Chapter 162 The Admiral's Hatred

"Your Majesty, for you to personally lead the campaign while state affairs are left to Tandred in Tol Barad is somewhat against protocol," one of Daelin Proudmoore's ministers said, making a final effort to dissuade the king from his course of action.

"My son died at sea, sinking into the ocean depths alongside those warships. I merely wish to fulfill a father's duty. Those damned green-skinned Orcs and red lizards—every last one of them should pay with their lives to accompany Derek," Daelin replied. He understood that the minister was acting in the best interest of Kul Tiras's military and politics, but the conviction in his heart told him that Derek's death and the total annihilation of the Third Fleet demanded a payment in blood.

"Besides, Derek's death changes the royal succession. Tandred will sooner or later step into Boralus, and in the future, he will succeed me in power. There is nothing improper about this."

The minister said no more. With Derek, the crown prince, having fallen in battle, Tandred, the former second in line, would naturally become the heir. Daelin's approach was far from inappropriate; rather, it was entirely logical and justified.

"Your Majesty, the tracks of an orc fleet have been spotted ahead," a soldier reported, bringing news of the Horde's movements.

"How many red dragonriders do those Horde have?" Daelin asked, touching upon the matter of greatest concern to him. If the red dragons reached a certain number, Daelin certainly would not walk blindly to his death.

During the Battle of Tidefall, had it not been for the Orcs' red dragonriders coming to their aid, Daelin would have long since slaughtered the Orcs who ventured out to sea. It was precisely because of those red dragons that the Third Fleet, led by Derek, had been consumed by flames. His eldest son had left behind not even a handful of ash for him. An old man burying his white-haired son—a grief that caused the aging king to sigh endlessly.

Having lost a son in his later years, Daelin had sworn to avenge this bitter feud. The old king despised the Orcs, but he hated the red dragons even more. Daelin had witnessed with his own eyes as Derek's Third Fleet was swallowed by raging fire; the boundless sea of flames instantly stained the sky crimson until the waves beat against the wrecks of the war vessels, slowly sinking them into the abyss. It was then that Daelin realized he had crushed the railing beside him, leaving deep claw marks gouged into the wood.

Furthermore, those Orcs were no sailors; their fleet consisted merely of old, dilapidated vessels hastily refitted by goblins. The Orcs knew next to nothing about navigation or naval warfare. Their forte lay in melee combat and hand-to-hand skirmishing. Should they close the distance and board his warships, they would be marching to certain doom. Nevertheless, he had already instructed his officers to maintain a strict distance from enemy ships and under no circumstances engage the Horde in boarding actions.

The warships of Kul Tiras bristled with cannons. Daelin was utterly confident he could send those green-skinned invaders to the bottom of the sea, making them accompany his fallen son in death.

"No red dragons have been spotted. It appears to be merely an orc fleet, moving at full speed as if fleeing from something," the soldier described the observed situation, confirming the complete absence of red dragons.

"No red dragons? Let them feed the sharks in the deep!" Daelin drew his legendary sword, Tidebinder, its surface glowing with golden holy light. "All forces, advance! Annihilate those green-skinned Horde!"

Daelin Proudmoore was a rare individual who, while wielding the Holy Light, did not have to relinquish control over other elements. Instead, he possessed both the Holy Light and the elements simultaneously. After receiving enlightenment from Archbishop Alonsus Faol, Daelin had comprehended the pure Holy Light born entirely of devout conviction.

The distinction of this Holy Light lay in the fact that it inflicted no burden upon the physical body, nor did it silently alter the soul of the user. It was forged solely through the loyalty of the people and an unyielding devotion to virtue. This unadulterated holy energy was supremely gentle, devoid of even a shred of overbearing dominance, imparting a warmth and comfort akin to the sunlight of early spring.

The power of this Holy Light was immense, though it could not be bestowed upon others at will like the naaru, nor could it be corrupted by arcane or fel energies. The Holy Light of the first generation of human paladins could only be attained through pious faith; there were no arcane corruption experiments involving the Holy Light, nor any concept of infusing it into the bodies of others.

Daelin Proudmoore's mastery over the elements remained formidable, and this pure Holy Light did not repel other energies. The two fused together perfectly within the Lord Admiral. Daelin was not only capable of wielding holy spells, but could also summon water elementals to fight by his side. Moreover, Daelin's legendary sword, Tidebinder, had been imbued with incredible power by the ocean. Elemental might clung to this miraculous weapon, allowing Daelin's strikes to resonate with the elements; each sweeping slash of that sharp blade carved through vast swaths of territory.

Tidebinder embodied the spiritual convictions of the Kul Tiran citizenry. Daelin carried the collective determination of all Kul Tiras, and the souls of fallen Kul Tiran sailors anchored themselves within his trusted blade, amplifying his control over the elements.

...

In the City of the Sun, Patrician had already returned to the Sun Spire.

Once King Anasterian understood Patrician's intentions, he offered little commentary. In the king's eyes, internal disputes within the council were best resolved by the council itself.

This great war with the Orcs had exposed several flaws to Patrician. Although he was a councilor, his influence over Quel'Thalas and Silvermoon City remained insufficient. The orcish invasion had inflicted severe scars upon the southern Eversong Woods—all because the council sought to use the Orcs to deal with him, treating his people as disposable pawns. The factional infighting within the council was truly pathetic, allowing them to disregard the lives of the populace and willingly betray those who supported them.

Thinking of those individuals in his past life who colluded with foreign enemies, divided their own kin, and forgot their heritage, Patrician truly felt that scum could be found anywhere. At times, ordinary citizens were merely chips in their hands, mere pawns. When sacrificing a pawn to save the king proved useful, those chips would be abandoned without the slightest hesitation.

Additionally, there was another matter: Patrician had yet to develop a fully offensive super-magic spell. The normal casting time for the arcane nodes was simply too long, while Flaming Cloak and Arcane Rose leaned toward defensive capabilities. If he were to reconnect multiple meta-magic techniques to assemble an offensive super-magic spell, his mana consumption would escalate even further. It seemed his magical studies must continue; there was no end to the path of growing stronger.

Upon returning to the Sun Spire, Patrician teleported directly to his principal level, shedding his formal attire worn for the royal audience and donning his everyday robes.

During the time Patrician had spent bickering with the councilors, Alleria had been responsible for overseeing the cleanup operations at the Sun Spire and handling daily affairs. The Windrunner family wished to relocate directly to the floating city, and Patrician had approved, with the construction site already chosen.

His future father-in-law had informed Patrician that work would commence the moment reparations and supplies from the four major families arrived. However, Patrician had one condition: residential areas would no longer be segregated into ranger districts or mage districts; there would only be divisions for residential zones, military zones, and commercial districts.

Everything else remained largely unchanged. The entirety of Patrician's primary capital was poured into urban construction. After all, no matter how magnificent the facilities within a floating city might be, if it could not withstand external foes, such luxury was nothing more than fireworks in the night sky—brilliant for a single fleeting moment.

Prioritizing urban construction and defensive facilities was Patrician's primary objective, for the Third War was yet to come.