Capítulo 560: Chapter 560: One Mage to Match a Battalion
Duke was a man of contradictions.
For those around him threatened by impending doom, Duke would willingly overturn destiny itself, attempting to liberate them from death's grasp.
Yet, Duke was deeply conflicted. Altering history too significantly might deprive him of witnessing those legendary moments that captivated his heart.
Take this very instance — the renowned charge of Uther and his Twelve Paladins.
Only after personally witnessing Uther's valorous act did Duke feel as if he had truly transcended time, integrating himself into this epic confrontation.
"Trouble! We're misaligned!" Lothar, still positioned behind, suddenly discerned the looming crisis. Orgrim Doomhammer, astutely perceiving Uther's fearless advance, astonishingly rallied his elite guards even before Uther and his paladins could confront them!
In that moment, three figures akin to chieftains, flanked by nearly three hundred elite two-headed ogre guards, presented an impregnable wall.
Such a robust formation left no room for penetration.
For Uther to charge at this was sheer suicide!
Even his robust war steed, regardless of its momentum, couldn't possibly shatter through ogres weighing almost a ton.
Who would shield Uther?
It was as if heeding Anduin's silent plea, a miracle ensued.
On the Alliance's right flank, a radiant glow emerged.
"Duke Marcus?!" Alliance commanders echoed in disbelief.
Their astonishment was justified. With Baron Geddon's emergence, a majority of the Alliance's mages and priests commenced their retreat. The expansive [Mana Burn], spanning kilometers, represented an unparalleled nightmare for novice spellcasters.
Only a handful of mage groups persisted. Dalaran's magi withdrew, and even Archmage Antonidas retreated. Although rumors suggested that high-ranking priests' [Dispel] could negate this unprecedented mystical assault, which clear-headed mage would dare risk it amidst such turmoil?
Duke did.
This emanated not only from his profound understanding of Baron Geddon but primarily from...
Courage!
Indeed! A resolve rivaling the Twelve Paladins initiating their death charge.
In that moment, the original five paladins collectively directed their gaze towards Duke. Despite the vast distance separating them, they unerringly sensed Duke's determination—
Make way for you, I shall!
A rare laughter resounded from Uther.
The founding paladins joined in.
All twelve paladins reveled in the mirth.
This was jubilant defiance in the face of the Grim Reaper, a laughter echoing at the gates of the nether.
For amidst despair, they found an ally, evoking joyous laughter!
"Who ever claimed mages were weaklings?" Saidan Dathrohan exclaimed amidst his gallop.
"Indeed! At the very least, we have Duke Marcus!" Tirion Fordring gently clinked his hammer against Turalyon's.
"Hahaha! Should we survive this, should anyone dare utter such again, I'll fling my hammer upon their visage!" Gavinrad chuckled endlessly.
At that juncture, even separated by vast stretches, they felt as if Duke stood steadfastly by their side.
Duke abandoned his mount, positioning himself atop a modified steam tank. To his astonishment, steering the tank was none other than King Magni Bronzebeard, the Great Forge Master!
"Ready!" Magni bellowed.
"Forward!"
A magnificent pair of wings, composed of 1024 mage hands, unfurled behind Duke, followed by countless orbs of sheer magical energy emanating from him in five distinct hues.
The azure orbs carried the wind's power from the Altar of Storms.
The cerulean orbs symbolized the tumultuous lightning from the same altar.
The deep blue orbs manifested the inherent prowess of frost magic.
The indigo orbs echoed the arcane mysteries passed down through ages.
And the golden flames embodied not just Duke's spirit but that of all humanity — a defiance against fate and an unwavering spirit of resilience.
Amidst this chaotic battleground, these multicolored orbs, alongside the [Grand Marshal's War Staff], radiated a brilliance transcending the mundane.
Many retreating Alliance soldiers paused, fixated on Duke with a blend of awe and bewilderment.
So mesmerizing was this radiance that the majestic presence of the Red Dragon Queen, Alexstrasza, went largely unnoticed.
Accompanied by the steam tank's mechanical drone, the mage hands hovering around Duke commenced their barrage.
The heavens were instantly awash with a meteoric downpour of resplendent magic.
The gleaming magical orbs, shimmering with an ethereal luminance, intruded the orcs' line of sight, sketching arcs portending imminent doom.
"Boom!"
The initial salvo was the swift [Chain Lightning]. Over three hundred massive electrical chains penetrated the orcish ranks, creating an electrifying spectacle.
Those orcs devoid of magical resistance were instantaneously charred. The rest were paralyzed, rendered immobile.
Then, a succession of fiery detonations emerged, engulfing the orcs' frontline.
Many orcs, fresh from Draenor, encountered Duke — a mage whose might equaled an entire battalion — on their maiden battlefield in the Eastern Kingdoms.
Not every orc hailed from the fire-resistant Blackrock clan.
Merely grazing the elemental fire would unleash its full magical potential, incinerating all in its wake — hair, skin, flesh, bones.
The ensuing explosion brought not just scorching heat but also a formidable shockwave. The blast dismembered orcs, scattering limbs in all directions.
Those directly impacted by the fireballs met instant demise.
Secondary damages from the explosion were equally calamitous.
A severed hammerhead, propelled like a cannonball, collided with an orc. The orc's armor, forged by the Dark Iron dwarves, crumpled upon impact, shattering every bone in its path. The residual force propelled both the hammerhead and its unfortunate target sideways, pulverizing everything beneath.
Amidst this maelstrom of chaos and devastation, one sentiment was clear.
Duke was truly a mage battalion unto himself.
Estado de energía semanal
-- Ranking de
Poder 
-- Piedra de
Poder