16. Even the elements in this countryside get this... adorable when they fly into a rage. [Serialized Release - 19/50]

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(Additional chapter for brother "Gervais" [4/5])

The strength of individual Eredar grows at a sluggish pace—this is a common affliction among almost all long-lived races, but a slow accumulation rate of absolute power does not imply poor capability.

To give a very simple example, even though they are both objects composed of carbon molecules, wood and coal possess entirely different properties. Wood is easily ignited by flame but burns out quickly, whereas coal is not so easily set ablaze; yet once it does burn, the light, heat, and duration of combustion it releases are far more staggering than those of wood.

Short-lived races such as humans and orcs can acquire power in a short span and push it to a fairly formidable degree, but in confrontations at the same life tier, they are in most cases no match for a long-lived race tempered by endless epochs of time.

This is all because "power" is a comprehensive concept.

Beyond individual combat resources, it includes damage resistance, physical attributes, skill concepts, and so forth. In these aspects, a long-lived race with vast stretches of time to squander, provided they show even a modicum of diligence, can effortlessly crush short-lived races.

Take Yura, for example.

She is not a legendary ranger, yet on a battlefield of genuine life-or-death struggle, relying on the combat experience and tactical instincts accumulated over the past twenty-two thousand years, she could unquestionably dance around an orc legend for a long time. Pulling off a counter-kill under advantageous conditions would hardly come as a surprise.

Ultimately, Yura's physical "vessel" and various numerical attributes reached the legendary tier long ago; what she lacks is merely the infusion and accumulation of force.

The material world is fair after all; long-lived races cannot monopolize every advantage.

Conversely, an excessive dullness to external changes is also a necessary condition for long-lived races to enjoy their protracted lives. If the Eredar perception of time and the world were as sensitive as that of humans and orcs, their brains would be filled to bursting with various useless pieces of information in a short period. The end result would resemble a server crammed with garbage data—either suffering a merciless formatting or ending up tossed into a scrap heap.

"So, you dropped that high warlock with a single shot?"

On the battlefield of the purged Shadowmoon Valley, Dick, who had just finished his daily prayers, looked at the smug-looking Yura and praised with satisfaction:

"Truly the Blade of the Assassins' Court, just as lethal and dashing as you were over twenty-two thousand years ago."

"Oh, nonsense, if Maraad hadn't created the assassination conditions for me, that charged-up aimed shot wouldn't have been so easy to turn lethal,"

Yura said, waving her hand:

"As expected of heroic bloodline, Maraad's combat talent is truly astonishing. Oh, by the way, that boy said that he and his sister have always regarded you as a 'father figure'—apparently, their mother, who held immense prestige within the Draenei clan, requested it."

"Oh?"

Dick, who was in the midst of unsealing a letter to check its contents, froze.

He blinked his eyes and said:

"Calling me 'Uncle Diakum' before was fine, wasn't it? Suddenly switching to a title that sounds burdened with such heavy responsibility makes me quite uncomfortable."

"But Brigadier Mal'dran saved your life with his own, Dick,"

Yura shook her head and said:

"By reason and by right, you bear a responsibility toward the two children; this is our Eredar tradition! Surely a saint of the Vigilants isn't planning to shirk responsibility, is he?"

"How could that be?"

Dick looked at the brief cipher letter in his hand, glanced down at Gul'dan's personal signature at the bottom, sneered as he folded the letter and tossed it into his Augurey backpack, then looked back at Maraad, who was walking toward him. He said in a low voice:

"I will certainly inherit the dying wish of my battle-brother Mal'dran! I will undoubtedly nurture Maraad into a guardian and leader of the Draenei!

He possesses the talent; what he lacks is merely an opportunity to prove himself.

I will grant him that opportunity. Before he grows fully capable of standing on his own, I will protect him just as a father would—not only because I owe Mal'dran a life, but more importantly, because I hope he will inherit his father's undying, brilliant golden conviction."

"Ah, I always feel that as an assassin I am a bit too sentimental; I can't help tearing up every time I see this kind of scene."

Yura drew out her tone with a theatrical evaluation, stroked her Heart of Argus ring, whipped her tail as she looked left and right, and asked:

"So, where is Lady Nari? How come I don't see her?"

"She is completing her 'Wilderness Trial'. Well, you will certainly be shocked by it, but before she returns, might I commission you and the hunters to scout out the remnants of the Shadow Council?"

Dick pointed around the surroundings and said:

"Just circle the perimeter and ensure all the warlocks and their minions have been thoroughly eradicated."

"No problem, leave it to me."

Yura shouldered her hunting rifle and turned to leave. Meanwhile, Maraad waited decorously until the high ranger finished reporting her duties before approaching Dick. He moved his lips as if wanting to say something, but twenty-five thousand years of separation made it hard for the once-young boy to express the complex emotions in his heart in just a couple of sentences.

"It's fine, I understand."

Dick stepped forward and patted Maraad's shoulder.

His build was already imposing among the Eredar, and after being reinforced by the Light, he had become a "giant" in the true sense of the word. Standing before the sturdy Maraad, he didn't even need to raise his arm to comfortably pat his shoulder.

He said in a low voice:

"I once witnessed with my own eyes your father use sacred power to interfere with my destiny, trading me back from death into the mortal realm, fulfilling his guardian ethos through his own sacrifice. The scene of him dissolving into the light surfaces every time I fall asleep.

Maraad, your father was my battle-brother, and even before that, he and I were already true, dearest friends.

You cannot imagine how much I wanted to personally voice that apology to you and your family during my long slumber, because my survival caused you and your family to lose what you cherished most.

I am sorry, child."

"There is no need for that, Uncle Diakum."

Maraad hadn't cried in many years, but at this moment, faced with Dick's sincere words, he lowered his head and wiped his eyes, the fragile tears unstoppable.

Perhaps when he grew mature enough to understand the truth of the "white lie" the twins had told him back then, the young Maraad had harbored resentment: why was it Uncle Dick who survived instead of his father?

Yet after twenty-five thousand years of exile, those resentments had long since vanished into smoke.

He had experienced the full exile; he knew very well how much Uncle Diakum had sacrificed and paid for his homeland and people during his final moments in the world of Argus. His father held no resentment in his heart when saving Uncle Diakum; he had sacrificed himself imbued with the lofty aspiration of fulfilling his mission.

He believed Diakum's survival was more important than his own life.

A Vigilant could become that beam of light illuminating the road ahead in a long era of darkness—this meant far too much to the Eredar.

Thus, Brigadier Mal'dran, enlightened by the Light, was fully able to persuade himself to accept that heroic sacrifice.

"Weep, and tell me all the words you wished to say to your father but never could."

Dick's nose felt somewhat sour at this moment as well.

The friends he made during his time on Argus were not many, and the majority of those had already followed Kil'jaeden to join the Burning Legion. Of the remainder, Nari had become his partner, Yura remained as eccentric as ever, yet only Mal'dran, that outstanding Vindicator and father figure, was left behind on Argus forever because of him.

He harbored guilt in his heart.

Any well-meaning person would harbor guilt after experiencing being saved by another's life.

Thus, he stepped forward and embraced the weeping Maraad, patting the boy's shoulder, and said:

"I will not squander the opportunity Mal'dran bought for me with his life. I will shoulder his share of duty, bear his share of hope, and forge anew a worthy ethos and direction for the Eredar in this era.

The moment I awoke, my life ceased to belong solely to myself.

You can serve as a witness to this vow..."

"A vow forged by a father with his life needs no witness, just as Leilan and I have never doubted your ethos, Uncle Diakum."

Maraad wiped away his tears.
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He raised his head and said solemnly to Dick:

"Even at the very moment of her passing, my mother was proud of my father's choice. Throughout our long exile aboard the Genedar, the light you radiated did not merely chart dawn, high sun, and dusk for us; it was equally a light of courage guiding the exiles through the darkness.

I am proud of you!

And I firmly believe that in this era, you can likewise lead us out of the shadows of war, just as you accomplished in the world of Argus.

Then, Brigadier Diakum! Hand of Argus recruit Maraad reporting for duty! I request to rejoin the ranks!"

"Very good, high spirits! Request granted."

Dick laughed heartily as he took back the tail-ring Maraad handed over, sliding it onto the pinky of his left hand. He also said solemnly:

"Because the world of Draenor currently lacks an environment of active demonic activity, your recruit evaluation cannot proceed temporarily. I order you and recruit Yvel to form the commanders of the First Recruit Cohort, responsible for selecting qualified warriors for the Hand of Argus from among the new generation of Draenei.

Yvel will temporarily assist your work as your adjutant.

The girl lacks experience, but her combat talent and the degree to which she is favored by the Light even surpass your own. Therefore, Maraad, this is a challenge for you as well.

As the child of Brigadier Mal'dran, you cannot be outdone by a young girl of barely over a centennial."

"I propose that my former adjutant, the brave Vindicator Nobundo, also possesses sufficient talent and ardent courage to join the Hand of Argus."

Maraad immediately fulfilled his duties and recommended to Dick:

"Beyond that, I know many brave warriors in this era who are still willing to dedicate their strength for our people."

"This is your job, Maraad."

Dick waved his hand and said:

"The Hand of Argus legion has withered away due to the passage of time; we need fresh blood. You must gather these warriors, train them, and lead them.

I can tell you explicitly: the demons are coming soon!

The withered demon army under the command of the Defiler is likely marching toward the world of Draenor even as we speak. The Hand of Argus will soon face ancient enemies, and when that time comes, it will be the finest battlefield to test your strength, courage, and will.

Now, go reorganize your units.

These Vindicators who followed me to purge the Bastion of Pain and the Valley of the Dead are all fine stock. Though young, they are worthy of the Vindicator ethos, and any of them can become your candidates.

Rest for a moment, we depart shortly!

The wicked orc primeval warlock Gul'dan is leading his Shadow Council to commit evil deeds capable of affecting the entire world of Draenor—that is our ultimate objective on this expedition.

Hunt down Gul'dan!

At the very least, disrupt his 'Elemental Annihilation' plan.

And your first mission is to protect orc Chieftain Ner'zhul; he is the paramount priority of this journey."

"Protect an orc?"

Maraad frowned, but he did not refuse the order. As he turned to leave, Dick asked:

"Where is your father's Heart of Argus? I don't see you wearing it."

"Um, I left that holy relic with my sister," Maraad replied in a low voice:

"She fulfills the duties of a scholar in the city of Telmor. Although Leilan does not walk the path of the Light, she is a remarkably accomplished arcanist and a staunch supporter of the Prophet Velen. She believes the Draenei and orcs can coexist peacefully.

Uh, besides, I must give you a preemptive warning.

Some of Leilan's behaviors appear somewhat 'heretical' to our people; I hope you won't be too startled when the time comes."

"I'm not one of those stubborn old fossils, child."

Dick said with a smile:

"My capacity for acceptance is very strong. Well, High Prelate Nari has returned—go on with your business, I need to discuss our subsequent action plan with her."

Maraad nodded, simultaneously casting a subtle gaze between Dick and High Prelate Nari.

Although he knew very well that the widely circulated romance stories of "Saint x High Prelate" over the past twenty-two thousand years were pure nonsense, the intimate relationship between these two ancient Eredar right now certainly seemed a bit ambiguous...

Still, finding the love of one's life was hardly a bad thing for his elders, right?

"Awoo!"

As Dick approached the battered Nari, just ten steps away, he heard a low roar. Under his watchful gaze, a massive spectral wolf silently shifted from its "spirit walk" state to reveal a sturdy, ferocious physique.

This creature was the "dire wolf," native to the world of Draenor.

Though it bore the word "wolf" in its name, this super-predator, capable of independently hunting megafauna like clefthooves and elekk, was clearly not something an ordinary hound could compare to.

This spectral wolf stood as tall as Nari, at least around 2.3 meters.

Its razor-sharp teeth were like daggers. Sensed danger from Dick, its hackles raised, causing its already exaggerated neck "ruff" to puff out even further. Blood-red eyes tracked Dick's every move, its limb muscles tensed, and claws capable of crushing a clefthoof's skull dug deep into the earth.

It stood ready for a lethal pounce and bite, and its semi-transparent body as a "spirit beast" was tinged with a unique red hue from its rage. However, due to prior contamination by void energies, this spectral wolf's body leaned toward purple, making it look somewhat eerie.

Dick noticed void energy winding around its claws, implying that this afflicted spectral wolf might even be able to utilize void energy attacks.

This thing was a "Pro Max" version of a spirit beast.

It had been corrupted by the void yet rescued by Nari, which was enough to bring it a "blessing in disguise."

"Golla! Be a good girl, these are friends."

Nari stepped forward to soothe the wild battle-beast she had just tamed, but perhaps due to insufficient "intimacy," this "Matriarch of the Wolf Den" didn't seem particularly inclined to humor her master.

It merely squatted in place, swishing its tail, its eyes still locked firmly on Dick, evidently because the pressure emitted by the Saint was too great.

"I must ask, can't a legendary hunter like you even manage her own dog?"

Dick teased:

"With it acting like this, you won't let me get close..."

"Isn't this better?"

Nari rolled her eyes with a sassy retort:

"My tail and chest still hurt, you brute! Don't come near me until you learn how to be gentle! But seriously, thanks to your prior guidance, otherwise I really wouldn't have known where to start with this 'big baby.'

When I found Golla, she was being pulled out of the material world by void forces.

The corrosiveness of that dark rift was terrifying; I survived by the skin of my teeth to drag her out. It's only natural Golla isn't submissive to me; her former master, Matriarch Omra, was one of the strongest hunters among the older generation of orc chieftains.

I have to display my own strength and majesty to make Golla submit; dire wolves are like that—survival of the fittest is their instinct."

"You'd better raise that 'intimacy' level as soon as possible."

Dick pulled several newly looted soul stones from his pouch, handed them to Nari, and reminded her:

"In the upcoming battles, we won't have that much time for you to cultivate affection between you and the dog. However, for spirit beasts, they crave powerful souls as food, so taking her on dangerous hunts will make her more obedient to you.
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This creature is very difficult to raise; you can't feed them with mere meat.

Since Golla is an exceptionally aggressive dire wolf, it means you must engage in slaughter daily to satisfy her craving for soul shards. Those warlocks are prime targets; their souls are universally resilient.

For a spirit beast, those make excellent 'teething sticks.'

Moreover, after the war here concludes, I will need to borrow your 'Golla' to search for certain mysterious entities in the regions of Arakkoa Spires."

The Saint stroked his chin, sizing up the spectral wolf, and said:

"Only a fate-congealed beast like her stands a chance of finding that reclusive demigod's hiding place in the shadows."

"A demigod?"

Nari widened her eyes and said:

"The volume of the world of Draenor is so small—can this world actually birth a life of the demigod tier?"

"That just shows how truly derelict you've been as a ranger prelate over the past two hundred years. No wonder I have to 'discipline' you severely."

Dick glanced sideways at Nari, sighed, and said:

"Two hundred years, and you still haven't figured out the bottom line of Draenor. Not only does this world have demigods, but their numbers are far greater than you imagine. This world holds secrets... Even if it cannot compare to the world-soul-nurturing Argus, it can by no means be described as 'ordinary.'

This place is also a 'stage' forged by destiny within the starry sea, exactly identical to Argus."

"I was merely..."

Nari wanted to explain, but the next instant, amidst Golla's terrified roar, the entire Valley of the Dead shook violently.

Nari, slightly weakened from just completing the taming, stumbled and fell, only to be promptly and deftly caught by Dick. The two stood hand in hand in place to maintain their balance, but the ground beneath their feet shook as if it were about to split apart.

Not just the canyon of the Valley of the Dead, but the mountains and rivers of all Shadowmoon Valley roared in unison at this moment.

That anomaly in the forces of nature was laced with an unsuppressible fury, as if provoked to the extreme by something.

"The elements! The elements are roaring! That wretch Gul'dan has enraged them!"

Ner'zhul, who had been kneeling in prayer before the orc ancestral monoliths, leaped to his feet and shouted amidst the shaking earth:

"We must advance immediately! Gul'dan's evil plan has reached its final stage, and we must rush to save the elemental heart of Draenor before everything becomes irreversible!"

"They've converged?"

Dick shouted aloud:

"The avatar of elemental wrath has been forged?"

"Not quite to that step yet, but the elemental forces of all Draenor are converging upon Shadowmoon Valley. It will reach its limit in an hour at most!"

Ner'zhul summoned his mount-wolf, shouting loudly:

"Once the elemental forces coalesce into an entity of wrath, it will execute destruction starting from Shadowmoon Valley. Your city of Karabor Temple is right near there—it will be pulverized by the elemental fury."

"No, it won't. Karabor Temple isn't as fragile as you think, nor are Draenor's elemental forces as terrifying as you describe. This is merely a small world; it cannot birth elemental lords that surpass convention."

Dick shook his head. As the earthquake's frequency subsided slightly, he immediately summoned his holy warhorse, pulled Nari up onto the mount, and—amidst the assembly and mobilization of the Vindicators—led the charge following Ner'zhul toward the place of elemental convergence.

The good news was that the location wasn't far.

The bad news was that the anomaly of the elemental forces continued; bursts of irregular earthquakes and howling gales severely hindered the Draenei's advance speed.

The elements had gone mad!

Normally the foundation of the world's climate and continental environmental systems, they were completely enraged at this moment.

In the eternal night of Shadowmoon Valley, blazing fire-meteors even materialized dancing across the sky. Those were not the magic of warlocks or mages; they were raw energy reactions formed when elemental forces gathered densely in the material world.

Resembling the extreme climates of apocalyptic disaster myths, earthquakes, tsunamis, and volcanic eruptions appeared concurrently with gale-force winds. Draenor's fortune in Shadowmoon Valley right now was definitely far from small.

One must remember that Karabor Temple sat right by the sea!

A mere tsunami surging in from the Zangarian Sea would leave the Draenei in the city scrambling to protect themselves. Yet after Dick charged out of the canyon with the Vindicators to reach higher ground, before the astonished gazes of the youngsters, the ground ahead was already splitting open along the nearby hills.

Amidst the "super-earthquake" scene of collapsing and shifting mountain ranges, a rift valley was forming right in the heart of Shadowmoon Valley.

"Embaari Village..."

Yvel gripped her warhammer tightly as she gazed into the distance, watching her birthplace and childhood home swallowed by surging magma from the mantle layer in a split second at the moment the ground split open.

"Small scene, hold steady!"

Dick was the only one on the scene with a calm expression.

He wasn't deliberately trying to look cool.

It was mainly because the elemental wrath before him, compared to the exaggerated light-and-shadow spectacles of the four elemental lords appearing in his memories of Azeroth, was truly a bit underwhelming.

Even Therazane the Stonemother, the gentlest of the four elemental lords, could tear apart the entire continental shelf of the material world once angered, while the Firelord's mere minutes of manifestation in the material world turned one-sixth of the continent into a desolate, scorched wasteland.

Compared to that sort of world-reshaping "creation majesty," Draenor's elemental forces clearly remained within a "reasonable" scope.

World-ending?

No!

This wasn't something these "routine elemental lords" could accomplish or were willing to attempt.

The elemental forces existing in the vast majority of worlds enjoyed a quite intimate relationship with their respective world-bodies; for instance, Draenor's elemental forces would even actively warn orc shamans of impending crises. The reason why Azeroth's elements were so unruly was due to certain "historical legacy reasons"—that was hardly the norm for elemental forces in the starry sea.

Perhaps precisely because of this, the audacious Gul'dan dared to wantonly humiliate and desecrate the path of the elements in this world, even arrogantly attempting to "kill" them.

Look at that!

Right now, they were being completely ridden roughshod over by Gul'dan and the Shadow Council, yet Draenor's enraged elements had fumed for so long without managing to forge even a demigod-tier elemental lord, truly proving the old adage:

Never show your true skills casually, or else people will realize you have none.

The sorrow of a small world was vividly manifested at this moment; they possessed no capacity to protect themselves against starry-sea-scale disasters, and the elemental might that ought to have guarded the world looked so "harmless to humans and animals" during its counterattack against crisis.

"Stop staring, it's our turn! Everyone."

Dick made a "flanking coordination" tactical gesture toward Nari beside him, and said to the Vindicators behind him:

"It is time for the local elemental forces, which have coexisted with orc civilization, to truly witness the significance of the Draenei's existence in this world! It is time to awaken them to what kind of forces are bewitching the orcs into such frantic and evil deeds.

Ah, what addition of flowers to embroidery could ever compare to sending charcoal in deep snow?"
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