Stormwind Wizard God
Chapter 692: Struggle

Chapter 692: Struggle

The Sun King’s ashen visage contorted into a mask of pure horror.

Raw terror!

Primal dread!

The Sun King’s milky eyes rolled with desperate agony as his soul-sight finally fixed upon his shoulder in trembling focus.

The Windrunner’s youngest spoke absolute truth.

That seemingly mundane emerald arrow bore a crimson strand of hair stretching half a meter in length.

Anyone with even the faintest mystical awareness could feel the thunderous dragon’s roar emanating from that single strand—a sound that could shatter mountains and split the heavens.

This was unmistakably the power of dragonkind, apex predators of all existence.

This devastating force that could incinerate every corrupted thing in creation—this was undoubtedly the essence of Alexstrasza, the Life-Binder herself!

The purifying flames carrying life’s sacred power were the absolute annihilation of all undead abominations.

In forgotten histories, during the Battle of Wrathgate, the treacherous dreadlord Varimathras orchestrated Grand Apothecary Putress’s rebellion, unleashing a plague that obliterated the armies of Duke Bolvar and Saurfang the Younger.

As Bolvar lay dying, to contain this virulent corruption, the Red Dragon Queen Alexstrasza immolated the entire battlefield with the fire of life itself.

This perfectly explained why the seemingly mighty Thunder Arrow was effortlessly deflected, while Lirath’s gentle shot pierced the Sun King’s defenses with contemptuous ease.

Anasterian’s form convulsed as his soul screamed in terror!

Not because the apparently weaker Lirath possessed the power to destroy him, but because of a far more horrifying realization—everyone knew the Windrunner family served Duke without question.

All understood that Duke shared a bond forged in blood and salvation with the Red Dragon Queen herself. Who else would dare claim the Red Dragon Queen’s hair?

Only a fool seeking death!

Lirath’s presence here, wielding the Red Dragon Queen’s power, proved one devastating truth—Duke had entered the game.

A cruel smile split Lirath’s previously emotionless features, transforming her into something genuinely terrifying. Her words drifted to the Sun King on supernatural winds, confirming his deepest nightmare: "Edmund Duke sends his regards."

Duke strikes!

Duke truly strikes!?

The horror erupting from his soul’s depths shattered the Sun King’s composure entirely.

A man’s legend casts the longest shadow!

Duke’s brilliance and sorcery had burned themselves into every veteran warrior’s consciousness.

Anyone who survived the final battle at the Dark Portal would never forget how Duke orchestrated each move with masterful precision, ultimately annihilating the million-strong orcish horde.

The high elves could never erase the memory of how Duke crushed an overwhelming army with a single banner when Eversong Forest fell and the Horde reached their gates.

That was Duke’s moment of absolute triumph.

It was also the elves’ moment of ultimate shame.

Common elves might worship Duke as their savior. But the Sun King and Silvermoon Council certainly did not. In their eyes, Duke—who claimed nobility yet commanded vast armies but refused to sacrifice himself to keep the Horde from Eversong Forest—committed the gravest sin imaginable.

Whether Duke acted deliberately or through neglect, allowing the Horde to rampage through their forests, burning and slaughtering, then forcing Quel’Thalas into the Alliance was an unforgivable betrayal!

In the Sun King’s perception, Duke was a creature whose name meant ally but whose nature was pure venom.

Now Duke had truly come, delivering the most lethal blow at the most critical moment.

The Sun King erupted in apocalyptic fury: "DUKE!? NO—this insignificant human has no authority over MY kingdom! He has no right to interfere with my dominion over my subjects!"

Duke!?

The elves in the courtyard initially showed confusion, but soon witnessed Lirath’s disguise dissolving as she turned to face them.

Standard ranger attire, except her shoulder plates and equipment bore unmistakable Stormwind craftsmanship.

And the crest upon her chest... clearly displayed the Edmund family’s heraldry!

The elves felt their hearts shatter.

Yes! The pride of High Elven Rangers—the legendary Windrunner family had long served the living hero who walked among mortals!

Prince Kael’thas had surrendered.

Lor’themar and Halduron lay defeated.

Their final elven champion Sylvanas had fallen.

In the end, the Alliance had to finish what they could not. Though the Alliance’s renewed aid brought some warmth, it also brought crushing sorrow.

Had the glory of the High Elves truly died?

If Duke had appeared initially, the proud elves would have rejected such charity-salvation with absolute contempt. However, after hope transformed into disappointment, then into despair, and their pride crumbled piece by piece, Duke’s intervention became as precious as life-giving nectar.

The Sun King descended into complete madness.

"NO—even if Duke comes, he cannot match my power! You are Windrunner’s little whelp, are you not? I will transform you into undeath first. I want to witness Duke’s expression when he arrives."

With those words, he clenched his skeletal fists, and Sylvanas’s convulsing form began thrashing with renewed violence.

Visions of absolute horror had claimed the middle Windrunner sister. She was surrounded by nightmares that gleefully tortured and violated her mind, feeding on her agony.

A realm of endless suffering.

It seemed she would remain trapped eternally: an infinite void, consuming darkness, and an unknown dimension saturated with pain.

Then, suddenly, she perceived light.

Not holy gold, but mysterious violet-blue.

The radiance of pure arcane power.

She couldn’t determine if a moment or eternity passed before that light shattered the darkness.

The sphere of illumination seemed to open welcoming arms, coming to deliver her.

Within the shadows, a towering male figure embraced Sylvanas with his luminous aura.

She found herself completely unclothed and vulnerable. She curled defensively as the first sound she made after regaining her voice was weeping.

Sylvanas Windrunner had failed—failed as a high elf completely.

Yet the sphere of light seemed to disagree entirely.

"You have exceeded all expectations. You and Lirath held back the fallen Sun King, purchasing precious time for your people’s rebirth."

That familiar voice.

Duke’s voice!

Warmth enveloped her—a sensation she had never experienced.

Sylvanas suddenly understood that Duke’s soul was warming her own essence.

She felt overwhelming shyness because everything about herself had been revealed to Duke without reservation—her body and her very soul.

Surprisingly, her rebellious thoughts had vanished completely. She was a traveler dying of thirst in endless desert, stretching her neck desperately, seeking that quiet, peaceful, warm sanctuary that Duke represented.

Suddenly, she opened her eyes and witnessed something that struck her consciousness like lightning—while unconscious, she seemed to have kissed her brother-in-law.

When people face extreme hunger and thirst, they instinctively seek water.

When experiencing bitter cold, they automatically seek warmth.

This is biological instinct, unrelated to love or emotion.

Sylvanas existed in precisely such a state—her life force violently drained, her will damaged, her soul temporarily weakened.

Only those who experienced it personally could truly comprehend the terror of receiving Death Coil from a fallen Archmage of Antonidas’s caliber.

Against a profession like Ranger—strong in offense but weak in defense, relying entirely on superior agility to avoid attacks—the Great Mage Antonidas could freeze her blood, stop her heart, and claim her life with a single strike.

There was no instant death because Anasterian deliberately held back, attempting to force Sylvanas’s surrender.

The darkness receded from Sylvanas’s vision as the coldness in her body rapidly dissipated, though colors remained absent. Even in a world composed entirely of lines and contours, she could recognize the person who saved her life and soul.

Duke...

Over the past decade, whenever she woke in the night worrying about her sisters, this infuriating man would invariably appear alongside them in her thoughts.

Though she refused to admit it, she had to acknowledge he was the most heroic man alive.

A man without equal, let alone superior.

Once, she sincerely wished her sisters happiness in marriage, choosing genuine heroes as partners. Simultaneously, she refused to accept this reality, longing deep within to find someone who could surpass Duke.

But she never imagined she would offer her kiss with girlish yearning, surrendering her most precious first kiss.

She couldn’t describe the complex, contradictory emotions raging within her heart. She felt grateful to Duke for pulling her from death and despair’s shackles, yet blamed him for arriving at this moment, and was further tormented by her own bitter disappointment.

The culmination of countless intertwining thoughts left her mind completely blank.

She extended her tongue, craving sustenance.

The result was the most passionate French kiss imaginable.

Sylvanas was losing her sanity—she had no comprehension of why she acted thus. How was she different from those shameless noble girls who fawned over Duke in Lordaeron’s court, hoping to become Grand Duchess?

But Duke’s embrace was skillful and fluid.

Sylvanas knew Duke was accustomed to holding her eldest and youngest sisters. Though they differed slightly in build, the three sisters shared remarkably similar proportions...

She was the fourth person to enter the intimate space shared by her eldest and youngest sisters, and that bastard Duke subconsciously accepted her as another sister.

What kind of twisted situation was this?

Never mind that!

This was happening before tens of thousands of elven subordinates who respected and admired her!

Though Sylvanas detected traces of illusions surrounding Duke, estimating he had used some enchantment to conceal this delicate, chaotic situation, inexplicable shame made every inch of her exposed skin glow bright crimson, as if aflame.

Finally unable to endure it, Sylvanas—having regained her strength—shoved Duke away and cursed him viciously in the Language of Wind: "Damn you! I was completely confused! Forget this happened! I command you to forget this immediately!"

"Well, if I could manage that..." Duke seemed somewhat helpless. He didn’t understand what had occurred—apparently he had acquired another complicated obligation. In all honesty, he had never considered such things. Duke shrugged: "Should we deal with the Sun King first?"

Knowing Duke was forcibly changing subjects, Sylvanas suppressed her rage and nodded. Duke’s appearance at this moment must serve a purpose.

And Duke was the only hope for saving hundreds of thousands of her people.

Duke’s illusions could only deceive ordinary elves. Their passionate kiss was witnessed by both the Sun King and Kael’thas, shocking them both.

Who could have predicted Lirath’s sudden appearance, followed by Duke himself!? Duke seemed to be having an affair with the second Windrunner daughter?

No, for a tyrant, perhaps this was something exploitable.

But what concerned Anasterian more was why Duke—possessing such exalted status—would appear here alone?

After King Terenas’s death, though the Alliance wasn’t entirely defunct, no remaining member state held dominant power. In this situation, Duke, the supreme commander, became the person with highest authority in every meaningful sense.

It was no exaggeration to say that Duke’s death could cause the Alliance’s immediate collapse.

The Sun King narrowed his eyes, radiating murderous intent. With a casual gesture, he summoned a colossal black fire wave over thirty meters high, pressing toward Duke.

"Edmund Duke, you have no authority on MY territory!"

This was a perfect example of overwhelming the weak with superior power.

Logically, Duke had no reason to survive.

The elven mages could almost foresee Duke retreating in panic while carrying their great hero Sylvanas.

They never anticipated what followed.

"Oh? Is that so?" Duke smiled with perfect calm and snapped his fingers.

A forty-meter ship-cleaving sword of pure golden flame materialized from nothingness, capable of bisecting warships with a single strike.

With one slash, he truly parted the waves, obliterating Anasterian’s fire attack completely.

This was absolute domination in both quality and elemental attributes.

The Sun King—recently undead and unable to see clearly due to lack of blood circulation—widened his eyes in complete shock, releasing a distorted shriek.

"THIS! CANNOT! BE! POSSIBLE!"

Not only the Sun King, but every elf witnessing this miraculous display also cried out in astonishment.

Normally, this was indeed impossible.

Lower-level mystical forces would inevitably be crushed by superior powers.

Just as an egg cannot defeat stone, stone cannot defeat diamond.

Even elven children understood this fundamental truth!

But why...?

The Elf King in his magnificent robes stabbed his staff into the ground in horror, discovering that from that moment, the mana conduits extending from the Sunwell no longer responded to his call.

Every alarm in his consciousness screamed warnings—

If he could still perspire, Anasterian would be drenched in sweat at this moment, because his dream of "since I cannot defeat the Scourge, I might as well transform all of Quel’Thalas into an undead kingdom so I can maintain my power and rule" appeared to be crumbling into dust.