakaya shrugged. “Hence the price.”

Duran laughed it off. “Tell ‘em to raise the fee, I say!”

They finally breached inside the walls. Jiana turned and cast a frost spell, sealing the breach with ice blocks.

The situation was worse inside—dozens of elven rangers formed a last stand back-to-back. Their arrows spent, they fought with swords and daggers. The ground was littered with wounded, blood pooling like streams on the exquisite elven tiles.

“Reinforcements?!” a bloodied ranger captain gasped. “You’re from Dalaran—”

“No time to explain!” Duran cut him off. “Is Sylvanas here?”

The ranger pointed to a half-collapsed eastern wall section. “The general is holding the arrow tower! But the undead have surrounded it!”

Duran turned to Jiana. “You stay and help them hold here. Vakaya and I will rescue her.”

Jiana suddenly grabbed his arm. “Be careful. I’ll wait here.” Her eyes glistened red, lips trembling as if holding back words. Finally, she said, “Don’t die, or Onyxia will burn my backside.”

Duran grinned. “Don’t worry, my destiny’s not fulfilled yet. A peaceful retirement awaits—I’m going to surpass Lord Wei’s deeds.”

Jiana actually laughed. “Are you crazy, or am I stupid?”

Vakaya impatiently dragged Duran by the collar toward the arrow tower. “If you dawdle, your elven general will become an undead bride!”

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Duran reached a half-collapsed makeshift arrow tower, crudely nailed together with wood, towering above the walls. On it, a blonde elf fought a ghoul.

Sylvanas Windrunner leaned against a broken pillar, her longbow’s string snapped. In her hand was a blood-stained dagger.

Her golden hair was matted with blood, breathing heavy, but her gaze remained sharp as a blade.

“Only… three left,” she murmured, eyes fixed on the undead soldiers slowly approaching the staircase.

Suddenly—

Boom!!!

The tower’s battered wooden door was smashed open with force, smashing two skeletons. Duran appeared in the doorway, his massive battle axe still glowing faintly golden.

“Well, Ranger General,” he grinned. “Mind if I hitch a ride?”

Sylvanas’s pupils narrowed, dagger flicking toward him. “Human? How did you—”

Before she finished, the last elven corpse lunged from behind her!

“Duck!”

Duran shouted, flinging a copper coin. Sylvanas instinctively bent down, the whistling wind brushing her hair as the coin smashed the undead’s skull to bone fragments.

Rotting flesh splattered over her.

“…Thank you.” She slowly straightened, dagger still raised. “But Silvermoon doesn’t need a fleeing general.”

Vakaya peeked from behind Duran, his dark eyes squinting. “Stubborn elf, I like that.” He produced a murky vial, shaking it. “Want me to help you ‘sleep’?”

Sylvanas’s gaze darkened dangerously.

Duran sighed, muttering, “Knew it wouldn’t work, can’t be reasoned with. Damn storyline.”

“Your rangers are fighting hard,” Duran stepped closer. “Do you want them to become Scourge puppets?”

Sylvanas’s nails dug into her palm, blood streaming down her eyes. “It’s useless. It’s all over. Quel’Thalas is dead. Escaping now is just jumping from one grave to another. This kingdom has long since rotted away.”

Duran’s expression darkened. He understood the profound despair in Sylvanas. Among high elves, the aristocracy and commoners had long split into two distinct classes. The nobility had devolved over a millennium of rule, blaming others and prioritizing self-interest above all.

But he had to try: “I understand. But now it’s different. The undead are here. Only survivors have the right to speak. And that chance stands before you, your rangers, and countless civilians. Don’t you want to fight for a sliver of hope for them?”

Sylvanas hesitated, unaware that Duran and Vakaya exchanged a subtle gesture. Vakaya silently cast a spell behind Duran; a flash of green rippled. Sylvanas’s shadow suddenly twisted beneath her feet! She leapt back sharply but was one moment too late—

“Coo?!”

Pink feathers burst outward. A plump landstrider blinked, its black eyes fluttering as it looked down at its wings.

“General?!” the rangers behind charged in, swords drawn at Duran’s throat. “What did you do?!”

Duran scooped up the flapping landstrider and handed it to the guards. “It’s polymorph! Better than turning her into a banshee!”

The guards exchanged bewildered looks. Outside the arrow tower, the undead’s low growls drew closer.

“Either flee with your bird general,” Vakaya hissed, grinding his fangs, “or stay and become undead fodder.”

Without hesitation, several rangers exchanged glances and nodded to Duran. He hoisted the landstrider, which kept pecking at his ear, and dashed out of the tower. Vakaya scattered poisonous dust behind to mask their presence; the ranger guards brought up the rear, faces grim.

Back in the courtyard, Jiana’s ice wall shook precariously, desperately holding off the abominations. But when she saw the pink landstrider, her staff nearly slipped from her grasp.

“You… really…”

“Don’t ask!” Duran hugged the landstrider tightly, unwilling to entrust Sylvanas to anyone else—for fear she might fall into Arthas’s hands, ruining all their efforts. “Prepare to teleport to the Mage Academy!”

Jiana unleashed a desperate wave of frost novas, halting the undead abominations’ assault. Duran sheathed his axe and pulled out a silver coin from his pocket, cursing, “You’ve pushed me too far. Now I’m scared of what I might do. All In throw—with silver coins, big spender.”

A fierce tearing sound filled the air. Several necromancers casting spells in the distance exploded into clouds of bone dust.

Seizing the moment, Jiana cast the teleportation spell. The magic circle enveloped all survivors inside.

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