While the battlefield was still being cleared, a void portal flickered open, and the figure of Arthas stepped out. Clad in blue battle-plate, he exuded an air of heroic vitality. With his sharp, short hair and the ethereal aura of a god, he projected a hazy nobility that commanded instinctive reverence.
A figure darted forward like a swallow returning to its nest. Shandris buried her head in her father's shoulder, the cold, tense mask she had worn earlier finally relaxing.
"Father, you're here!"
"I am. I watched the 'excitement' for a while," Arthas replied, stroking his eldest daughter's hair with genuine affection. He wanted to make up for all the time he had missed. He felt a deep sense of gratitude toward Tyrande and Azshara; without their guidance, Shandris wouldn't be this devoted, obedient, and sensible. "These low-born wretches annoyed my precious little treasure. They all deserve to die."
"Hehe, whatever Father decides. I'll listen to you," Shandris chirped. She despised the natives, though she didn't usually like categorizing races as "low" or "noble." That didn't make her a pushover; she would strike and kill when necessary. No one in the Sisterhood of Elune was truly a pacifist.
"Very well. Turn their entire kin into laborers. Let them work day and night until they expire. Consider it a way for them to atone for their sins."
With a single sentence, Arthas decided the fate of three races: the Hozen, the Quilboar, and the Jinyu. Normally, it would be expected for local tribes to resist an invader, but in a world where might makes right, Arthas was the ultimate "outlaw."
Shandris nodded in agreement. She found the Quilboar particularly repulsive—barbaric creatures with no concept of civilization beyond primal reproduction.
To her, civilization meant heritage, comfort, and order. Lordaeron was the center of the world because it offered a refined lifestyle. Once you experienced the convenience of the mana-network and the abundance of resources where everything could be bought in a single stop, returning to a primitive, blood-soaked tribal life was nauseating. Time is money, after all.
The Quilboar were useless for anything but raw labor, though their muscle might be a good "raw material" to improve the genetics of the Kobolds. The Goldtooth Clan would surely appreciate these dim-witted but powerful creatures. Fools were a premium asset; to enlighten them was to steal from the Empire's treasury.
Behind Arthas, Helya stepped through the portal. As a handmaiden, it was her duty to remain by his side, especially since Jandice was currently resting at the manor due to her pregnancy.
Following Helya were Chen Stormstout and his niece, Li Li. After nearly twenty years away from the Wandering Isle, Chen looked upon the familiar greenery of the Jade Forest, and tears welled in his eyes. Li Li, however, was less emotional. Born on the back of Shen-zin Su, Pandaria was merely another stop on her travels. If she had to choose, she would rather go back to the Stormstout Brewery in Lordaeron—the place she truly considered home.
"So this is Pandaria? Doesn't look like much," Li Li remarked. "But thanks anyway, your Majesty."
Chen, however, bowed with the utmost respect. "Thank you, Sire, for bringing me back. I thought I would never see the ancestral lands again. If there is anything you need, I will go through fire and water for you, as long as it doesn't violate my principles."
"I don't need much," Arthas said. "Contact the local Pandaren villages. Tell them Lordaeron has come to gather materials to resurrect the demigods who fell ten thousand years ago fighting the Burning Legion. It is only right that those who died for this world return to life."
"If they don't want to get involved, that's fine. I won't blame them, but Goddess Aionhara won't favor them either. Just tell them not to stand in my way, or they will find only a dead end. If they join us, I will guide them into the Goddess's light."
Arthas signaled, and a stout, brown-feathered gryphon emerged from the portal, bowing low. "Take him to the nearest village, then return."
Chen felt a prick of apprehension but simply bowed. He knew that while the Emperor was fair, he was also relentless. "As you wish, Majesty. I will do my best to persuade my kin."
Li Li chose to stay behind with Shandris. "I have no attachment to this place. My parents died on the Wandering Isle, and honestly, I'm bored with primitive living. I love the order of the Alliance and the City of Hope. I want to spend my life at the brewery, not here."
Arthas patted her head. "You are free to stay where you choose. I respect the choices of every citizen of Lordaeron, as long as you don't regret them later."
"Thank you, Majesty!" Li Li gave a martial arts salute.
"Welcome to the team, Li Li!" Shandris yawned. "But I'm starving. Help us start a fire. I want fish soup tonight! Father, we should set up the camp. I think it's going to rain."
"No problem," Arthas said. "I've called a Druid team to help with the construction. The Gnomes and Goblins will handle the long-term engineering. Helya, any suggestions?"
Arthas could have grown a vine-house with a wave of his hand, but as an Emperor, he preferred to delegate.
Construction crews began pouring through the portal: Gnomes, Goblins, Dwarves, and Humans. Even the Blood Elves arrived to survey the land and create 3D magical blueprints. While Dwarves focused on sturdy practicality, Blood Elves prioritized aesthetics, and the Night Elves acted as the bridge, ensuring a balance between elegance and function.
The Night Elves were busy preparing for the demigod resurrection in Ashenvale, but a specialized Druid team was always on standby for Arthas. Leading them was Leyara, the daughter-in-law of Archdruid Fandral Staghelm, accompanied by her daughter, Astaria.
"Greetings, Majesty. It is an honor to serve you," Leyara said with a graceful bow. "What are your orders?"
"We need a camp. Construct some vine-houses here first; Shandris needs to rest. Please, be quick about it."
Arthas looked at the gathered elves. Whether male or female, they all looked at him with eyes full of worship—a tribute to his status as an ancient hero and a true god.