Chapter 1075: Confidence and Command
“I seem to have gotten carried away,” Clown said, steering the conversation back to their original topic. “Let’s return to this new member of the Champions Alliance. A powerful giant lord. A creature of the abyss who commands lightning. Arrogant. No respect for his elders. He needs to be taught a lesson.”
Even though they had defected, he and Witch were still his seniors, weren’t they? It was a matter of principle.
A cascade of laughter, theatrical and dripping with mockery, suddenly erupted from Witch. “This is the man who, as a Mid-Archlord, challenged an Archlord-Peak to a standstill and walked away. I am intensely curious, Clown, as to how you plan on ‘teaching him a lesson’?”
She leaned forward slightly, her beautiful eyes curving into crescents of pure derision. “Surely you don’t think he’s running around without a demigod’s will projection for protection?”
Witch knew the personalities of her old comrades inside and out. For Orion to have risen so far, so fast, meant he had gotten in good with the old guard. As allies, as partners, there was no way Arthas and Leonidas hadn’t given him some form of high-level insurance.
Clown, however, remained completely unfazed by her scorn. “One does not always have to act personally to discipline someone.” He steepled his fingers. “The Pontiffs Yriel and Konak have dispatched a total of seven Archlord-class champions to the front lines. If Arthas and his friends don’t send reinforcements, those seven will be more than enough to handle our little friend.”
He said it with absolute certainty. Each Pontiff in the Cult of Four commanded four Archlord-level High Priestesses as part of their official retinue. (These were distinct from the four Archlord guardians of the Black Tower, who were bound by its formation and could not travel far.) On top of that, each Pontiff had their own private forces. Mustering a few extra Archlords was trivial.
“In that case,” Witch said, leaning back, “I will be waiting to see how that turns out.” She offered no further argument, nor any agreement. She knew Clown’s methods, but she also knew the true depth of the Champions Alliance’s power. Arthas and Alexander would never let their new prodigy fight alone.
Besides, she had faced Orion herself. She knew how powerful he was. Could the so-called ‘champions’ of the Cult of Four, whom she privately considered trash, really stand against a talent forged in the fires of the Champions Alliance? She kept that particular opinion to herself.
***
Silverwood Realm, Hydraea Plains.
Night on the open prairie was unnaturally silent. The plague seemed to have sterilized the land, wiping out nearly all life. Without orders from Orion, the demonic monsters marching south had also fallen quiet, an unsettling calm descending over the horde.
Beside a crackling campfire, Dirtclaw was dozing. He couldn’t for the life of him understand the purpose of the fire. His own body was wreathed in hellfire; there was no way Orion could possibly feel cold with him nearby. And did a being as powerful as his lord truly need a simple campfire for comfort? He couldn’t figure it out, and he didn’t dare ask.
“Report,” Orion said suddenly, poking the flames with a stick. “What’s the situation?”
Dirtclaw’s eyes snapped open, assuming his lord was speaking to him. But then a figure flickered into existence from the shadows behind Orion, and he realized the question was for one of the shadow army.
Dirtclaw was familiar with them; their agents had protected him and other key commanders in many battles, striking from the darkness at critical moments.
“My lord,” the agent said, his voice a dry whisper. “At our current pace, we will make contact with the southern demonic horde in three days. Their numbers are more than double our own, and their elite combatants have begun appearing on the front lines.” The shadow held out a scroll. “The Hall Master instructed me to give you this. He said you would understand upon opening it.”
Orion turned. With a slight curl of his finger, the scroll flew from the agent’s hand into his. The moment it left his grasp, the shadow melted back into the darkness and was gone.
Orion felt the faint aura emanating from the scroll, and a slow smirk spread across his face.
That’s my crew for you. Always one for the subtle play.
Without another word, he tucked the scroll away, his confidence for the impending battle fully restored.
***
Titanion Realm, the Trident Sea.
Marina stood at the prow, with Rendall, Beyn, Torba, Drakthul, and Gormathar arrayed behind her. Together, they watched the small combat squad from the Sea-Drake race depart into the churning waves.
The squad had delivered detailed sea charts and had learned that the Stoneheart Horde’s destination was Aenari Island. Marina had flatly refused their offer to provide an escort.
Once they were gone, Rendall, prompted by nudges and meaningful looks from the others, stepped forward. As the ranking elder, it was his place to ask. “My lady, what is your assessment of the Sea-Drakes’ intentions?”
“Our fleet of Sea-Devouring Warships and Ocean Hunters is a considerable force,” Marina said, turning to face them with a calm smile. “Their presence in these waters has made the local Sea-Drake king… nervous.”
Her voice was gentle, yet carried an unshakable authority. “That group was sent on his behalf. It was a formal greeting, but also a polite reminder that the Trident Sea is their territory.”
As a natural leader, she had read the Sea-Drake king’s intentions perfectly.
Drakthul, emboldened by her approachable demeanor, stepped forward. “My lady, will they move against us?” It was the question on everyone’s mind, adrift as they were in the middle of the hostile deep.
“Their visit was their gesture of goodwill,” Marina replied, standing firm against the wind. Her composure was a tangible thing, a quiet display of a sovereign’s might that commanded respect. In that moment, no one dared to underestimate their new Warden.
“In my own city, the Sea-Drakes have a deep and cooperative relationship with the Stoneheart Horde,” she continued, her gaze fixed on the distant horizon, where the sea met the clouds. “As long as we do not provoke them or cause any unnecessary bloodshed, they will leave us be.”
Her expression was serene, her lips curved in a slight, confident smile. “Now that they have provided us with detailed charts, we no longer need to navigate blindly. Everyone, prepare yourselves. We proceed at full speed. The sooner we reach Aenari Island, the sooner we can claim it for the Horde.”
Rendall, Drakthul, and the others looked at her, a sense of awe dawning on them. That calm confidence, that natural air of command—it was a bearing they had only ever seen in their own lord, Orion.
She is truly a princess from a great Sea Race faction, the thought echoed in the minds of the elders. The way she commands the situation, that calm strength that is neither arrogant nor subservient… it’s the unmistakable air of true nobility.
With her words and her actions, Marina had won their absolute trust.