Chapter 2: War Oath Shenanigans
Hey, guys, grab a coffee, Milktea and let's dive into this epic tale from Azeroth—straight outta Lordaeron's royal chaos! It's been four years since that wild Dark Portal busted open, unleashing those green-skinned orcs like a bad storm rolling through. They smashed up Stormwind down south, real bad, burning and looting like there's no tomorrow, and didn't even catch their breath before turning their war-crazy eyes on the six human kingdoms up north. Word on the street? Their army's hauling atleast a milion strong—talk about a beefy squad! These orcs are built like tanks, twice as tough as your average Joe. Takes three of our top-trained fighters to take one down, and even then, it's a sweaty, messy brawl. No wonder folks are on edge!
But here's the crazy part—while we're all sweating bullets, the nobles are throwing a party like it's all good! Sipping wine, laughing it up, acting like those orcs aren't about to kick our asses. Are they just chill to a fault, or totally clueless? To me, it reeks of arrogance with a dumb twist, but hey, I'm just kicking back, watching the show unfold.
Now, let's talk about me—Arthas, the prince of Lordaeron, the guy with the crown-in-waiting vibe. Pretty much everyone here knows my face. You don't know the prince? Good luck hanging with the in-crowd! The nobles have their clout, sure, but the king's the big boss, and as the only prince—yep, I've got one unmarried sister, Calia—I've pretty much got it all locked down. Not saying I'm the golden child, but I can snag whatever I want, and that's a total game-changer.
So, check this out: I'm standing there, and bam—holy light blasts out of me like a freaking fireworks show! It's dazzling, warm as a summer day at the beach, washing over the whole room. All that jittery energy and sneaky thoughts? Poof—gone. Just peace and calm, like a chill hangout sesh. People are gawking, some looking ready to bow—wild, right?
I'm floating up there, soaking in that holy glow like it's my personal sun tan, letting the Light's power seep into my bones. It rolls on for over a minute before I float back down, my eyes popping open with a flash of light. Dude, I look good—handsomer for sure! At fourteen, I'm already nearing 1.7 meters. Still growing? Hell yeah, I'm rooting for it!
Then I hear, "Arthas, are you okay?" she asks, her voice calm but worried.
I look at her—Queen Lianne. Everyone says she's my mother, and I've played along all this time. But deep down, I've always known something was off.
When I got the system's power, it finally made sense. We don't share the same blood. My soul and body… they're made different. Changed by something I still don't fully understand.
Still, she's been nothing but good to me. So, I stay quiet and act like her son. Maybe that's the least I can do for someone who truly cares. Queen Lianne. She's a knockout: delicate face with a soft smile, like time forgot to age her. Her golden hair flows like a waterfall over her shoulders, eyes soft as a lake, nose high and proud, lips tender, and that oval face? Pure jade vibes. Her nose adds this brainy edge that's off the charts. Her chest? Whoa—those huge breasts are about to pop, showing off a flawless jade neck, and her forearms are crystal clear, no blemishes. That court dress cinches her slim waist, but below, her hips flare out, round and curvy, with straight, sexy legs that make you wanna mess with them all day. And those ten-centimeter heels? They're propping up this crazy-hot body like a masterpiece.
Lianne's from Kul Tiras, born into the Ashvane family—one of the big four. Her sister, Priscilla, runs the trade game there and wields serious power. That's why Lordaeron snagged her as queen. Nobles marry nobles; commoners? They're just side pieces, not even worth the label.
Next to her stands my sister, Calia Menethil, 1.65 meters of pure charm. Her oval face rocks phoenix eyes that ooze allure, and her delicate mouth flashes bright teeth. Her breasts aren't huge but round and firm like ripe grapefruits—pretty sweet, huh? She's got that curvy figure that turns heads, and I can't help but notice.
I shake my head, grinning. "I'm fine, Mom, don't sweat it. The gods guided me—I met the ancestors, and they told me to hustle and be a great king like Dad."
A hearty laugh booms out. "Haha! Really, my son? My achievements don't even touch one ten-thousandth of the ancestors'. You sure you're okay?" In strides an old guy with a crown—King Terenas, my pops. White hair and beard, but he's still got that fire. Lordaeron's most ambitious king, no doubt.
I don't feel some deep father-son love for this guy—more like a "stepped-in" dad after over a decade together. No mushy stuff, just a solid kinship. He's been good to me, not a saint but not a jerk either. I can roll with that.
"Yeah, Dad. The Holy Light's got my back. The ancestral kings are ticked off about those green-skinned orcs from the south. They've trashed our land and slaughtered our people—their crimes are unforgivable. I wanna join the Alliance war, help you carry the load, and follow the ancestors' advice."
The room got tense real quick. Battles are no picnic—look at the Stormwind king, buried with his capital. War doesn't care about your title! Mom's giving me that worried mom look, not wanting her baby boy on the front lines or screwing up. But she knows she can't stop it—this is my chance to toughen up for the throne, no sweat.
Terenas went quiet for a beat. The seven human nations have always scrapped, even fought, before the orcs crashed the party. Now, they're barely holding it together after the south's distress call. As Alliance leader, he's under crazy pressure. He didn't want me in the fight, but after mulling it over, he nodded. "Good for you, kid—this'll build you up."
"I promise you, you'll learn ruling from Uther's side. You're assisting him, got it? Not leading."
"Yes, Father. I'll nail it!" I'm pumped—this is my big break, a rare taste of freedom. Controlling an army means having a say, and with people under me, I can kick off my plans: trade, cash, maybe even snag a few elves to mess around with. Picturing those slender elf chicks panting under me? Gets me hyped, and the system's hinting it's doable!
"Uther, Arthas is your adjutant. You can boss him around," Terenas added, not just tossing me into training. Other kings were here, and he's slyly shifting my responsibility. I assist, not lead—if it flops, not my fault; if I shine, it's my win. Plus, sending me out pressures the others to step up. Clever move, old man—hits harder than a fel-infused hammer!
The other five kings? Sharp as tacks. They're cursing Terenas an old fox under their breath but slap on fake grins, praising my potential and his guts. Frustrated? You betcha.
"Yes, Your Majesty, your call's my command," Uther boomed, one of the legendary paladins. Stubborn, a bit stiff, but upright and brave—hard to pin down, but his loyalty's rock-solid. He'll keep me in line, no sweat.
As the chatter fades, my mind's buzzing. This war's my shot to prove myself, but those elf fantasies? They're sticking like glue. The system's humming, dropping hints about power, women, a legacy to build. I sneak a glance at Mom and Calia—their beauty's a tease of what's ahead. The ancestors want me to hustle? Cool, I'll kick some orc butt and carve out my own empire—one conquest at a time. Wonder what Uther's got cooking—hope it's not just boring drills. Stick around, 'cause this is just the warm-up!