During this period, Rhodes also drank a mana potion to replenish his reserves before continuing the mass resurrection. In total, he cast Resurrection nearly 30 times, successfully reviving four to five thousand soldiers.
Performing the spell 30 consecutive times gave Rhodes a much clearer understanding of the skill. It was a profound magic; to trigger it, he had to drive not only life energy but also death energy. Pure life could not achieve resurrection, and pure death was equally incapable.
Rhodes began to understand Alexandros Mograine's realization: the pinnacle of Light is Shadow, and the pinnacle of Shadow is Light. Life seemed to follow the same principle. The end of life is death, yet is the end of death not a form of new life?
At least in Azeroth, it was so: beings are born and grow until they reach death, only to welcome a new existence within the Shadowlands. Even in ancient Eastern myths before his transmigration, there was the cycle of reincarnation; life and death were inextricably linked.
On the surface, Resurrection appeared to be a manifestation of vibrant vitality, but it was actually a form of death magic—specifically, a restorative branch of it.
This grand feast of mass resurrection earned Rhodes the heartfelt respect of every race present. Those who hold power over life and death are honored regardless of their culture. Among the Orcs, a Shaman who can merely summon an Ancestral Spirit for a conversation is already highly revered. Rhodes' prestige within the Horde reached an unprecedented peak.
"Rhodes, my friend," Thrall approached and performed the highest Orcish salute. "I will establish a new home for the Orcs on this land. You are a benefactor of the Horde. I promise you once again: so long as humans do not initiate aggression against Orcish territory, the Orcs will never be your enemies, nor the enemies of the Alliance. Should your people face hardship, tell us, and I will help you unconditionally."
Thrall had no desire to make an enemy of such a terrifying opponent; the best way to deal with Rhodes was as an ally. Furthermore, Rhodes' actions had secured him such high renown among the Orcish clans that as long as Rhodes didn't start a war, the Orcs wouldn't either.
"As long as the Orcs do not launch wars of expansion into our homes, we shall have peace. I too hope for harmony," Rhodes replied, nodding.
While he said the words, he knew in his heart it was an impossible dream. Conflict between Orcs and humans was almost inevitable. Both were prolific races, and the Orcs were naturally more bellicose.
Once their territory could no longer sustain their population, the hawks among them would surely cry for war. He thought of the future—even if Garrosh Hellscream didn't rise to power, who was to say a second Garrosh wouldn't appear?
"As long as I am Warchief, such a thing will not happen. Farewell, Rhodes." Thrall nodded and led the Tauren and Darkspear Trolls away from Mount Hyjal. He had already chosen a name for their new home: Durotar.
After bidding farewell to the Horde, the Prophet Medivh approached. He returned the Fire Elemental and Lightning Bolt scrolls to Rhodes.
"Young wizard, I see the future of Azeroth in you. You do not harbor the same blind hatred for Orcs as other human leaders. This is a good start. I hope you can lead our peoples toward coexistence," Medivh said.
Rhodes remained silent, thinking to himself that he was mostly just being polite to Thrall—a skill he, as someone from the East, was very adept at. "Of course, Lord Medivh. I am a man of peace," he replied with mock solemnity. Provided they don't mess with me.
"I must go now, young wizard. I will not appear before you again. This is our final farewell," Medivh said.
"Great Guardian, do you truly intend to stop helping the races of Azeroth? Or is there something you cannot say?" Rhodes asked.
"There are things I cannot speak of, but know this: I am a man who has already died. To protect Azeroth one last time in this war was my limit," Medivh sighed. A place in the Shadowlands was waiting for him; his resurrection had not been without a price.
Rhodes nodded. In the official lore, Medivh never appeared again after Hyjal. It seemed the Guardian wasn't unwilling to help, but physically unable to interfere further.
"Lord Medivh, keep the Lightning Bolt scroll. At least you will have an offensive spell for the future," Rhodes said, taking back the Fire Elemental scroll but pushing the other toward him. It was a test; if Medivh accepted, it would prove he might still be active in the world, albeit in hiding.
"I have no more need for it, Rhodes. But thank you for the kindness." Medivh shook his head and placed the scroll back in Rhodes' hand.
"Then let my subordinates teach you a unique Titan offensive spell—Magic Arrow."
"Unnecessary. However, before I go, let me give you a gift. I hope you use this power to safeguard this world." Medivh stepped forward and placed his palm on Rhodes' forehead.
You encountered a mysterious scholar on your journey. He promised to teach you something before his departure.
You have learned the new skill: Sorcery.
Your stats have increased: Power +2, Knowledge +2.
Flashes of Guardian spells filled Rhodes' mind, including the complex formulas for traveling to Draenor and a portion of the Guardian's essence.
"I cannot grant you the full mantle of the Guardian, child, but I can give you a part. You are now a protector of Azeroth." This was his parting gift.
Medivh smiled one last time, transformed into a black raven, and flew into the distance. Rhodes stood still for a long time. He had gained his 9th skill, Sorcery (which increases spell damage: 5% at Basic, 10% at Intermediate, 15% at Advanced), along with 4 stat points and the legacy of the Guardian.
"Goodbye, Master Medivh," Rhodes whispered. With such a massive boon, the title of "Master" was well-earned.
Over the following days, Uther and the Paladins worked with the Night Elf Sentinels to sweep the slopes of Hyjal. The corruption left by the Legion required the Druids to enter a long slumber in the Emerald Dream to heal the land. Malfurion was among those who drifted into the dream.
Rhodes eventually prepared to leave. When he said his goodbyes to Tyrande, he felt a sharp sense of distance. The ambiguity she had shown while they were alone was gone, replaced by her cold, regal leader persona. It was as if she were a different person entirely.
Women are fickle, Rhodes thought, vowing that if he ever went back ten thousand years, he would keep his distance from her. He had no idea that the "Tyrande" who had been affectionate with him wasn't Tyrande at all, but a Goddess borrowing her form.