Thanks to the Black Dragon Princess leaving Stormwind early, Varian wouldn't end up losing his Queen, preventing the subsequent series of upheavals. Without the so-called kidnapping and the split-soul operation, he might not become the King Varian who endured so many trials. But looking on the bright side, he also wouldn't have to die at the Broken Shore.
What kind of dark humor is this?
The women were conversing amongst themselves—queens, ladies, and chieftainesses; almost all the mainstream races were represented. Elves, Dwarves, Trolls, Gnomes, and Goblins—these naturally antagonistic races now gave the illusion of having a pleasant conversation.
Within the Alliance, there were no disputes, or rather, any disputes could be resolved; there was no need for life-and-death struggles. As for the hatred between the Forest Trolls and the Blood Elves, that was easily settled—they could continue their fighting as long as the intensity was controlled.
Historically, the only sect capable of achieving such harmony among various races, all striving for the same ideal of the Hour of Twilight, was the Twilight's Hammer.
It was a pity, but Arthas would never allow such people to exist. Unless these sects served him, and even then, he would require absolute control.
"Bridget, don't you plan on having a child?"
Whitemaine urged from the side. She wanted one herself but was too embarrassed to bring it up, so she tried to drag someone else into it. If someone shared the pressure with her, it would be a good thing; she wouldn't have to be so lonely.
As for becoming a Queen? She had no such thoughts. Being a Queen wasn't as good as being a Priestess, where she could shine for her Master. Besides, she loved her job, as if she were born for the priesthood. This kind of life was truly wonderful, giving her a sense of accomplishment and participation.
Bridget was the commander of the Scarlet Crusade, a brand-new legion Arthas had formed out of a twisted sense of humor, under the guise of seeking revenge against the Undead Scourge. Their primary goal wasn't total eradication, but rather to take down the Lich King and then force the undead to atone through labor. This applied to all undead except for the Forsaken Legion led by Queen Sylvanas; death was not a release, but working until a second death was the ultimate goal.
Simple death didn't provide sufficient revenge; only watching their enemies suffer could give them the pleasure of retaliation. Moreover, there were many tasks that the undead could perform without issue, but living beings could not; it was a perfect way to put them to use.
"Have a child? With whom?"
Bridget looked puzzled. She was already a Highlord now, the highest rank below the King. Arthas, in his kindness, allowed her children to inherit the title of Highlord; otherwise, according to the new laws, all inheritance of titles required an assessment of merit. This could be political achievements, military service, or even inventions—in short, Lordaeron did not support idlers.
Whitemaine rolled her eyes, somewhat speechless. They were both Priestesses of the sect, just with different roles, and they both served the same Master. Could they possibly have children with other men? That was preposterous!
"The Master, of course. I plan to bring this up with him. Do you want to join me? Otherwise, I'll go find Lilian."
Just then, a ghostly figure appeared. She hadn't been there a moment ago, and her sudden, abrupt appearance nearly scared them to death.
"Oh? You were looking for me!"
"Lilian, can you make some noise when you walk over next time? You're going to scare us to death even if nothing's wrong!"
Whitemaine rolled her eyes, speechless. Were all Assassins like this nowadays? She was curious what a Tauren Assassin would look like!
Believe it or not, Tauren could play as Assassins now too.
Lilian nodded expressionlessly, but spoke in a businesslike manner.
"Sorry, that's just how Scouts are. We need to blend into the environment so that others don't notice us."
Fine, talking to her was like talking to a wall; it was quite exasperating.
The three Great Priestesses had different roles, but their ranks were the same. Although Bridget was a Highlord, within the sect, she was on equal footing with the other two.
Bridget was in charge of military affairs, with the Scarlet Crusade being the sect's army. Whitemaine was responsible for proselytizing and cultivating believers, spreading the sect's tenets to attract more commoners. Lilian was in charge of training Scouts and intelligence work, acting as Arthas's private intelligence advisor, conducting infiltration investigations within Lordaeron to ensure no one could cause trouble like the Undead Scourge again.
"What do you think about what I said regarding having a child?"
"Not much."
Lilian remained expressionless, but the corners of her mouth curled up slightly, revealing her inner joy.
"But it's worth considering. If the Master is willing, that would be best. If not, I'm afraid it might be a bit awkward."
"Uh, you're afraid of being awkward too? I thought you'd stay expressionless forever!"
The three Great Priestesses gathered to conspire, a chain reaction triggered primarily by Shandris's arrival. Arthas had already announced that Shandris was a Princess of Lordaeron, enjoying all the privileges of a princess. He required the nobles and commoners of the Kingdom of Lordaeron to remember this; otherwise, if they tried to make a move on Shandris just because she was beautiful, they would be making a grave mistake.
On the other side, the men were naturally enjoying a steady flow of fine wine. Lordaeron produced a wide variety of wines, despite being in the midst of post-war reconstruction. Even without a heavy industrial base, they had Gnomish engineering and Arcane magic—higher-level, more illogical methods.
For now, only wheat and grain still needed to be imported; everything else was already self-sufficient. If nothing went wrong, the food problem would be resolved by the end of this year.
It was just that the Eastweald region was still being purified. That place was the granary for the entire north; a single region could supply the population needs of the whole north. It was all because of that damn Undead Scourge; those bastards had to die.
"Arthas, I didn't expect you to become King so soon; I thought it would take a few more years. I'm so sorry about King Terenas. Back then, Lordaeron sponsored the restoration of the Kingdom of Stormwind, yet when the Alliance was in trouble, Stormwind couldn't provide much help. I'm very ashamed of that. Honestly, if you hadn't invited me, I probably wouldn't have had the face to see you."
Varian was just honest. Warriors were pure and didn't play mind games, unlike those Paladins. He said what he meant and didn't beat around the bush. While his personality wasn't exactly gentle, everyone was willing to be friends with a warrior. They valued directness; sincerity was their ultimate weapon.
This made Arthas's expression turn strange. He knew exactly what was going on in Stormwind—it was riddled with nobles who constrained each other, and it had been ravaged by the Black Dragon Princess, Onyxia. During the war, they relied on those nobles who would rather starve the commoners to use the grain for business just to maintain the food supply.
Mainly, it was because the pearls and rare jewels were too tempting. Onyxia and Sinestra, mother and daughter, had even brought out their private hoards of wealth to support them. Combined with the connections they had previously cultivated, they had stubbornly withstood the grain crisis during the undead rampage. Dragons valued the wealth they collected immensely, no less than their own mates. Who would share their mate with others? That would be ridiculous!
But they had actually done it. Losing wealth didn't matter, but if the Black Dragon legacy were to be cut off, they would truly be left all alone, and life would lose its meaning.
The greater the initial investment, the greater the current return. Having become a mate and a Queen, and now controlling the entire treasury of Lordaeron, even if she were to take something from it, Arthas would turn a blind eye.
She was his wife, after all; why bother managing her so much? As for the kingdom's vault, as long as there was enough, it was fine; leaving too many gold coins in there would just let them gather dust.
Poor Varian didn't even know his family's fortune had been drained by the nobles, and he still felt foolishly embarrassed. Had he never wondered why Stormwind couldn't produce any money or food?
Don't ask; if you do, the answer is that there are bad people within!
"The past is the past; you don't need to take it to heart. Everything will get better. Speaking of which, what are your plans for the future?"
Arthas naturally wouldn't mention those matters. He simply patted Varian's shoulder and clinked his bottle against the other's, just like they were in a tavern.
"To run Stormwind well. The docks are too dilapidated, bandits roam Elwynn Forest, monsters ravage Westfall, and the fertile land can't be put to use. Sigh, it's too hard. I never thought being a King would be this difficult. Why can't it be a bit easier?"
Varian poured out his grievances. The Chancellor of the Exchequer complained that the tax revenue didn't cover expenses, resulting in no money to repair the damaged palace. Yet the nobles outside feasted on delicacies every day, draped in jewels, living better than him, the King. Moreover, he couldn't deal with these nobles; the laws of the ancestors could not be changed, and he alone was powerless to contend with them.
This wasn't an era that had moved past chaos and slaughter. Since the internal parasites hadn't been eliminated, they were simply clinging to the kingdom and sucking its blood.
If Stormwind went bankrupt, what did it matter to the nobles? At worst, they would flee to Lordaeron in the north to continue their ignoble existence. With Queen Onyxia there, it wasn't as if they'd have no way out at all.
There might even be some schemes of Onyxia's involved in this!
In the past, he would have definitely helped Varian find the traitors without a second thought. But now, he realized the mastermind behind this might be his own wife! In that case, he could only say sorry to his brother; he couldn't let his wife down.
Poor Varian was also completely in the dark, deceived and entirely unaware.
In the original plot, Stormwind taking the lead and assuming the role of Alliance leader was actually just a matter of picking up the pieces. If Lordaeron hadn't been crippled and destroyed, it would never have been the turn of those hicks who fled south to take charge.
The maritime kingdom of Kul Tiras had fallen into chaos due to Daelin's death, Gilneas was still isolationist and refused to communicate with the outside world, Stromgarde was a weakling, and Dalaran had been destroyed and was being rebuilt. This allowed Stormwind to step in. During the second invasion of the Burning Legion, Stormwind hadn't contributed even a tiny bit of effort.
Don't talk about reasons; first ask if they did it. If they didn't, then they were just the ultimate opportunists—hicks with extreme luck.
For this good brother of his, all Arthas could do was entertain him as best as he could. As for the matter of aid, one was too proud to ask, and the other didn't want to give, making it a perfect mutual understanding.
"It really is too hard; it'll be good enough just to survive in the future. Take my advice: sometimes, out of sight, out of mind. Just delegate the work. Even if something goes wrong in the future, you can find the person in charge to handle it. Take some time to do what you like and don't put so much pressure on yourself."
Arthas's words were pure slacking and buck-passing. He didn't want to carry the team, and he didn't want to take the blame. If things go well, keep playing; if not, just surrender. His main focus was enjoying life.
This was indeed very enjoyable—abandoning the shackles of responsibility, casting aside traditional morality, and enjoying a life free of conscience!
Refreshing!
Even more refreshing than the thrill of battle!
Once there are no more restraints, there is no more oppression. Oppress me all you want; I'm slacking off now, do as you please. You all go north to join Lordaeron, and I can go to Lordaeron to be a wealthy man. Let's all slack off together, as long as we're willing to let go.
No more patriotism, only the enjoyment of slacking off. This could only be described as incredibly satisfying.
Varian hesitated; he wasn't that kind of person. If anyone else had said this, he would have walked away immediately—they weren't on the same wavelength at all. But this was Arthas, his good brother, a powerhouse who had single-handedly pulled Lordaeron back from the brink of destruction, and who had now become a demigod, no different from a deity.
No, he was a deity. A demigod is still a god, just as a village chief is still an official!
Such a person wouldn't lie to him, nor would he deign to.
"Is that really feasible?"
Everyone else might lie to him, but his brother never would!
Arthas nodded vigorously, looking like someone who had seen it all.
"Of course. Nowadays, I don't manage too many things. I delegate every part and let the professionals handle it."
"If they manage it well, that's luck, proving I used the right person."
"And what if something goes wrong?"
"At worst, the kingdom falls; it's not like you'll die. A human lifespan is short, barely a hundred years. Don't bother with that 'eternal legacy' nonsense that long-lived races play. Look at the dragons—they're powerful enough, right? But they haven't said anything about forming a kingdom. That whole system doesn't really work anymore. You should just live your own life well. If all else fails, find a place to be a wealthy man and make sure your family lives well."
This whole new theory left Varian stunned. Something felt off, but he couldn't put his finger on it; it just seemed to make a lot of sense.
What kind of logic was this? What on earth!
Seeing Varian lost in thought, Arthas simply smiled. If Varian really followed his advice, he should be able to live out his days in peace and not end up dying at the Broken Shore.
But speaking of which, that source had already been snuffed out by him. There was nothing special inside the Tomb of Sargeras; although that place had a rift leading to the Twisting Nether, it didn't have enough energy to sustain it.
Now it had been reduced to an Anima production site, which could be considered a form of torture for the demons.
As long as demons weren't killed within the Twisting Nether, they could be continuously resurrected through the power of Argus, growing stronger with each life as they carried over their experience.
When a demon died, a new one would be born, but the new demon would have no experience and wouldn't initially serve the Burning Legion. They would wander the Twisting Nether, not caring about anything; after all, demons weren't born to be beasts of burden.
However, for now, the matter of the Burning Legion could be set aside. As long as there was no special passage, Sargeras couldn't come over—he couldn't even fly here. Those Eredar hussies could fly over only because the Army of the Light had helped them with countless teleports and warps.
To repel foreign invaders, one must first stabilize the interior. So, Lich King Nerzhul, are you ready to die?
Rest assured, this time Arthas would make full use of him, squeezing out every last bit of value before letting him vanish into thin air!