'The future is bright', a wide road stretching before Galen, yet he knew this was merely the first step, demanding unwavering steadiness and methodical precision.
He wrestled down the surging elation threatening to erupt, though a wide, uncontrollable grin still stretched the corners of his mouth towards his ears. The revelations within the Altar of Kings were simply too monumental to contain.
Keep a low profile, keep a low profile, he mentally repeated, a mantra against his bubbling excitement. I am destined to be a king; composure in the face of both triumph and tribulation is paramount. Hahaha, no, just one more internal chuckle.
Finally regaining a semblance of calm, Galen's mental gaze returned to the portraits of the Archmage and the Paladin, a familiar strategic dilemma resurfacing.
In his past life, his Warcraft III campaigns invariably began with the strategic dominance of the Archmage. Commencing with the Paladin, in contrast, presented significant disadvantages against any opposing race.
However, the realities of Azeroth held a different weight. Holy Knights, he knew, would hold immense sway in the future. In a world where the Church of the Holy Light held significant influence, those who wielded its power were perceived as blessed, inherently virtuous individuals. This perception could significantly enhance Galen's reputation within the human kingdoms.
Yet, the Archmage also offered compelling advantages for Galen's immediate development. Stromgarde, a kingdom steeped in warrior tradition, even under the rule of the martial King Thoras, held little regard for the arcane arts, resulting in a scarcity of mages within its borders.
The few court mages had tragically fallen victim to Medivh's madness some time ago, including their most powerful adept.
Galen firmly believed that in a world saturated with magic like Azeroth, mages were akin to the scientists of Earth. If the arcane arts could be integrated into daily life through dedicated research, becoming accessible and widespread, it would undoubtedly catalyze social progress and accelerate the development of human society, much like the advanced civilization of the high elves in Silvermoon City.
Furthermore, Galen urgently needed to bolster his immediate combat capabilities. He possessed capable master-level melee fighters in Omar and Varokal. However, a master mage, with their potent ranged attacks and ability to counter other spellcasters, represented a critical gap in his current team's composition.
The Paladin, with his formidable melee presence and healing abilities, could wait, to be summoned strategically before the looming Second War against the Orcish Horde.
Ultimately, his strategic instincts, honed by countless virtual battles, guided his decision. He issued the mental command to summon the Archmage.
With that pivotal choice made, Galen's mental focus shifted to the remaining wood reserves. He continued to deploy additional farms across the available land, recognizing the paramount importance of a stable and abundant food supply for his future endeavors. This was a long-term investment, the steady yield of grain forming the bedrock of his growing power.
He then briefly reviewed the diligent work of his farmers and once again ensured the training queues of both the Town Hall and the Barracks were filled to capacity, maximizing the growth of his nascent forces.
Before severing his mental connection to the base, a new detail on the base-generated map caught his attention. A previously uncharted route to the north now appeared within the area initially scanned only within a hundred-mile radius. Focusing closer, he realized the white light spot marking the northernmost point corresponded precisely to his current location.
The base, he realized with a spark of understanding, functioned much like its counterpart in the game. In addition to its autonomous map-scanning capabilities, it could also expand its knowledge of the surrounding terrain based on the movements of its own units or even its master's location.
This unexpected discovery solidified Galen's conviction that his decision to prioritize the Archmage was indeed the correct one. The Archmage, he knew, could learn the invaluable Mass Teleport spell at level six. This unparalleled mobility would eventually allow him to effortlessly explore and map the entirety of the surrounding lands.
The arrival of Omar and Varokal back at the inn abruptly interrupted Galen's mental management of his base. Seeing that the five injured soldiers had recovered under the priest's care, and coinciding with the waiter's announcement that their long-awaited meal was ready, they descended the stairs together, selecting a secluded table to partake in their evening repast.
The hour was late, the sky outside a deep, star-dusted black. The townsfolk, their day's labors concluded, had retreated to their homes for their own suppers.
The majority of patrons within the inn were transient figures – adventurers seeking fortune, and caravan guards protecting their valuable wares. They had sought the shelter of Tristal Town before the cloak of darkness fell. Yet, the inn's common room still buzzed with a lively murmur of conversation.
Recalling the age-old adage from his past life's entertainment – that taverns were veritable fountains of information – Galen resolved to put it to the test. He ate his dinner with deliberate slowness, his ears subtly straining to catch any intriguing snippets of conversation.
"Did you hear? The Kingdom's Highland Cavalry Regiment had another armed conflict with the Royal Guards of the Kingdom of Alterac."
"That's hardly surprising, brother," a gruff voice replied. "Stromgarde and Alterac have a dozen such squabbles every year. But let me share some truly explosive news. You know the court mage advisor of the Kingdom of Stormwind?"
The speaker, clad in worn leather armor, exuded the air of a seasoned caravan guard. He deliberately paused after uttering the term "mage advisor," recognizing the aura of nobility, wealth, and arcane mystery that clung to such individuals in the common perception. A hush fell over a nearby group, their attention drawn to his words.
He seemed to relish his moment in the spotlight, drawing out the suspense for several long seconds. Just as the clueless onlookers began to shift with impatience, he finally continued, his voice lowered for dramatic effect: "They're all dead. A full five master mages met a truly gruesome end. Their corpses were charred by some unknown flames, twisted into unnatural shapes, even… torn apart."
A collective "Oh" rippled through the small crowd. A palpable sense of unease, a hint of the mysterious and terrifying, hung in the air, stifling casual conversation.
"Who could have done such a thing? Is the Kingdom of Stormwind investigating?" a nervous voice finally broke the silence.
"Yes, yes, what were the findings? Who is responsible?" another chimed in, his curiosity battling his apprehension.
"Their Guardian, Medivh, is said to be the most powerful human mage alive," a third voice offered. "Surely he discovered who was behind this?"
Medivh did it himself. Unexpected, isn't it? Galen silently provided the answer to their unspoken questions.
He leaned closer to Omar, his voice a low murmur. "After we finish eating, discreetly inquire which caravan that man belongs to. Caravans that regularly travel to Stormwind City likely possess strong connections and reliable sources of information. See if you can identify someone amongst them who could potentially serve as our informant."
Omar nodded imperceptibly, his gaze briefly flicking towards the speaker before returning to his meal. Intelligence gathering had always fallen under his purview. The simplest approach involved gleaning information from passing caravans, particularly those belonging to the royal family or the great lords, known for their strength and accurate news.
A more intricate strategy, precisely what Galen had just outlined, involved identifying influential caravans and seasoned adventurers, cultivating them as informants to specifically seek out desired intelligence.
Following this dramatic revelation, the general conversation within the inn reverted to more mundane topics: the scandalous affair of a certain viscount caught in a secret rendezvous with his lover, the rumors of a lord's unfaithful wife, the tantalizing whispers of a dragon's hoard discovered in Lordaeron, and the boastful tales of a fortunate adventurer who had supposedly slain a dragon.
The only truly relevant piece of information Galen gleaned was the local discussion surrounding the newly appointed vice-commander of the militia, Danath Trollbane. The townsfolk spoke with admiration and gratitude of his effective defense against several attacks by the savage Howling Fjord Tribe on nearby towns and villages, and his courageous rescue of numerous villagers who had been abducted by the trolls.
I hadn't expected Danath to achieve such recognition so quickly after his promotion, Galen mused. The genuine warmth and respect in the people's voices clearly indicated that his cousin had already established a strong and positive reputation amongst them.
After finishing their dinner, the group retired to their rooms for the night, seeking the restorative embrace of sleep. Early the next morning, they prepared to embark on their journey back to Stromgarde.
Passing through the largest town along the Royal Road, Galen made a strategic decision. He left three soldiers and the heavily laden baggage cart behind. This town was a crucial waypoint for his returning caravan, making it the ideal location for them to await Harmon Caven and entrust him with the valuable spoils.
Finally, after five days of steady travel, the familiar silhouette of Stromgarde City rose against the horizon. Upon entering the city gates, Galen made straight for the imposing castle, the seat of his father's power.
Stepping into the familiar grandeur of the royal court, Galen addressed King Thoras, his voice clear and resolute: "Father, I want a piece of land."