Maiev stepped out from the shadows, lifting a foot to firmly plant her boot on Balnazzar's twisted demonic head, even giving it a deliberate, heavy grind.
"Caught you at last, filthy parasite," Maiev's voice was cold as ice, but a keen ear could detect a trace of indescribable excitement. She had waited too long for this moment. Damn it, if only the demon under my boot were Illidan instead.
To step on Illidan's defiant head, to grind him down and watch those eyes full of rage yet unable to resist... My god, just the thought of it was enough to make one shiver with thrill.
Rhodes pulled Holy Judgment from the ground, the blade having served its purpose in maintaining the barrier. He smiled as he approached the firmly restrained Dreadlords, raising the shimmering greatsword.
"Good work, Maiev."
Maiev pulled her wandering thoughts back, her tone returning to its usual flat cadence. "It wasn't much trouble. I only hope that one day, my foot will be on Illidan's head."
Rhodes: "..."
My sister in Christ, what exactly is your deal with Illidan? This is starting to feel like some weird, yandere obsession.
Rhodes grumbled inwardly but wisely chose not to touch that topic. He shook his head and turned his gaze to the Dreadlords beneath him, who were struggling in vain. It was time to send these two crafty losers back to the Twisting Nether; their master surely missed them.
"No! Don't kill us! We can serve you!" Sensing the aura of annihilation radiating from the condensed Light, Detheroc was the first to crack, his voice rising in a shrill plea.
"We know all the Legion's secrets! Kil'jaeden's plans, the troop distributions... if you spare us, we will swear our loyalty to you!" Balnazzar added instantly, his expression so realistic he could have won an award for portraying a sniveling coward.
The Dreadlords had many cards to play. Fake death was the first path; if that failed, feigned surrender was the second. They were convinced that no one could refuse the knowledge and "loyalty" of the Nathrezim.
Unfortunately for them, Rhodes had already read their script.
"Pfft! Hahaha..." Rhodes looked as if he had just heard the funniest joke in the world, clutching his stomach as his shoulders shook with laughter. "Really, forgive me, you two... let me laugh for a moment. I truly didn't expect the famous Dreadlords, the elite of the Nathrezim, to beg like stray dogs. And so... pathetically, at that."
"Fear is the instinct of all life! Facing true oblivion, no being can remain unafraid! My lord, we... we just want to live!" Balnazzar continued his performance, trying to evoke Rhodes's "pity."
"So, are you really afraid of 'death'?" Rhodes stopped laughing, his eyes suddenly becoming sharp as daggers. "If you are purified by my Light here, will you truly cease to exist? I think not. Your core essence will return to the Twisting Nether to be reshaped by the power of Argus. Don't think I don't know your little tricks regarding demonic resurrection."
Rhodes bluntly tore down the Dreadlords' greatest lie. Nice try acting in front of me, but you're still amateurs.
At those words, the pleading on the Dreadlords' faces froze. It was replaced by an unmaskable terror. They stared at Rhodes like snakes whose tails had been stepped on.
"Don't look at me like that." Rhodes shouldered Holy Judgment with a playful tone. "Did you forget who stands behind me? The Titans of the Pantheon! Your resurrection ability—isn't it just borrowing the power of Argus, the 'Unmaker,' whom Sargeras imprisoned? You want to trick me into sparing you so you can infiltrate my ranks and act as double agents? Not a chance!"
What, you think I'm backed by Titan Keepers? Sorry, Titan Keepers aren't enough for me anymore, so I've upgraded. Now it's the Pantheon. As for which mysterious Titan it is... go ahead and guess.
Rhodes paused, a glint of mischief in his eyes. "But don't worry, you two. I am definitely sending you back to the Nether today. Before you go, I have a very sincere request: would you mind bringing a message to Kil'jaeden for me?"
If I don't break your mental state today, I'll take your names.
"You... you bastard!" Balnazzar's face turned so dark it looked ready to drip ink. "How do you know about Argus... about the Unmaker? That is the Burning Legion's highest secret!"
At this moment, he realized this human would never let them go. Fake death failed, surrender was exposed—every exit was blocked. Infinite regret flooded his mind; if they had known, they should have fled at all costs the moment the siege began!
"That's none of your concern, and I'm not telling you," Rhodes chuckled to himself. What, am I supposed to say 'Blizzard's writers' told me?
"So, Human, what 'message' do you want us to bring to Lord Kil'jaeden?" Balnazzar snorted, dropping the act entirely.
Rhodes leaned down, his voice a whisper that only the three of them could hear: "Tell Kil'jaeden—'Sire Denathrius is currently plotting a grand design' to overthrow the Burning Legion."
"What?! You—you!"
"How could you...!"
The words hit like a thunderclap in the Dreadlords' minds! They jerked as if struck by an invisible hammer, their faces written with ultimate shock and a terror that originated from the depths of their souls.
Damn it! How does this guy know about Sire Denathrius? How does he know our true creator and master? This is impossible! Aside from the Nathrezim and the Sire himself, no outsider should know this secret! Even Sargeras and Kil'jaeden think we are pure Void demons!
"What? You two look quite surprised," Rhodes said, grinning at the two utterly panicked Dreadlords, enjoying the rush of information dominance. "Is it so strange that I know about Denathrius? I just mentioned it in passing. Why are you so tense? Relax, okay?"
"I... I don't know what you're talking about! Who is Sire Denathrius? What does he have to do with us!" Balnazzar tried to remain stubborn, but the trembling of his soul betrayed him.
"I never said he had anything to do with you," Rhodes's smile widened. "Unless... you have a guilty conscience? Is there some little secret I'm not supposed to know?"
"Shut up! You won't get another word out of us!" Detheroc shrieked. They couldn't say another word. The Sire's plan was the ultimate secret; it could not be compromised! Damn it, we have to get this intel to our brothers so they can eliminate this dangerous human before the secret leaks!
At this moment, Rhodes had officially topped the hit list of every Dreadlord in existence—including the ones hiding in the Light or the Shadow.
"Extracting information? No need. I already know most of what I need to know. Your little secret is quite fun. No wonder your Shadow magic is so good, and no wonder you look so much like vampires."
By now, no matter how much Rhodes taunted or mocked them, the Dreadlords remained silent. Previously, they didn't want to die; now, they only wished for a quick end so they could report back.
Rhodes stood up, the smile fading from his face, replaced by a cold, murderous intent. He wasted no more words. He raised Holy Judgment high, and the magnificent sacred energy gathered like a tidal wave.
"Take my message... and get back to the Twisting Nether!"
As he spoke, the greatsword cleaved downward! The blinding radiance instantly consumed the spectral forms of Balnazzar and Detheroc. Amidst twisted, agonizing shrieks of terror, the shadow and fel were utterly annihilated by the pure Light. Their consciousness, along with their heavily damaged soul essences, were forcibly expelled from Azeroth and hurled back into the chaotic reaches of the Twisting Nether.
The Holy Barrier surrounding the palace slowly dissipated, taking the last trace of evil with it. Rhodes slammed Holy Judgment into the ground with a crisp ring. He surveyed the soldiers looking at him with fervor and let his voice roll like thunder through the palace and out into the city:
"The Dreadlords are slain!"
"Lordaeron City... is liberated today!"
Old Mograine was equally moved. He knelt on one knee, stroking the Ashbringer, and whispered: "We did it, Sire. We are back. I promise you, King Terenas... I will personally take Arthas's head with my blade!"
After a moment of silence, a mountain-shaking cheer erupted!
"Long live Grand Marshal Rhodes!"
"For Lordaeron!"
"For the Alliance!"
The waves of sound washed away the gloom that had hung over the city for a year. Soldiers embraced, clashing their shields and weapons in a deafening celebration, venting the suppressed pain and anger of their long exile. Mograine, Dathrohan, Akama, Jaina, Kael'thas... every leader's face showed relief and immense pride.
Rhodes walked to the cracked, filth-stained throne and stared in silence for a moment. This was where King Terenas had ruled, where Arthas's tragedy began, and where Rhodes himself had first gained his "startup capital" in this world. He had a decent impression of Terenas—the old man had the wisdom of a true king. If he had possessed his current power back then, perhaps... Rhodes shook his head, dismissing the useless hypothetical. History has no "ifs." What he could do was hold the present and the future.
He turned to the cheering soldiers: "We have reclaimed the city! But this is only the beginning! Move out! Clear all remaining undead and demons from the city, purify every inch of defiled land, and let the Light shine on Lordaeron once more!"
Rhodes paused, then announced his next crucial decision: "I am writing to Princess Calia immediately. Lord Uther will personally escort Her Highness back to the Eastern Kingdoms, to her rightful home! At that time, we will hold a coronation ceremony for Calia Menethil in this liberated city! Lordaeron shall have her Queen once more!"
The cheers reached a new fever pitch. Everyone saw the dawn of the kingdom's restoration. A new era was arriving.
The liberation of Lordaeron City spread like a wildfire across the continent. In just a few days, the news reached every corner of the Eastern Kingdoms, reigniting the flame of hope in the hearts of the displaced. The people of Lordaeron wept with joy, unable to believe they had finally been granted salvation. Their Great Regent and Grand Marshal had fulfilled his vow.
Purification work proceeded without pause. Chants of the Light replaced the wails of the undead, and the rhythmic hammers of craftsmen became the music of reconstruction.
The next day, Rhodes dispatched an envoy with a personal letter to Kalimdor. It was time for Calia to return. As for who would manage Theramore? Rhodes planned to claim it as his own fief later, ruling it alongside his mage companion—and perhaps it was time to face his "father-in-law" too.
In a relatively intact wing of the palace, the temporary headquarters was a hive of activity. Rhodes sat at the head, dealing with a mountain of paperwork. Many things required his personal attention as Grand Marshal. Mograine, Dathrohan, Akama, Jaina, and Kael'thas sat around him, discussing the aftermath.
"The main city districts are clear," Mograine reported. "But complex areas like the catacombs and the old city sewers still require significant manpower and time to ensure no stragglers remain."