"My Prince?"
Baron Rivendare's call snapped Arthas out of his reverie. Arthas offered an apologetic smile. "My apologies, Baron Rivendare. My thoughts wandered for a moment."
"It's quite alright. I know His Majesty's expectations place a heavy burden on you," Baron Rivendare said, not minding Arthas's momentary distraction. He simply raised his glass to Arthas. "But for now, it's perfectly fine to relax a bit."
"To you, Baron," Arthas also raised his glass, clinking it with Rivendare's.
Both drained their large mugs of dwarven ale. Rivendare, unconcerned with noble etiquette, wiped his mouth with his sleeve before immediately refilling their mugs. "Haha! That's how real men drink! Come on, Prince Arthas! Rivendare of the Silver Hand, I wish you a life of bravery and fearlessness!"
The formidable Knight Gavinrad, standing nearby, also raised his glass. "Gavinrad of the Silver Hand, I wish my brother a future filled with glorious military achievements!"
"My proudest student, I wish you always walk with light and justice!" Uther patted Arthas's shoulder, raising his own glass.
Across the table, the first paladin, Saidan Dathrohan, muscular and as solid as a fortress, also lifted his mug. "To our brother Arthas, may no evil ever touch you!"
The gentle and kind Tirion Fordring didn't forget to offer his blessing either. "To our brother Arthas, may you always be kind and honorable!"
Arthas looked at the first Paladins, almost all of them present before him, and felt a surge of emotion. After clinking glasses with these esteemed seniors, they all roared in unison, "May Lordaeron prosper forever, and may the Holy Light of the Silver Hand endure eternally!"
It was a simple banquet, almost exclusively attended by the Knights of the Silver Hand. Each of them was a pillar of their order, and a pillar of Lordaeron itself.
Who could have imagined that in just a few years, prosperous cities would crumble into ruins, and mighty heroes would turn to dust or suffer tragic fates? But this time, their future would not be a collection of sorrowful elegies. The destiny of Lordaeron, the fate of humanity, and indeed, the very future of Azeroth, would diverge drastically. Mortals might appear frail when confronted by disaster and destiny, yet when peril strikes, these very mortals will always fight fearlessly for the survival of their world. This, truly, is the enduring spirit of Azeroth.
The following morning, as Arthas emerged from his guest bed in the Lord's Manor, a faint throb lingered in his head. Those formidable men, who seemed to treat beer barrels like water pails, had taken turns toasting him. Only Arthas' extraordinary constitution had saved him from sleeping until the next morning. His "drinking combat prowess," however, had been undeniably top-tier.
Yesterday, no one who dared to challenge him had escaped unscathed. The primary culprits were Gavinrad and Rivendare, two unabashed old rogues who kept proposing challenges like, "Young people have strong constitutions, I'll drink one, you drink two!" Rivendare harbored a grudge because Arthas had shared embarrassing childhood stories with his wife, Lady Anastari. It was bad enough he was relentlessly pouring drinks, but Gavinrad, that brute, had enthusiastically joined in. Arthas estimated those two would likely be confined to their homes for the next two days. The sheer volume of alcohol they consumed yesterday could probably burst an ordinary person's stomach twice over!
"I almost died from drinking before even setting out, thanks to those two unabashed old rogues," Arthas muttered, splashing cold water on his face in the washroom. He stared at his handsome reflection in the mirror and couldn't help but sigh. "Even though I've seen it countless times, it's still a bit too handsome…"
He felt as if the Menethil family bloodline was truly exceptional. His sister, Calia , was a renowned beauty, and he himself was incredibly handsome. Just look at this face: resolute yet charming, dashing with a hint of coolness…
Ahem, I've strayed too far.
After Arthas finished washing up, he put on his clothes and prepared to leave, just as he encountered a servant knocking on his door. Upon seeing Arthas, the servant immediately stepped aside and respectfully announced, "Prince Arthas, Uther is looking for you."
"Uther? Where is he?" Arthas was a bit surprised. Uther hadn't truly drunk much yesterday; he'd only had a little when toasting him, so it was normal for him to be up and about today. But why was he seeking him out so early?
"My Prince, Uther is waiting in the reception hall."
Arthas surmised that for Uther to come specifically and so early, it must be something urgent. Otherwise, he could have simply waited for Arthas to find him at the cathedral.
Led by the servant, he arrived at the reception hall. Uther was already clad in his specially crafted armor, with a Holy Tome strapped to his waist. The Holy Tome was a magical artifact crafted specifically for Paladins. It was, in essence, a large, special book filled with techniques for wielding the Holy Light, alongside the doctrines of the Holy Light and the virtues of knighthood.
It served as standard equipment for every paladin, and remarkably, also as a weapon for combating evil. As for why it was considered a weapon, imagine a book with a metal-bound cover, reinforced with cast-iron horns on its four corners, weighing dozens of pounds, and chained to a belt so it could be unclipped and swung like a meteor hammer at any given moment.
But once a paladin carried a Holy Tome and wore battle armor, it invariably meant he was likely to receive orders and participate in battle.
"Teacher, what has happened?" Arthas frowned. Uther was fully armed and had personally sought him out, so the problem was likely significant.
"I received an urgent order from the capital this morning. Our allies have been attacked and require our military assistance." Uther briefly stated the situation.
Allies?
Arthas's mind quickly raced. Stratholme's Eastweald region (which would later become the Eastern Plaguelands) lay on the kingdom's easternmost border and didn't share a direct frontier with any other human kingdom. The most likely reason for Uther to be summoned and sent to find him was an attack on the High Elves to the north. "Have the Forest Trolls invaded the elves' territory again?" Arthas inquired.
"That's right," Uther replied, entirely unsurprised, considering it natural for Arthas to already be aware. "This time, their numbers are far greater than before. The elves might find it too difficult to resist alone."
"That doesn't quite fit the High Elf Lords' character," Arthas became intrigued. "Don't they always believe their magic can solve all problems? Now they want us to block the Forest Trolls' axes for them?"
"The request for aid was sent from Dalaran to the court mages," Uther added.
Arthas sighed. "Kael'thas is always so concerned. If you ask me, their Mage Council is far too rigid. Kael'thas should have acted long ago." Kael'thas, the Prince of the High Elves, was also Arthas's good friend and his former rival in love.
The reason for the 'former' was simple: the woman Kael'thas admired was now Arthas' girlfriend.
"His Majesty wants us to lead troops to Quel'Thalas for support." Uther did not delve into Arthas's topic; he began to explain the forces they could mobilize. "We can immediately dispatch about five hundred elite infantry, one hundred elite cavalry, one hundred musketeers, thirty priests, ten Paladins, and two Archmages."
"That many? And two Archmages?" Arthas was also somewhat surprised by the sheer number of troops. This was no ordinary force; the "elites" Uther spoke of were all veterans who had fought in the Second Orc War.
"Because we're going into the forest this time, the cavalry's combat effectiveness will be limited; otherwise, we could bring another hundred cavalry," Uther clarified.
Arthas understood. His father's meaning was clear: there was no shortage of troops; the only requirement was that he had to win this battle brilliantly.
"I understand," Arthas nodded in response. "I will also bring twenty 'Secret Blades.'"
Uther was uncharacteristically stunned. Was Arthas truly willing to deploy such a force for mere support? The Secret Blades were an elite combat unit of the Secret Intelligence Agency, a clandestine organization founded by Arthas himself, similar to Stormwind's SI:7. Their sole purpose was to efficiently bring eternal slumber to any threats to Lordaeron, and to all of Arthas' enemies.