Chapter 39: Farce

The shimmer of arcane energy was spreading; the teleportation was imminent. Dren had just scooped the pink hawkstrider into his arms to stop her from incessantly pecking at his face, when a harsh, grating clamor erupted behind him.

"Stop! How dare you commoners abandon us?!"

He whipped his head around—dozens of luxuriously dressed high elven nobles were swarming out of the city hall's side entrance. The one in the lead wore a crown inlaid with sun-crystals, his silk robes without a single wrinkle, as if this catastrophe of national extinction had nothing to do with him.

*(Damn it, these parasites actually survived until now?)*

A male elf wearing a ring with the Silvermoon crest grabbed Dren by the collar, his gem-encrusted fingernails nearly poking into his eyes. "Send troops to the Morningstar Tower immediately! My father is the head of the Council—"

*Thud!*

Dren’s fist landed squarely on the bridge of his nose.

Amidst the crisp sound of shattering bone, the elven noble flew back like a ragdoll, knocking over three of his companions. The priceless crown went clattering into a pool of blood, instantly stained a dark crimson.

"Who’s next?" Dren shook his wrist, his knuckles still smeared with the elf's nosebleed.

The plaza fell into dead silence. Even Jaina, who was maintaining the teleportation circle, raised an eyebrow.

"Do, do you know who we are?" a female elf with an elaborate hairstyle shrieked. "My grandfather’s great-grandfather fought in the Troll Wars!"

"Wow, how impressive." Dren leaned down to pick up the blood-stained crown and tossed it toward the crowd, casually soothing the hawkstrider that was pecking at his buttons. "So, did your ancestors ever teach you—" He suddenly lunged, smashing the nearest elven statue into pieces with a single punch, "—to shut up when you're running for your life?!"

Amidst the flying debris, the nobles collectively scrambled back three paces.

Vol'kaya suddenly shimmered into view from the shadows, his withered fingers toying with a twitching bat specimen. "If you ask me... let's just turn them all into hawkstriders." He let the voodoo potion boil in his palm on purpose. "At least the colors are flashy enough."

"No! We’re leaving right now!" The previously arrogant female elf ripped off her cumbersome petticoat, ignoring the risk of exposing her thighs, and was the first to rush toward the teleportation circle. Seeing this, the other nobles hugged their ancestral jewelry boxes, pushing and shoving as they surged toward the blue-shimmering arcane barrier.

Dren, clutching the struggling hawkstrider, grinned at the stunned ranger guards. "See, this is what you call—"

*BOOM!!!*

A massive section of the city hall's perimeter wall collapsed, and the figure of a death knight in black armor emerged from the dust.

"...a strategic redeployment." Dren swallowed hard, finishing his sentence. He held the hawkstrider against his chest with his left hand, pinning the bird's head down with his cheek to keep it quiet and trembling. With his right hand, he drew a poleaxe and hurled it with all his might. With a whistle, it cleaved the death knight—who was preparing for a suicidal charge—clean in two. The survivors watched in shock. Jaina and the hawkstrider swallowed simultaneously. The next moment, the teleportation spell activated, and amidst a dizzying swirl, they arrived at the Academy of Magic.

Outside the Sun King's palace, Arthas stood upon the shattered statue of the Sun King. Frostmourne was driven deep into the statue's eye socket, and frost spread along the cracks, freezing this monument of Quel'Thalas's glory into a pale tombstone. Countless undead were pouring into the palace, the arcane flashes of resistance flickering one after another. Although the Sunwell array had been destroyed, the high-ranking elven nobles and royalty had not yet given up, desperately resisting with years of accumulated magical artifacts. But how long could such an act of mantis-like defiance hold out against the endless tide of the undead?

In the distance, beams of familiar arcane radiance pierced through the plague-ridden fog like the brightest stars in the night sky.

"Jaina..."

The death knight's voice sounded as if squeezed from a frozen abyss; low, raspy, yet carrying a twisted sense of nostalgia.

He slowly raised his head, the ghostly blue soul-fire burning beneath his helmet.

"How... nostalgic. Let me give you a reunion surprise!"

The Scourge seemed to sense their master's mood, and the undead surrounding the palace suddenly halted in unison, their rotting heads turning toward the direction of the arcane flashes.

A necromancer floated to Arthas's side, an hollow echo emanating from beneath his black hood: "My liege, the ritual for Master Kel'Thuzad is about to begin, shall we—"

Frostmourne slashed horizontally, and the necromancer’s torso slid to the ground, black smoke venting from the incision.

"Assemble all abominations, banshees, and crypt fiends." Arthas shook the lingering spirits off his blade. "I shall personally... welcome my old friend."

The undead army retreated from the palace like an ebbing tide, leaving behind a field of severed limbs from the elven defenders.

***

Arthas stepped over the shattered elven banners, frost spreading beneath his feet.

Fragments of memory suddenly pierced his mind—

In a rose garden in Lordaeron, a golden-haired girl turned and smiled, the same arcane glow flickering at her fingertips...

"No."

He clenched Frostmourne tightly, the runes on the blade flashing madly, tearing those warm illusions to shreds.

"Jaina Proudmoore," he whispered to the fog. "This time, I will give you... a proper ending."

Arthas led his army from the palace toward the Academy of Magic, gathering more troops along the way, surging forward like a tidal wave. The various screams, roars, and the scraping of claws were like heavy hammers striking at the heart. A group of necromancers were casting spells collectively, and temporal turbulence churned above Silvermoon City.

"No!" Master Antonidas roared in terror within the academy. "Damn it, they are casting a temporal disruption spell. The teleportation circle is being interfered with. We're done for!"

By now, the academy had gathered thousands of elven refugees, with more survivors arriving continuously. The mages of Dalaran had completed two rounds of transport and had intended for the final group to be the last. Little did they know they would draw the attention of the main Scourge force, compounded by the space-disruption magic. They were to be trapped in the city of death.

"Calm down, my Archmage." Dren went to comfort the white-bearded old man, known as the "Upside-Down" Archmage. "I have a backup plan." He then gestured to Jaina.

Jaina, looking annoyed at being used as a tool, raised a hand and cast a simple magical signal flare. A multicolored magical firework exploded high in the sky.

"That's it? Do we even have reinforcements?" the Archmage asked in surprise.

"Yes! Prepare for the teleportation. We only have one chance." Dren urged him, thinking to himself that he had a backup to the backup, but there was no need to tell him that. Onyxia and Chromie wouldn't drop the ball, would they?

High above the periphery of the Sunwell, Onyxia’s dragon wings swept through the air, her shadow covering the ruined dome of the Sunwell like a reaper's cloak. She deliberately suppressed her dragon's aura, but sulfur-smelling black smoke seeped from the gaps in her scales, dragging winding trails of poison across the scorched earth.

"I’ll add some fireworks, too..." She narrowed her slit pupils, seeing the magical signal rising in the distance. She climbed in altitude, and a waterfall of dragonfire poured down, illuminating the dim sky.

In the distance, the ground forces of the Scourge began to stir.

The necromancers presiding over the resurrection ritual suddenly looked up in unison, soul-fire leaping violently in their sunken eye sockets.

"A black dragon! It's the spawn of Deathwing!"

The skeletal face of Kel'Thuzad, currently being resurrected, emerged from the magic circle, his jawbone clicking with a grating sound: "My liege Arthas—the Sunwell must not—"

Before he could finish, Onyxia suddenly dove!

Her breath was not aimed directly at the ritual site, but deliberately swept across the perimeter of the Sunwell. The black flames ignited the piles of corpses hoarded by the undead, and the stench of burning putrid flesh instantly enveloped the entire plateau.

"Damn reptile!" The death knight's roar came through the communication crystal. "All gargoyles, take flight! Crypt fiends, seal her retreat!"

At the Academy of Magic in Silvermoon, Jaina was observing the direction of the Sunwell using Eagle Eye.

"The signal is here!" She grabbed Dren, who was peering outside. "Prepare for teleportation now!"

Antonidas cast his spell nervously, attempting to lock onto Dalaran's coordinates amidst the temporal turbulence. His staff erupted with unprecedented light, and the old mage’s white beard danced wildly in the magical vortex. "Everyone, hold on! Preparing for teleportation!"

The elven civilians helped each other into the teleportation circle. A few nobles tried to seize priority, only to be sent sprawling by a handful of sleep powder thrown by the troll witch doctor.

"Ladies first~" the troll witch doctor grinned.

Outside the Academy of Magic, Frostmourne suddenly froze in mid-air.

The soul-fire beneath Arthas's helmet flickered violently—the roar of the black dragon toward the Sunwell and the arcane flashes inside the academy tore at the two images in his mind.

"My liege?" a lich's voice came from behind.

The death knight's sword tip slowly turned toward the Sunwell.

***

"Prioritize Kel'Thuzad." His voice was like an undercurrent beneath the ice. "Let those rats... live a few more minutes. Attention, all units, turn immediately and protect the Sunwell at all costs."

The necromancers casting spells in the rear heard the order and immediately stopped, following the main force toward the Sunwell.

The arcane light of the teleportation spell at the academy in the rear flared brilliantly, then went quiet.

In the palace of Silvermoon in the distance, within the remaining walls, the arcane glow of a teleportation spell also suddenly flashed, then sank into permanent silence.

Dalaran Plaza was now bustling with noise, filled with the presence of high elves. Thousands of elven refugees crowded the plaza. Their Silvermoon finery was already stained ash-gray and blood-brown, like a flock of canaries soaked by a rainstorm.

As the blue light of Antonidas's teleportation circle faded, Dren staggered and fell to his knees, coughing up a mouthful of black blood—the backlash from overdrawing his Star Soul power had finally erupted.

"The price of showing off." Onyxia's voice came from overhead. The Black Dragon Princess, having reverted to human form, kicked his calf with the tip of her high heel in disgust. "If you die, who am I supposed to collect my gold from?" In the chaos of Dalaran, she had actually snuck in as a black dragon. It seemed that once Chromie saw she had completed the diversion mission, she had sent her through directly.

Dren tried to retort, but was choked into a coughing fit by the metallic taste of blood in his throat. A pouch inlaid with scales suddenly hit him in the face, and the scent of mead wafted from it.

"Drink it," Onyxia said, crossing her arms. "Don't expect me to feed you."

A cacophony of noise broke the intimacy between the two. The Black Dragon Princess's rage was about to erupt. Dren hurriedly stepped forward and hugged her, feeding her the mead to soothe the dangerous individual who had nearly blown up Dalaran.

The golden-haired princess in the distance saw this, touched her blue staff, and turned away awkwardly, forcing herself not to look at the scene.

"This is an insult! We are actually sharing a roof with commoners!"

The elven noble whose nose had been broken by a certain human was back on his feet, frantically wiping a bench with a handkerchief embroidered with his family crest. His protest soon met with a response; a dozen nobles who had recovered their strength began to besiege the elven receptionist of Dalaran:

"Contact Kael'thas immediately! We demand an independent zone!"

"Food must be served on moonlight crystal plates!"

Jaina's staff suddenly struck the ground heavily, and frost spread along the floor tiles to the tips of the nobles' toes.

"Or," her smile was colder than the northern winds, "I can send you back to Quel'Thalas."

A breeze blew by, and the elven nobles were instantly silenced.

On the other side, the rangers had settled the hawkstrider, and the troll had used magic to dispel the polymorph spell. A roar immediately erupted from the temporary tent: "That bastard, whoever turned me into a bird, I’m going to kill you!!!"

Sylvanas, having reverted to human form, rushed out wrapped in a blanket, her golden hair frizzed up like an angry gryphon. The ranger-general's pale face still had a few pink feathers stuck to it, and she gripped the blanket tightly—clearly, she hadn't had time to dress properly after changing back. Then, she saw Dren. She rushed to him and grabbed his collar with her free hand.

Dren immediately turned his face away to avoid looking at the spring scenery the general had accidentally exposed, while calling out, "I can explain! It was a tactical necessity! You were insisting on dying with the city—"

"I would rather become a banshee just to bite you to death!" Sylvanas continued to roar. "You actually dared to turn me into a hawkstrider!"

Onyxia suddenly stepped between them, her dragon aura causing the surrounding torches to shrink by half.

"First come, first served, elf." Black flames flickered at her fingertips. "His life is my collateral."

Sylvanas released Dren, straightened her blanket, and looked at the Black Dragon Princess with a complex expression. She showed no fear at the dragon's aura, but rather a look of intrigue, staring straight into Onyxia's face: "And who are you, where did you crawl out from? What is your relationship with this man? Sticking up for him?"

"My pet risked his life to save you from Silvermoon City. And instead of thanking him, you're yelling at him," Onyxia replied flatly.

"It’s all a misunderstanding," Jaina appeared just in time.

"Another pet owner?" Sylvanas mocked.

Dren: *Facepalm!*