Garithos hit the ground with a heavy thud. His strength was mediocre at best—hardly a top-tier combatant—and he stood no chance against a Holy Archangel. He hadn't even been able to react before he was swatted off his horse in a single exchange.
The soldiers behind him stirred, hands gripping their sword hilt, yet no one dared to move. High above, the Holy Fire Phoenix spread its massive wings, bathing the area in a searing, majestic light that served as a silent warning: move and die.
No one expected the Lord Regent of Lordaeron to deliver such a brutal "demonstration" of power upon arrival. They had assumed Rhodes would exchange pleasantries with Garithos before asking him to hand over command; instead, Rhodes chose violence without a moment's hesitation.
Rhodes scanned the crowd, his gaze like a torch. "Does anyone else question the authority of the legitimate Regent of Lordaeron? Or the appointment by Princess Calia?" His voice wasn't loud, but it carried clearly to the far edges of the camp.
"Lord Regent Rhodes! We know who you are, and we know the Princess appointed you—everyone knows! But we aren't satisfied, and we aren't submissive!" a knight flanking Garithos stood up and roared.
"He's right! Why did she leave us? She abandoned us to hide in Kalimdor while we were left here to rot and die!"
"Garithos might not have an official title, but he is a Lord of Lordaeron and was a military officer. Is it a crime that he was willing to lead us in our darkest hour?"
Truthfully, many of the remaining commanders in Lordaeron harbored deep resentment toward the royal family. This catastrophe had been caused by the royal traitor, Arthas. The fact that Princess Calia had only taken the refugees from the capital and a few others to Kalimdor felt like a betrayal to those left behind on Lordaeron's soil.
"Lord Rhodes, you've gone too far!" several human knights stepped forward, beginning to denounce him.
Curiously, the nearby Dwarven riflemen and Gnomes remained silent. In the eyes of the non-human races, Garithos was a complete bastard. He gave orders without mercy and squeezed his allies to their absolute breaking point. Many within the Alliance remnants were fed up with this self-styled Grand Marshal; some had even suggested asking King Varian of Stormwind to intervene.
However, Stormwind was far away. After Rhodes and Calia left and the Silver Hand went quiet, Garithos was the only warrior with enough prestige left to lead.
"I know you are resentful," Rhodes said, looking at the human officers. "But have you not noticed? The demons are gone. If you had encountered them on this land, you would know a single demon is far stronger than a common undead. Have you suffered a large-scale Scourge attack in months? Have you suffered catastrophic losses? No. Why?"
"I'll tell you why: because I destroyed the main demon legion. The reason the Lich King hasn't sent an army here is because his main force went to Kalimdor to assault Mount Hyjal. We bled on that mountain against the Scourge and the Burning Legion until we were victorious. You are feasting on the fruits of our victory, yet you show no gratitude."
Fleeing to Kalimdor had been the only option; without it, there was zero chance of success. Even then, killing Archimonde had come at a staggering cost. Without Rhodes, the Archangels, and the internal war he sparked between the undead and the demons, victory would not have been so easy.
The real turning point of the Third War was Hyjal. The only reason Lordaeron's remnants could even regroup was because the main Scourge and Legion forces had left.
The soldiers began to whisper among themselves. It was true—the Scourge presence had been manageable lately compared to the terrifying "sea of death" that marked the beginning of the plague. They had credited Garithos's leadership and the Light's protection, never realizing the true cause.
"But why wouldn't Princess Calia take us? Why leave us here to wait for death?" one officer asked.
"Who told you the Princess abandoned you? Who told you we didn't care?" Rhodes stood tall. "The Princess left to draw the main weight of the Legion and the Scourge to Kalimdor, specifically to reduce the pressure on you here. And exploring a new continent is the hardest, most grueling work. The first pioneers have nothing; they started from zero while facing the threats of a wild land."
"Do you know what lives in Kalimdor? Terrifying centaurs—vicious bandits. They constantly harassed our settlements. Uther the Lightbringer himself has been leading the Silver Hand to protect our people from them. Even now, with Hyjal won, Uther is tirelessly hunting the demon remnants. Despite that, the Princess kept the people here in her heart.
She established a stronghold at Southshore to take in refugees before she left, and the moment the war ended, she ordered me back to take command. She's returning to Lordaeron soon. We will retake our capital and see its glory restored!"
"You have all been blinded," Rhodes roared. "Garithos does not fight for humanity or the common people; he fights for his own ego. If he cared, why didn't he lead you to Southshore? Why did he refuse all contact with the Princess? He is nothing but a warlord trying to crown himself. He is no hero—don't get that twisted!"
His words hit like a hammer. Silence fell over the camp as soldiers lowered their heads, re-evaluating the last few months.
"It... it does seem like the Scourge is much weaker than before."
"And the demons really are gone."
"Why didn't Garithos tell us about Southshore?"
The commander of the Dwarven riflemen finally stepped forward, his voice gruff and booming. "Enough! I've had my fill of these human squabbles!" He turned to Rhodes and gave a crisp military salute. "Lord Regent Rhodes, the Wildhammer Dwarves recognize your authority. That bastard Garithos treated our warriors like cannonballs and never gave us the supplies or respect we earned. If you truly mean to build an equal Alliance, we follow you!"
A group of Gnome engineers chirped in agreement. "Exactly! Garithos wouldn't even give us basic materials for repairs!" "And he always laughed at our inventions!"
"Kael'thas leads the Blood Elves back into the Alliance, under the command of the Regent," Kael'thas added, standing firm at Rhodes's side.
"And I represent Kul Tiras," Jaina spoke up. "I stand with Lord Regent Rhodes. He is my partner, and he speaks for half of Kul Tiras as well."
Strangely enough, Jaina chose this moment to go public with their relationship. While Rhodes was Regent, he wasn't married to Calia, and Jaina wanted to stake her claim. To the Princess of Kul Tiras, the Night Elf girl next to Rhodes wasn't a threat—but Calia was. She needed to make their bond clear. Rhodes caught her eye, smiled, and gave a nod of confirmation.
The tide turned. A human noble dropped to one knee. "House Carpos pledges eternal loyalty to the Menethil line! We await the Regent's orders!"
More and more soldiers laid down their weapons and knelt. Even Garithos's die-hard loyalists were forced to bow their heads.
Rhodes's tone softened slightly. "Rise, everyone. I don't need your knees; I need your loyalty and your courage. Now, let us begin the work of Lordaeron's rebirth. I promise you, I will lead you back into the Capital. If I fail, take my head and hang it from the Alliance banner!"
This was his vow. He had no intention of handing the capital to anyone else. As for Sylvanas and her Forsaken? They could go haunt Stratholme, or maybe the frozen wastes of Northrend—undead didn't mind the cold, anyway.
"We follow your lead, Lord Regent!"
"Retake the Capital! Retake Dalaran!" the soldiers shouted.