--- CHAPTER 10: The Grand Plan (And the Obvious Motive) ---
"Welcome, Ranger General," I said, recovering after a slight distraction. Nailed it. Smooth. "I'm glad you can come. I will take you to the military camp. If you need anything, you can tell me. Please forgive me for the poor hospitality."
I had never really picked up girls, but I knew that the first impression was very important. And my first impression was "gaping fish-prince." Time to recover.
Alleria, for her part, had a good impression of me. Putting aside my status, I was a handsome boy. In addition to my decent manners, the slight, almost perceptible distraction after seeing her... well, it made her feel a little proud.
"Thank you, Your Highness."
I led the way and talked with Alleria. "Was the journey hard?"
"I'm used to it. This distance is nothing."
Alleria shook her head. Her walking posture was very serious, very militant. But... wow. You couldn't help but focus on her twisting buttocks. Don't look, don't look, don't look... I'm looking. Light, that's just mesmerizing. Elves are simply built differently. The beauty of the elves is as famous as their arrogance, especially in their mages and nobles, who are no different from human nobles.
"Please be careful when fighting the orcs this time," I said, trying to sound professional and not at all focused on her... walk. "Those green monsters will become more violent after drinking the blood of the devil. They will ignore certain pain and are good at exchanging injuries for lives. So don't show mercy if you can kill them with one blow. I like a saying very much: being kind to the enemy is being cruel to yourself."
I said it lightly and didn't ask Alleria how many people came. I already knew: no mages, just a few hundred elven rangers. Rangers are masters of guerrilla warfare, but they aren't very good at close combat in a big, positional war.
"Thank you, Your Highness. Have you ever fought against orcs?"
Alleria was a little curious. The prince in front of her was only nineteen years old. He's younger than he sounds, she was probably thinking. Are all humans so... intense?
"No," I admitted. "I heard the veterans talk about it. Most of them lost their arms and thighs. Their experience is a bloody lesson. Ranger General, we are here. This is your barracks. If you need anything, feel free to find me. I will definitely help if I can."
I showed a sunny, disarming smile. I did not rely on others. Instead of relying on others, it is better to rely on myself.
Hearing this, Alleria was a little respectful. At least compared to the posturing nobles in Silvermoon City, the prince in front of her was the most sober.
"Thank you. I will find you if I need you."
"Then I won't bother you. We will talk after you settle down."
I smiled, made an invitation gesture, and turned away. Be cool. Just walk. Don't look back. Don't... okay, just walk.
It was not the time for romance. A woman like Alleria wouldn't follow a mere title; she would follow real strength. And 'Prince of Lordaeron' wasn't real strength. It was a borrowed title, a promise of future power, not present reality.
I needed my own power.
The army of Lordaeron was not my army. It was my father's, and by extension, it belonged to the web of human nobles who had grown corrupt and stagnant. They would hinder any real change, any real ambition. I had no intention of waiting decades for my father, Terenas, to die, only to inherit a kingdom shackled by their greed.
I would make my own kingdom. I would build my own army.
This was my grand plan, formed right after the merger of memories hit me like a truck. First, use this war to make a personal fortune. Second, earn enough merit to be granted my own fiefdom. And third, the real masterstroke: I would take my forces, my wealth, and any orc captives willing to work, and sail across the Endless Sea to Kalimdor.
There, I would build my own place.
It was the perfect solution. It avoided a direct power struggle with my father. Terenas was still strong and vigorous, and history was filled with tales of powerful kings growing jealous of their capable sons. This plan sidestepped that entirely. 'Get-so-successful-your-dad-doesn't-exile-you,' I thought. A solid strategy.
Kalimdor was a fresh start. It had more opportunities and was far from the political rot of Lordaeron. Trying to develop here? I'd be fighting my own nobles more than any external threat.
The lords, like those in the Middle Ages on Earth, only paid lip service to the king. They had their own armies and tax collection rights. Even the king couldn't interfere with their territories. Trying to break that fucked-up rule? The difficulties would be insane. Civil officials, military generals, and other talents were all cultivated by the nobles. How could they agree to dig up their own roots? Only a madman would try.
Crossing the ocean wouldn't even be a big problem with the help of my aunt, Lady Ashvane. After this morning, I was pretty sure she'd build me a new continent if I asked nicely.
I hated these power struggles. Although it is said that fighting with others is endless fun, I just had no time. The orc war, the Scourge of the undead, the invasion of the Burning Legion, the war in Outland, the crisis of the ancient gods, the explosion of the Zerg in Ahn'Qiraj, the crisis of the trolls... a whole calendar of world-ending headaches was on the way.
I had to concentrate on development. I never thought about saving the world. I just wanted to survive and get enough beauties to enjoy. And... let's be honest. Some women are not easy to deal with. You need power and strength to do it. This is why I still have to struggle. I really, really want the bodies of beautiful women. Elves, dragons... you name it. And I, Arthas, am aiming to be a grand collector.
Not long after, I came to the dwarven district. Ah, the smell of home: spilled ale, sawdust, and unwashed dwarf. Perfect.
"Hi, Hanlon, is Muradin here?"
"Hey, Your Highness!" a heroic dwarf laughed and greeted, clearly familiar with me. "Lord Muradin is drinking inside!"
I skillfully pushed open the door of the tavern. I was looking for Muradin, the younger brother of the King of Ironforge, and also the dwarf warrior who taught me martial arts. When I came in, I saw a dwarf with a massively braided beard chugging a beer. His muscles were exaggeratedly strong, almost like the thighs of adult men, and his strength was just as exaggerated.
"Muradin," I said, getting straight to it. "I need your help, as my ally to fight against the orcs."
"Oh, of course! No problem, Arthas!" Muradin slammed his mug down. "Those damn green bastards attacked Ironforge. But we drove them back! Humph, they're besieging Ironforge and sending troops north."
Muradin agreed without hesitation. As a teacher, as a friend, as a liaison ambassador between dwarves and humans, he was all in.
"Thank you. I do have a plan. Come, let's talk. It's... very interesting."
He's thinking adventure, I thought. I'm thinking... well, he'll find out soon enough.
--- END OF CHAPTER 10 ---