"The Regent Lord?!"
Wayne's heart skipped a beat.
Highlord Bolvar Fordragon, the Regent of Stormwind. He was a monumental figure in the world of Warcraft; almost every player knew his name. In this current timeline, although his title was merely Regent, he was the true "man in charge" of the Stormwind Kingdom compared to the ten-year-old King Anduin.
He's actually coming to visit me?
Wayne found it hard to believe. While he felt a small surge of excitement at the thought of meeting the Highlord in person, his limbs were still wracked with a dull ache, particularly his left cheek, which felt as if it were still on fire.
Though he didn't know how long he had been asleep, the memory of Hogger's massive, powerful right paw slamming into him was crystal clear.
Dammit... I hope I'm not disfigured.Doesn't that beast know you shouldn't hit someone in the face?
Just then, he heard a flurry of hurried footsteps echoing through the castle corridor—a hall constructed of the same grey-white marble and granite as the room.
The sound drew nearer. At first, he thought it was the Regent, but as he listened closer, it didn't seem right. The footsteps stopped, and he heard one person speaking to another about a certain Marshal and some news. Then the footsteps resumed, fading into the distance.
A long while passed before two men finally entered his room.
One wore a magnificent red robe with pitch-black sleeves. The other wore simple blue trousers and a white shirt, looking unassuming at first glance, though the gold-thread embroidery on his cuffs betrayed his noble status.
Wayne sat up, leaning against the headboard, and looked at the two dukes. He almost couldn't suppress a laugh.
The two men—one tall and thin, the other short and fat—shared a single striking feature: a "Mediterranean" bald spot that shimmered brilliantly under the bright candlelight of Stormwind Keep.
Behind them stood two fully armed Stormwind Royal Guards, their helmets equipped with visors that completely concealed their faces.
One of the guards spoke up: "His Grace, Duke Gregor Lescovar, and His Grace, Duke Bauress Wishack, have been commissioned by the Regent Lord to visit Sir Wayne Miller."
Sitting on the bed, Wayne realized that "official jargon" existed even in the world of Warcraft. He also found it strange—how had he suddenly and inexplicably become a "Sir"?
The short, fat Duke Bauress had an expression of pure indifference. However, before speaking, he turned and gave a respectful look toward the tall, thin Duke Gregor. Yet, the moment he turned back to face Wayne, his face reverted to that of dismissive disdain.
"Ahem..." He cleared his throat.
Good grief...
Wayne nearly sneezed. When Duke Bauress spoke, a wave of alcoholic breath washed over Wayne from three meters away. Wayne seriously wondered if the guards had fished this man out of a wine vat.
"In light of Way—hic—"
The fat Duke Bauress cut himself off with a burp and looked awkwardly at the guard behind him.
You're the "Way-hic," Wayne cursed inwardly. Of all the times to have a breathing problem, you pick now.
The guard behind him whispered a reminder: "Wayne Miller..."
The bald spot on Duke Bauress's head seemed to catch a glint of light as he continued: "Ahem... Wayne... er..."
He froze again.
Wayne strongly suspected this man either had early-onset Alzheimer's or had drunk his brain into a raisin. Otherwise, there was no way he could forget a surname twice in three seconds.
Even the tall, thin Duke Gregor next to him showed a look of displeasure, as if standing beside such a man was a personal insult.
In a slurred yet rhythmically drunk tone, Duke Bauress finally managed: "In light of... Mr. Wayne's heroic actions in the defense of... Goldshire two days ago, where he fought bravely and repelled... the enemy, His Majesty the King and His Highness the Regent Lord hereby dub you a Knight of the Stormwind Kingdom and reward you with fifty gold—hic—coins..."
Having finished, the light on his bald head faded, and he froze again like a crashed computer.
According to etiquette, the recipient should have knelt on one knee to accept the honors, but Wayne was sitting in bed and unable to perform the salute.
Duke Gregor, seemingly wanting to get rid of the drunkard beside him as quickly as possible, spoke up: "Sir Wayne is injured; there is no need for formalities."
Hearing this, Duke Bauress looked as if a heavy burden had been lifted. He offered a superficial, "The task entrusted to me by the Regent is complete. Sir... rest well."
He turned to look at Duke Gregor, who nodded to him, allowing him to leave with the guards and maids first. Gregor claimed he wanted to stay behind to ask Wayne about the events of that day.
Bauress couldn't wait to leave. His mind was already back at his noble residence in Stormwind Keep, where he planned to drown himself once more in the fine vintages his servants had bought for him from "The Slaughtered Lamb."
"Sir Wayne..." Duke Gregor began after the others had left, his eyes scanning Wayne as he lay in bed.
"The Regent Lord has urgent official business and cannot make it here himself. Thus, he specially commissioned Duke Bauress and myself to visit you and personally deliver the news of the honors bestowed upon you by the King and the Regent."
Wayne nodded, but he already sensed a strange atmosphere in the room.
Duke Gregor had indeed come at the Regent's request. He had been in the Royal Library searching for books—a place he frequented. To many commoners who saw the nobility as corrupt and decadent, a duke like Gregor, who enjoyed the library and had no known vices, was a breath of fresh air. He was one of the few nobles with a decent reputation.
In kingdoms with similar cultures like the humans and dwarves, nobility was divided into six ranks. From highest to lowest, they were: Grand Lord, Lord, Duke, Count, Baron, and Viscount. These six ranks were hereditary and came with their own fiefdoms—the higher the rank, the larger the land.
Compared to the military rank system, which relied on merit and seniority, the peerage system was far more opaque. It involved merit, yes, but also family influence, political factions, noble bloodlines, and strategic marriages.
With the current Orc invasion and the Scourge's devastation, many old noble families had been forced to flee their lands or had been wiped out entirely. Consequently, the number of surviving Grand Lords and Lords within the Alliance could be counted on one hand. Furthermore, the loss of territory meant there was often no land left to grant. Thus, even as the Regent, Bolvar Fordragon's own noble rank was only that of a third-rank Duke.
People called him "Highlord" (or Great Duke) simply to respect his position as Regent and to distinguish him from the other hereditary "waste-of-space" dukes like Bauress.
Seen in this light, the Regent sending two dukes to represent him was a significant gesture of respect. As for Wayne's title of "Sir," it was an honorary knighthood—a title of nobility without a fief.
However, this title could be significant or minor depending on the holder. The most famous example was Sir Anduin Lothar, who led the Alliance against the Orcs. As a royal descendant of the fallen Arathor Kingdom, despite his high status and the love of all Alliance nations, the loss of his homeland meant his title was simply "Sir."
But as Duke Gregor stood there, beyond the Regent's commission, he was also acting under the orders of another powerful figure.