Today is the day they reclaim their ancestral lands. Today is the day the Kingdom of Lordaeron is restored. Though the Princess is absent and the King is dead, the soldiers of Lordaeron remain.
Every Alliance soldier followed Rhodes. Today was the moment of the final battle—at least, so it felt for all of humanity. A year ago, Arthas betrayed everyone and launched his Great Rebellion; a year later, they had come to take the capital back.
Inside the temporary war room, Rhodes gathered all the Alliance generals: Dwarves, Humans, Blood Elves, and even a contingent of Night Elves—Watchers whom Maiev had secretly summoned at some unknown point. Rhodes said nothing of it; these Watchers were the perfect counter to Dreadlords who specialized in escaping.
"Balnazzar and Detheroc," Rhodes said, his finger pointing to the center of the capital, the site of the former Royal Keep. "These two Dreadlords are the final command core of the city's undead. They excel at trickery and mind control, but their direct combat capability is slightly weaker compared to other demon lords."
Jaina added, "While the undead in the city are numerous, they lack effective command and their formations are scattered. My mages have detected several weak points in the arcane ley lines that can serve as breaches for our assault."
"The Draenei Vindicators and Paladins will form the vanguard," Akama stated. "The Holy Barriers we bring can effectively resist the undead plague and shadow magic, clearing the path for the follow-up troops."
Rhodes's gaze swept across the room, finally settling on the fortress on the tactical map that symbolized royal power. "The plan remains unchanged. Today, the general offensive begins. Mograine, you will lead the main force of the Silver Hand and push through the main thoroughfare to draw the primary attention of the Dreadlords."
"Akama, your Draenei forces will coordinate with the Dwarven riflemen to cut in from the left flank's harbor district, clearing it and establishing a firm position. Dathrohan, you take the right flank. Prevent the undead from escaping through the side gates and support the Blood Elf Spellbreakers in suppressing them."
Rhodes paused, looking at Jaina: "Jaina, Kael'thas, the mission of the mage teams is the most critical. Before the general assault is launched, concentrate your power and blast the undead into oblivion."
Rhodes drew Holy Judgment from his waist, the golden halo flowing along the blade seeming to dispel all gloom. "At this moment, on this day, I will personally lead you to reclaim the glory we once held."
"For Lordaeron! For all those whose lives and homes were taken by the Scourge!"
"For the Alliance!" everyone roared in unison, their battle spirit like a volcano on the verge of eruption.
As Rhodes gave the order, the entire Alliance camp roared to life like a precision war machine. Jaina and the elite mages of Dalaran and Quel'Thalas gathered at the front lines. All the mages raised their staves, chanting ancient incantations in low voices. Massive arcane energy converged above them, forming a swirling, expanding vortex of deep blue.
Soon, a barrage of Arcane Missiles, Frostbolts, Fireballs, Ice Lances, Pyroblasts, Blizzards, and Flamestrikes exploded within the demon and undead clusters. The mages struck first. In an instant, the sky was painted in three eerie colors.
Arcane Missiles fell like a torrential rain, grinding skeleton warriors into dust; Frostbolts hissed through the air, freezing ghouls into rigid ice sculptures. Massive fireballs and searing Pyroblasts detonated in the dense undead ranks, sending shockwaves of severed limbs and scorched stench.
Larger legion-scale spells followed—Blizzards carrying countless ice shards descended from the heavens, blanketing vast areas, while Flamestrikes ignited towering walls of fire on the ground, turning any undead brave enough to cross into ash.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
The roar of magical explosions served as the overture to this symphony of slaughter. Then, Rhodes raised his hand to cast powerful buffing spells for the Allied forces.
Haste! The soldiers felt their bodies suddenly become light; their sword swings and charges became lightning-fast.
Shield! An invisible, resilient energy field covered their armor; when undead claws tore at it, sparks flew.
Stone Skin! The warriors' skin took on a rocky luster, making ordinary attacks struggle to leave a deep mark.
Bloodlust! A primal, berserk power surged into their hearts, turning the eyes of every soldier red as their strength exploded, filled with the desire to tear everything apart.
Luck! The unseen hand of fate seemed to side with them; undead attacks missed by a hair's breadth, while the Allied blades always found the most lethal gaps.
In an instant, the combat effectiveness of the entire Alliance army had more than doubled! They were no longer a mortal army, but a torrent of destruction blessed by multiple divine powers.
"For Lordaeron! Charge—!"
Old Mograine bellowed, wielding the Ashbringer as he slammed into the tide of undead first. The buffed Paladins were like golden tanks—their speed, strength, and defense reached inconceivable levels. Amidst the flashing Holy Light, rows of undead were mown down like stalks of wheat.
The terrifying lethality of the Ashbringer against demons and undead was demonstrated once again. Before Highlord Mograine, these undead and the few demons were utterly insignificant.
On the left flank, Akama's Draenei Vindicators pushed forward in coordination with the Dwarven riflemen. Their attacks were incredibly swift; Holy Shield bashes smashed the heads of Abominations, and rifle fire was as fast as a repeating cannon.
The undead were blown to pieces before they could even get close. On the right, Dathrohan's troops and the Blood Elf Spellbreakers created a "dead zone." Under the covering fire, the undead attempting to pour out from the side gates couldn't even get within fifty paces of the line.
It was a pure, unadulterated massacre!
In the first round of engagement, the Alliance army held an absolute advantage. The undead and demon horde acted like a disorganized rabble, failing to mount any effective resistance, let alone an offensive.
Rhodes himself acted as the sharpest tip of the spear. Holding Holy Judgment, he plunged into the densest part of the enemy ranks. Wherever his blade passed, holy flames swept through. Whether it was the towering Abominations or the agile Crypt Fiends, they vanished into ash under the purest Holy Light.
Though he was a mage, his physical constitution was not much inferior to a warrior's. Furthermore, with two High Archangels and a Sacred Fire Phoenix by his side, Rhodes felt an overwhelming sense of security.
He picked up his weapon to play the role of a Paladin; his combat style was simple: swing Holy Judgment, summon the Light to its maximum, and charge straight ahead. No complex forms or techniques were needed—as long as the Regent and Grand Marshal led the charge, the morale of the men surged to its peak.
The city walls collapsed in multiple places under the magical bombardment and the soldiers' assault. The Allied forces poured into the city like a flood through a broken dam, engaging the undead in the cruelest, bloodiest street fighting.
The streets were instantly paved with severed limbs and splashing rot-blood. The roars of battle, the clashing of steel, the magical explosions, and the shrieks of the undead echoed through the sky.
From the first moment, the scales of war tipped completely. The Alliance army, bolstered by multiple legion-grade buffs, transformed into an unstoppable iron current, crushing the undead defensive lines with brute force.
"Champions of the Alliance, the moment is now!"
"The day to wash away our shame has arrived! Let these undead taste our wrath!"
"Destroy these demons! Leave not one alive!" Everyone shouted as they followed Rhodes in the assault.
However, since the attack began, the two Dreadlords—the primary targets—had yet to appear. There wasn't even a single high-ranking demon commander in sight.
Rhodes led the way, the magnificent glow of Holy Judgment acting like divine punishment. With every swing, powerful holy energy surged forth in searing arcs of light. A roaring Abomination lunged forward, swinging its massive plague-hook, but before it could get close, it was split in two by a horizontal cleave of Light.
Its filthy innards and plague clouds didn't even have a chance to spread before being purified by the following holy flames. In this moment, Rhodes didn't even need to cast Magic Arrow or Thunderbolt; he relished the thrill of being a warrior.
The two High Archangels acted as his wings, hovering to his rear. Every swing of their swords—condensed from pure Light—purified vast areas, forcing cloaked Crypt Fiends from the shadows and burning them to ash. The Sacred Fire Phoenix circled above, crying out as it showered holy fire; these flames were harmless to the living, healing and restoring the soldiers' stamina, but they turned the undead into shrieking torches.
"Keep up with the Regent! For Lordaeron!" An Alliance sergeant, seeing Rhodes's bravery, felt his blood boil. He roared at the top of his lungs, leading his squad to follow closely in Rhodes's footsteps. Countless other soldiers did the same. On a massive battlefield, the sight of a high-ranking leader leading a charge and winning is an unimaginable boost to morale.
On another front, Old Mograine was drenched in blood—the foul, black blood of the undead. The Ashbringer seemed to have come alive, its holy blade possessing a devastating countering effect against the dead.
He didn't even need fancy combat techniques; simple cleaves, slashes, and sweeps sufficed. Wherever the edge reached, whether it was a sturdy skeletal shield wall or a bloated Abomination, it tore through them like a hot knife through butter. His Silver Hand Paladins, under the effects of Haste and Bloodlust, charged at speeds rivaling light cavalry. Where the golden torrent passed, only a road paved with undead remains was left behind.
The army advanced irresistibly, sweeping through everything in its path. The shouts of the Alliance, the explosions, the clashing of blades, the searing hiss of the Light, and the death rattles of the undead composed a stirring battle hymn for the liberation of Lordaeron.
They had reached the Royal Palace—the former palace of King Terenas. As long as they took the palace, this war would be over.
Victory was right before their eyes!