Light's Dawn of Azeroth

Chapter 229, Section 52: Who is calling for holy light at the end of the night?
"What is that thing?"

Lothar looked up and saw the shattered night sky. The space that had been brutally broken was like broken glass, with spiderweb-like cracks outlining the night.

The light shimmered and rippled within it, reflecting off countless fragments of the sky and making it shine even brighter.

The human marshal suspected that he was seeing some kind of strange illusion.

He saw thousands of elves marching towards him, carrying ancient battle banners, like legendary warriors from ancient times. But the next moment, he saw a flock of crows bursting out of the broken ice, transforming into tall and slender elves who were curiously observing the scene from the other side.

And the Naga!

The vicious, soft-skinned snakes lurking deep underwater were also roaring, and the enormous sea beasts roared and raised their fists, wanting to smash everything around them.

He saw those stealthy warriors clad in owl-patterned armor, wielding thorny blades and wheels, constantly moving through the shadows.

Finally, he saw the Saint Diakum.

He stood at the center of this chaotic scene, carrying two swords and stepping into the chaotic battlefield.

"Get out of the way! That shattered city is about to crash down!"

Daenerys was a half-elf who lived a long life and had a demigod lich grandfather, so she was very knowledgeable.

She grabbed Lothar and Major Windsor, who were stunned in place, and with a heroic leap, she flew out of the crash site. As the three of them and the other blood-soaked warriors stared blankly, the space, which had been compressed to its limit, finally gave way.

With a deafening roar, the entire temple platform, along with the ancient ruins of the surrounding buildings, fell from the sky like a "heavenly explosion," transforming the ancient aura into a devastating punch that, under Aegwynn's precise control, struck the already occupied battlefield in front of Stormwind's commercial district.

The death knights and their undead looked up in bewilderment.

They were met by the roaring temple meteorites and the saint Diakum leaping down from the platform.

Holy light burst forth at that moment, illuminating the eyes of everyone who was nearly exhausted, but before they could cheer, the enormous temple ruins were right in the middle of the battlefield.

"boom"

The entire city of Stormwind was shaking.

Even the dragons flying around in the sky were stunned. They and the sorcerers behind them could not imagine what kind of amazing teleportation technique could bring such a large temple ruin over with it.

Have humans gone mad?

Realizing they couldn't win, they decided to commit suicide together?
"Oh no! The alien saint has been crushed to death by the temple he summoned!"

Daenerys clutched her head; her helmet had been knocked away by flying stones, revealing an elegant face that contrasted sharply with her brute strength. But the blood streaming down her forehead made even the most beautiful woman lose her elegance, especially since she was holding a barbarian lord's great axe that was by no means associated with elegance.

The scream woke Lothar.

The marshal, sword in hand, rushed toward the ruins of the fallen temple before him, trying to find Diakum.

He couldn't let his foreign friend, who had sacrificed everything for the fate of the human kingdom, die so unjustly. But as Lothar leaped onto the temple ruins that almost completely blocked the city's path, he saw a boulder shatter in a flash of sword light, and then the ashes-covered saint stood up with a "big tortoise shell" of Divine Shield on his head.

He was hit by the broken temple structure, but aside from being a little disheveled, he was unharmed.

Is this the power of the Holy Light Walkers?
Is it really that absurd to be able to take a meteorite in the face and be completely unharmed?

"It's good that you're alright."

The marshal breathed a sigh of relief. He was about to ask for details, but Diakum waved his hand, indicating that he didn't need to ask any more questions.

On the deathly silent battlefield, he looked up at the fallen city walls and the endless stream of green-skinned orcs, gnolls, and undead pouring into the city.

The black wolf pack was their vanguard, and the soaring dragon was their sharp blade, like a rolling black-green torrent that was about to completely engulf this city filled with fear and unease.

Night has fallen, but where is the light?

"You have persevered to this moment. The momentum of fate has accumulated to the brink of destruction. With just a gentle push, the future will appear before my eyes."

Under the watchful gaze of Lothar, who was fighting a bloody battle, the saint Diakum raised Ashbringer and said:

"Well then, fate, your challenger has arrived!"

Golden runes danced like shattered light before his eyes, illuminating that familiar reminder at that moment:
"The Storm Kingdom has entered the final chapter of resistance. The vanguard of the War Horde is only one blow away from conquering the city. However, the course of history has already changed. Fel energy, death, and life have all manifested. The fate of the Eastern Kingdoms has reached a crossroads. How can the Holy Light be absent?"

The moment of destiny has arrived!

Holy Light and Morality - Hand of Fate activated!
In the name of the vigilant, let that light shine, announcing the Holy Light's entry into the war!

"buzz"

The blinding streaks of light transformed into beams of light that pierced the heavens and the earth, igniting like torches beneath the gloomy sky. Though not enough to dispel the darkness, the clusters of sacred halos spreading outwards symbolized the return of the "Messenger of Ashes."

The activation of morality did not end Diakum's weakened state, but the expanded Holy Power Pool, now infinity, gave him enough energy to shake fate.

Instead of using it to kill enemies, Dick burned all his holy power as a gift, enveloping the entire Stormwind City in a halo of light, and bestowing the power of the holy light upon every warrior still fighting.

This is their war, this is their defense, this is their glory!

I am merely a warrior of light passing through this place. I have no reason or right to take away the warriors' glorious moments. Let those swept away by fate bravely face the storm. I will be their strongest support.

Where is the anti-demon alliance?

The roar of the vigilant echoed across the battlefield.

"Elune's guards! Follow me to meet the enemy!"

The ancient language of Salas resounded amidst the clanging of horns, and in the stunned gaze of Daenerys, the half-elf, she saw once again the ancient battle banner that her ancestors had followed flutter in the darkness of Azeroth.

When High Priestess Deyana rode her ghostly Frostblade Tiger into the battlefield, the ancient demon-slaying warriors marched onto the field amidst hymns.

The proud spirits charged forward, halberds raised high, and as Lady Kasparian led her huntresses out in shadow, Captain Moonstrike and her archers unleashed a deadly barrage of arrows.

The Moon Burial Priests and Moon God Priests raise their hands and invoke Elune's divine spells.

In the dark sky ignited by holy light, amidst the changing colors of heaven and earth, a cold and elegant silver moon also dispelled the chill. The "Moon God Orbital Cannon" descended from the sky with a roar, and with each divine spell, a green-skinned or undead was ignited by the Moon God's wrath.

But High Priestess Deyana clearly felt that this was not enough!
She saw the rage in the eyes of these savage greenskins, she smelled the sulfurous demon blood on their bodies. The alien saint was right, the vanguard of the demons had entered Azeroth.

Unforgivable!

"Elune, unleash your most blazing punitive moon phase with your cold starlight!"

The High Priestess of the Moon raised her battle banner high, and as she chanted her long, drawn-out song, Lothar, wielding his holy sword, saw the stars amidst the charging of spirits.

The starlight pierced through the dark clouds and was sliding towards the battlefield in a leaping trajectory.

Their speed increased, and finally, as they broke through the atmosphere, they revealed their terrifying true form: meteorites wrapped in silver flames were rapidly crashing into the battlefield that was being overwhelmed by the tribal army.

"The Fall of Stars. A legendary Elune spell."

Ignoring her bleeding forehead, Daenerys charged forward, dragging her battle axe, and punched Lothar in the back, roaring with fervor:

"The ancient warriors cleared the battlefield for us, the ancient saviors walked with us, and the moonlight of Elune shone upon Stormwind. What an honor! What a miracle!"
What are you still standing there for?
Charge! Don't let our ancestors underestimate the warriors of our time!
The decisive battle has begun; Stormwind will never fall!

Lothar took a deep breath and turned to look at his warriors.

Major Windsor had stood up, and behind him, the Storm Warriors, who had been suffocating under the weight of the Greenskins and the Undead, left the corpse-strewn bunker one by one, just like him, as if in a dream.

In the past, humans rarely even saw elves, let alone these ancient warriors from ten thousand years ago. That was the most glorious battle in the world, the moment when the world's forces were most united.

Those were golden years.

But now, history has stepped out of the book, presenting the glory of antiquity to warriors ten thousand years later in the most authentic form.

"The ancient saviors walk with us, warriors of Stormwind!"

Lothar raised the Lionheart Slayer, pointed it forward, and shouted:

"We walk alongside the heroes of the past, and our ancestors yearn to see new warriors born to take up their glorious duty and continue the fight! Can you and I disappoint our ancient ancestors? Will you refuse this honor?"
Windsor, raise our battle flag! March forward with the anti-demonic forces!
The decisive battle has begun, victory has arrived! Fight to the death, never retreat!

rush!"

"Awooo!" The human paladins and warriors, empowered by holy power and constantly diminishing their fatigue and gaining courage, let out a heroic battle cry like their barbarian ancestors.

As the ancient spirits charged, a blood-stained Storm Banner was raised high. Led by Lothar, the warriors roared as they marched over the ruins of the temple, charging towards the retreating Horde vanguard under the silver moonlight.

Where have those greens ever seen anything like this?

They can bully humans all they want, but when faced with the anti-demon alliance that dared to confront the demon legion head-on ten thousand years ago, their hearts, filled with brutality and devoid of honor, tremble.

The jackals were even more despicable.

As the silver moonlight shone down, their black wolf gods let out a helpless sigh.

That moonlight once belonged to it too.
"Just a spirit! A weak spirit at that!"

Morgans, the human traitor who rode the demonic dragon, gritted his teeth, raised his staff, and shouted:

"Watch me use the magic taught to me by Lord Zul'hild to wipe you all out!"

He could not accept that victory was within his grasp, which had been thwarted by a group of ancient undead from who-knows-where; he could not bear that the city that had abandoned him could survive the catastrophe he had participated in.

His rage burned, and while the other warlocks had already turned and fled at the first sign of trouble, he remained, determined to unleash the powerful arcane arts he had learned from the Shadow Council's secret texts, to transform these ancient spirits into his precious soulstones.

He roared
Then, a wheel of blades enveloped in black moonlight flashed before his eyes, and the Watcher Master Nassa Moonstrike rolled and landed behind the dragon, her eyes beneath the owl helmet unwavering.

She had killed too many evil forces in her ten thousand years of hunting, so much so that the swing of her sword just now, apart from a slight lag in flesh and blood, did not cause her any fluctuation.

Her true target was never that ridiculous sorcerer, but the demonic dragon beneath her feet.

The other Wardens leaped and darted across the Stormwind walls with incredible agility, each finding their position before unleashing their Warden Shackles. Under the imprisoning power of the Black Moon, they locked the dragon's wings, claws, and neck, finally handing the task over to the sisters to finish it off.

As for Morgans...
Well, his body, cut in two, fell into the battlefield amidst the chaotic and bewildering night.

Perhaps he was smashed into a pulp, or perhaps he was transformed into a corpse awakened by the power of the spirits. The Watcher Master's attack was extremely precise, slicing through his body and shattering his soulstone at the same time. Therefore, he probably left this world he hated forever.

But no one paid attention to the lonely death of a traitor, as if this was the fate that traitors deserved.

Seeing that the counter-offensive of humans and the ancient allied forces had pushed the battle line back to the vicinity of the city walls, the sorcerer master Dia Dark Whisper, who was maintaining the necromancy ritual, knew that things were beyond saving.

She hastily arranged for several death knights to continue the ritual, then turned and jumped onto her dire wolf to escape. But as soon as she rushed into Elwynn Forest, she ran into a group of Kurson Brigade warriors who were crossing the river to support Stormwind.

Leading them was a Mag'har female orc riding a frost wolf.

Gaiara looked at the green-skinned figure shrouded in darkness before her. She noticed the clan emblem painted on the figure's robes and recognized her as a warlock from the Shadowmoon Clan. The lingering chilling power emanating from her indicated that she was the one who had unleashed this death spree tonight.

"You used the Shadowmoon Clan's necromancy, meant to appease the dead, to wage war? You have disgraced Master Ner'zhul and the Shadowmoon Clan! You have shamed a pure soul like myself! You are a disgrace to all orcs!"

You are a disgrace to Draenor.

In a sense, Gaiara, who had been "enlightened" by Ner'zhul, drew his battle axe and swung it, sending the battle banner on his back flying to the ground.

"bring it on!"

Amidst the roar of elemental power, Gaiara cried out:

"A Magoracia! I give you your last dignity, and send you to hell to repent."

------

"Green-skinned! I'm not afraid of you!"

Varian Wrynn, gripping a longsword taller than himself, escorted a group of wounded soldiers to the King's fortress through the city between the commercial district and Stormwind Keep.

General Tirasalan single-handedly held off the surging greenskins and gnolls not far away. Invaders were constantly being knocked down by him, but there were always lucky ones who managed to break through the blockade. The brutal orcs, wielding battle axes, roared and tried to kill the wounded.

The priests could only wield holy fire to defend themselves, while Marlan and Natalie Selin, two paladins specializing in healing, swung their warhammers to defend themselves, but there were simply too many enemies.

The Little Prince knew he had to fight!

Even though his father, marshal, mother, and the alien general protecting him all forbade him to step onto the battlefield, he had to fight!
He witnessed firsthand how those despicable greens trampled the city where he grew up, how the mob harmed his people, and his anger boiled over, making Varian's eyes bloodshot.

He couldn't be sure if the martial arts of the orc sword masters he saw in his "dream" were useful, nor was he sure how much he had actually mastered.

But when he stood before the wounded with his sword, all his fear and hesitation vanished with a single deep breath.

He calmed himself down, and he did, as if some innate fighting instinct hidden in his blood had been activated.

"Prince, come back quickly!"

Major Marcus Jonathan had his leg broken, but when he saw the little prince pick up his sword and rush out, the major was terrified. The wounded soldiers next to him quickly helped him up.

But the ferocious orc had already pounced on the little prince.

Finished!

Something bad is about to happen.

"puff"

As the sword flashed, to the astonishment of the warriors, their nine-year-old prince rolled to the side as the battle axe fell, rising to his feet and using the momentum to unleash his sword.

The upward-sloping blade hummed as it skimmed the water like a dragonfly, grazing the orc's neck and disappearing in a flash.

The little prince, panting, held his sword in both hands. Behind him, after his first battle, a brutal orc's neck was spurting blood. When the battle axe fell to the ground, disbelief still lingered in the man's eyes. He covered his completely severed neck with his hands but could not stop the blood from gushing out.

Even as he fell to the ground, he couldn't believe that he had been killed by such a brat.

"It really works!"

Varian was also surprised when he saw his first victory in his life. He even stood there on the battlefield staring at the corpses. Only now did the aftereffects of his first massacre slowly emerge.

"Turn around! Keep swinging your sword!"

Within the sacred aura that emanated outward from the city center, he heard the voice of Saint Diakum, and Varian's body began to move as instructed.

"The Sword Saint is a master of skill and tactics, which means you must learn to strike the right blow at the right moment. Any mistake could result in serious injury or even death."

There are many enemies here, including Varian Wrynn, a warrior in reserve for Stormwind. Use them as your practice targets.

"The city needs help! There are still many civilians in the dock area."

The Little Prince called out:

"Could you go and help them?"

"I'm already helping."

As the words of light fell, a golden radiance flew from the city center toward the chaotic docks.

In the dazzling light, as Varian felled the third orc, he looked up and saw a "golden meteor" streak across the night sky, crashing straight down towards the orc in front of him.

"boom"

The explosion as the beastmen crashed to the ground shattered the street. In the crater where the beastmen had been crushed to death, a hand adorned with silver gauntlets suddenly emerged. Under the little prince's panting gaze, a handsome "big sister" enveloped in holy light leaped out, wielding a holy blade almost identical to that of Ashbringer.

"I'm so fed up with always falling to the ground. It must be Ms. Aegwynn's doing it on purpose, otherwise why would everyone else land smoothly?"

As Yrel brushed the dust and rubble off his clothes, he looked at the young prince and the sword in his hand. The "Lightforged Tyrant" laughed heartily, giving Varian a thumbs-up from within his open wings of holy light, and said:

"Human children can fight on the battlefield? That's great! They have a strong sense of martial spirit, I like it! They're a good prospect for a Lightforger! But let's keep children out of the war."

Go ahead.

Go find your mother; I've got the place covered here.

Then she turned around, wielding her giant blade, and charged at the ferocious orcs, shouting:
"Greenskins! Remember when we Draenei said we'd drive you all out of Draenor? Sorry, I've changed my mind!"

(End of this chapter)