Uther the Lightbringer, fresh from the blood-soaked purgatory of Andorhal, felt his chest heaving with a violent, suppressed rage.
His eyes no longer held weariness or pity; they burned with a righteous fire. That fury was born from sorrow for the fallen innocents of Lordaeron, resentment toward Arthas's heinous betrayal, and most of all, the naked greed of these so-called "allies" standing before him.
Though he was the Lightbringer of the Alliance, his heart remained truly loyal to only one man: King Terenas Menethil. Uther lived by a simple code of honor: he would serve those who placed their trust in him. If anyone dared to threaten the last of Terenas's bloodline, Uther would fight to his last breath, regardless of the odds. He would make them pay a price, and there would be no mercy in his strike.
"Who dares stand against me?"
A roar, imbued with the titanic power of the Holy Light, exploded like a clap of thunder. The sound rattled the magical crystals in the vaulted ceiling, and several of the weaker mages were thrown back a step, their faces turning ashen.
Uther took a heavy, deliberate step forward. His warhammer, the Hand of Tyr, pulsed in rhythm with its master's boundless rage. It hummed with energy, suddenly erupting in a brilliant, blinding radiance.
This was no gentle, healing glow; it was as scorching as the midday sun, heavy with the weight of judgment. It instantly dispelled the gloom of the hall, bathing the chamber in pure, incandescent Light. Uther brandished the massive hammer—the very weapon that had nearly crushed his "pious" former apprentice to death. It vibrated violently in his grip.
No one in the room wanted to test whether their magical wards could withstand a single blow from that legendary weapon.
Rhodes let out a cold sneer. He unfurled a summoning scroll, and eight Light Elements coalesced from the air, bolstering their presence. The atmosphere in the Kirin Tor Council Chamber turned frigid. Rhodes's sudden escalation—calling forth gold and diamond golems alongside the heavenly brilliance of the angels—was like dropping a boulder into a still pond.
The shimmering Light of the elements intertwined with the cold, metallic sheen of the golems, creating an aura of such crushing power that the temperature in the hall seemed to plummet. With Uther's full support, the threat was undeniable. Who would dare duel the First Paladin of the Alliance?
No one stood forward—not even Antonidas, the Archmage of Dalaran, let alone the lesser members of the Kirin Tor.
"Kul Tiras stands firmly with Her Highness," Jaina Proudmoore declared, her voice sharp as she stepped beside Rhodes, her staff glowing with frost.
"Quel'Thalas considers Lord Rhodes a friend," Kael'thas Sunstrider added immediately, his eyes narrowing at his fellow councilors. "We will not be party to the seizure of a friend's property; it is beneath the dignity of any true mage."
"The dwarves of Ironforge stand with them as well," came a gruff voice from the delegation. "And the gnomes of Gnomeregan!" "And the Wildhammer clan!"
"Look at yourselves!" Uther's voice rolled like thunder, thick with grief. His gaze swept over the representative from Stromgarde and the shifting, uncomfortable expression of Antonidas. "Look at your faces! Lordaeron is in flames! The people are wailing! Countless soldiers and civilians have fallen to the Scourge—slaughtered by the traitor I once called a son! And you? What are you doing?"
Uther leveled his warhammer at the Stromgarde representative. "You shift blame! You accuse the victims! The tragedy of Stratholme was a disaster for all of Azeroth, the catalyst for Arthas's fall! To pin the responsibility on a nation suffering total destruction is cold, short-sighted, and cowardly!"
He turned the Hand of Tyr toward the councilor who had spoken of "requisition." The Light condensed into a physical weight, making the man's skin sting. "And you! You dare, under the gaze of the Holy Light, attempt to plunder the last hope of a dying kingdom! The power bestowed by the Titans is meant to fight evil, not to satisfy the avarice of Dalaran!
King Terenas exhausted his soul to build those ships for his people's survival! They are the final Ark for the refugees! To claim them as 'Alliance property' is to desecrate the memory of every soul sacrificed in this war!"
"I... I only meant..." the councilor stammered, unable to meet Uther's burning eyes. "I was worried Regent Rhodes was being swindled by goblins..."
"Swindled? A convenient excuse," Rhodes spat. "While our human 'allies' hesitate, those you call 'filthy creatures' have shown more generosity than this entire council. And your response is to attempt a robbery in the name of the Alliance? To hell with you."
"Regent Rhodes, please, lower your voice," Antonidas said, his tone weary. "Councilor, withdraw at once."
Antonidas was under immense pressure. The Titan technology Rhodes possessed was a siren song for mages, and greed had clouded many of their judgments. With the fall of Lordaeron, many assumed Rhodes had lost his political shield. They had underestimated the loyalty of the Lightbringer.
"Mark my words," Rhodes said, his voice dropping to a dangerous chill. "These ships, the Titan constructs, and the magic associated with them are NOT Alliance property."
He looked around the room. These men were still so arrogant, so convinced of their own importance. They had no idea that Archimonde was coming to level their city to the ground. Rhodes now understood exactly why Kael'thas had eventually felt so alienated—the petty infighting and discrimination of the human nobility were enough to drive anyone to desperation.
Uther's gaze landed on Antonidas, filled with deep disappointment. "Archmage! You are an elder I have long respected. Dalaran is meant to be a lighthouse of wisdom. Does the Kirin Tor truly find glory in carving up an ally's legacy? Where is your oath? Has nothing remained between the kingdoms of men but cold calculation?"
Uther's words struck like physical blows. He stood tall, a beacon of gold and silver against the dark uncertainty of the room.
"I, Uther the Lightbringer, High Lord of the Order of the Silver Hand, swear this in the name of the Light!" His voice rang through the Violet Citadel like a great bell. "As long as I draw breath, I will not allow anyone to harm or plunder the last bloodline of Lordaeron—Princess Calia Menethil! Nor will I allow anyone to lay a finger on the gifts the Titans have bestowed upon Regent Rhodes for the salvation of this world!"
The warning was absolute: to touch them was to invite the wrath of the First Paladin.
He slammed his warhammer into the floor. A shockwave of pure Holy Light rippled outward. It caused no physical damage, but it washed over their souls, leaving them trembling.
"If anyone insists on testing the wrath of the Light," Uther challenged, his eyes like burning swords, "step forward! See if your arcane shields are stronger than the Hammer of Tyr. See if your spells can pierce the hides of these golems. Step forward and judge for yourselves!"
The silence was deafening. The councilor who had started the dispute looked ashen, realizing that any further provocation would start a civil war within the walls of Dalaran—one they were not guaranteed to win.
"No one here wishes to be an enemy of Lordaeron, or of Lord Uther," Antonidas conceded, bowing his head slightly.
"Then we are leaving," Uther said, sweeping a cold gaze over the room. "There is no reason for Her Highness to remain in a place that treats her as a commodity."
As they turned to leave, Rhodes felt a wave of relief. Saving Uther had been the right choice. Without the deterrent of the Lightbringer's name, Rhodes would have been fighting an uphill battle against the entire Kirin Tor.
Before she walked out, Jaina turned back to her mentor. "Dalaran should not be blinded by greed, Master Antonidas. For the sake of the city... please, think twice."