Warcraft: When NPCs Have Player Panels

Before the morning mist had completely dissipated, the bugle calls of the military camp pierced the sky and echoed throughout the entire camp.

William leaned against the pillar at the camp gate, his fingertips tracing the hilt of the sword at his waist. The coolness of the metal seeped through the leather gauntlet, dispelling the fatigue of a sleepless night.

He had just finished a month-long border posting.

[Weekly Task: Border Posting Completed]

[Mission Description: The western coast of Tirisfal Glades contains vast farmlands, one of the Second Legion's main production areas. Recent reports from garrison soldiers indicate the presence of Scourge undead. Troop support is required.]

[Quest Rewards: 1 gold, 15 silver, 44 bronze, reputation increase in the Second Legion]

"Captain William, everyone's back." An old sergeant strode over and saluted.

William nodded slightly and returned the salute: "Alright, disband the troops on the spot and let the soldiers rest well and wait for the next mission."

"Yes, sir!" the sergeant replied and withdrew.

Watching the soldiers' departing figures, William straightened his back and withdrew his gaze.

This month-long border posting allowed William to grasp some key points of stationing troops in non-urban areas. This was something he specifically requested, to familiarize himself with the patterns of field deployment in advance, and now it was time to present his request to the Supreme Commander.

Viscount Durand, the commander-in-chief of the Second Legion, was the only person who appreciated and promoted him.

From an ordinary recruit to a platoon leader with the rank of sergeant, it was all thanks to Durand's appreciation.

Now, he needs to take the initiative and seek an opportunity from Durand, an opportunity for him to make a name for himself.

The command post, located in the heart of the Second Army Corps' main camp, was an imposing building constructed of massive white stones. Two solemn guards, armed with spears and tower shields, stood on either side of the entrance.

As the core area of ​​the legion, an aura of authority emanated from it, and William subconsciously straightened his military bearing at the entrance.

"Please inform Viscount Durand that Sergeant William has come to report on the details of the garrison mission." William walked up to the guard, saluted, and spoke in a tone that was neither humble nor arrogant.

The guards looked him up and down, and after William took out his identification documents, one of them turned around and quickly walked into the command post to report.

A short while later, the guard returned and gestured for him to enter: "The Viscount invites you in."

William took a deep breath, suppressing his anxiety and anticipation, and stepped into the command center.

The hall was dimly lit, with a huge map of Lordaeron hanging on the wall, marking the strongholds and defenses of both sides in red and black ink. Several captured orc battleaxes and elven bows lay in the corner, and the air was filled with the smells of leather, ink, and faint gunpowder.

Viscount Durand stood before the map, his back to him. He wore silver armor, the family crest emblazoned on his robe. His long hair was tied back, and he was slender.

Name: Aaron Durand

Identity: Human from Lordaeron

Military Rank: Grand Commander (Commander-in-Chief of the Second Legion of Lordaeron)

Race: human

Class: Warrior/Paladin

Status: Anxious

My current wish: I hope the soldiers on the front lines can hold out.

"William, you've arrived." Durand turned around, his gaze falling on him, a hint of approval in his eyes. "How's it going? Getting used to the border posting? I've received reports that there are no issues with the western defense line."

William quickly saluted and said with a smile, "This is what I should do, and it's also thanks to your good teachings, sir."

Durand waved his hand, gesturing for him to stand up, and pointed to the chair next to him: "Sit down, you must be tired from your journey. Have a cup of hot milk to warm yourself up."

A waiter brought in two glasses of warm milk, placed them gently on the table, and then quietly left.

William sat down but did not pick up the cup. He placed his hands on his knees and his expression became serious.

He knew this was not the time for polite formalities; he had to muster the courage to speak his mind.

Durand noticed his expression, a faint smile playing on his lips, and spoke first: "Judging from your appearance, you don't seem to be here simply to report back. What do you want to say? Go ahead."

With Durand's thoughts exposed, William no longer hesitated. He stood up abruptly, looking at Durand with a firm gaze, yet still maintaining his respect: "Your Excellency, I do have something I humbly request you to grant my request."

"Oh? Tell me about it." Durand picked up his glass, took a big gulp, and looked at him calmly, without the slightest impatience.

"I don't want to go back to the garrison." William took a deep breath and said, word by word, "I come from a commoner background, without noble blood. I owe my current position entirely to your appreciation, sir. But I'm not content to spend my whole life as a garrison officer. I want to go out, to the front lines, to a place where I can make a name for myself!"

At this point, his voice rose slightly, and a burning light shone in his eyes: "I yearn to achieve military merit and be granted a title, to become a true nobleman, so that I will no longer be looked down upon by others. I also hope to live up to your appreciation and promotion, sir! I implore you, sir, to give me a chance and help me fulfill my wish."

After speaking, William bowed deeply, his shoulders trembling slightly—he knew in his heart that this request was somewhat abrupt, even arrogant, but it was his only way out of the bottom class, and he had to hold on to it tightly.

This is the only way for him to realize his ideals.

Durand looked at him, put down his cup, and said calmly, "I promoted you myself. I've seen your abilities and your ambition. I also believe that with your strength, you will definitely be able to achieve great things given the opportunity."

Upon hearing this, William abruptly raised his head, a gleam of wild joy flashing in his eyes: "Sir, you're willing to help me?"

"Why wouldn't I help you?" Durand nodded, a gentle smile on his face. "William, don't underestimate yourself. I see the shadow of Mograine in you, and I don't want to bury your talent."

"However, I have a proposal: you can become my knight and a vassal of my Durand family. In this way, I can directly recommend you to the council and arrange a better position for you."

To be honest, this is an excellent opportunity. Becoming a knight of Durand is equivalent to having the most basic knightly noble rank.

Secondly, having a strong backer will make the road ahead much easier.

Anyone in that situation would probably agree without hesitation.

But William remained silent... He fell silent.

He became a nobleman not for personal enjoyment, but for his ideals—to prevent tragedies like those of the Toby siblings from happening again.

If one becomes a knight of the Durand family, one's actions will no longer be free. In other words, the difference between being a collaborator and a vassal is quite significant.

This does not meet his requirements.

When he raised his head again, his gaze remained firm, and his tone carried a hint of apology. "Thank you for your kindness, sir. William is very honored. But William does not wish to obtain a title through your protection."

Durand's smile faltered slightly, and he looked at him with some surprise: "Oh? Do you know what you're talking about? If you refuse this opportunity, the road ahead will be much more difficult. You might even never achieve your goal in your entire life."

"I know," William nodded emphatically, "but I want to earn my title and the respect of others through my own hard work and my own military achievements."

"If I rely on the protection of adults, even if I become a nobleman, I will be criticized and called a good-for-nothing who depends on the Durand family. I don't want that. I want everyone to know that the name William, and this family, are earned through their own swordsmanship!"

These words were resounding and unwavering. Durand looked at the young William as if he were looking at himself more than twenty years ago, and secretly admired him.

He originally thought William was just after the title, but he didn't expect that the boy was not only ambitious, but also so stubborn.

After a long silence, Durand burst into laughter, patted William on the shoulder, and said with admiration, "Alright! You're exactly the kind of person I, old Durand, value! Since you're unwilling to be my knight, I'll give you a chance."

William grinned broadly and quickly said, "I will certainly not let you down, sir!"

"Don't thank me yet." Durand's smile faded, and his tone became serious. "I plan to transfer you to a fortified outpost. It's the front line where our legion clashes with the tribes, a place fraught with constant warfare and danger."

"You're 23 years old this year?" Durand looked William up and down. "You've been promoted to sergeant for about three years now."

"Three and a half years, sir, almost four years." William touched his nose somewhat embarrassedly. "I've been lucky; every promotion has come at a special time."

"I know, of course I know," Durand laughed, patting his shoulder hard. "You were promoted to corporal because you could beat those outsiders into submission. You were promoted to sergeant because your training in the secret realm earned Herold's approval. That guy kept telling me how outstanding this kid was, even though it was a bit against the rules. But the rules are for ordinary people, and Herold said you're not an ordinary person."

"Haha, that old guy!"

"Promoted to sergeant, this means our entire Scarlet Crusade will be transferred to the Kingdom's Second Legion."

"I have to admit, you've been very lucky. But luck is also a part of ability, and perhaps the place you're going to needs your luck?"

He walked to the map, pointed to a red mark, and continued, "This outpost is our closest outpost to the old capital, and it's the only way for the tribe to enter and leave Silverpine Forest. The troops stationed there suffered heavy losses under the attack of the outsiders and then disappeared without a trace, more than three years ago."

"Now, I need a capable captain to reorganize the defenses, hold the outposts, and closely monitor the tribe's every move."

"I'm assigning you fifty elite soldiers. You'll depart in a week. Prepare yourself well these next couple of days." Durand turned around, looking at William with unwavering determination. "Remember! Whether you achieve great merit or survive depends entirely on yourself."

"If you can hold the outpost, or even cripple the tribe... our Crusaders have a quota for knighthood promotion every year, and I can reserve one for you. But if you fail, you might become a test subject for the undead occupying the royal city. Do you still dare to go?"

Without hesitation, William knelt on one knee, his right hand resting on the hilt of his sword. "This is exactly what I wanted. Whether I succeed in the end or not, I will never forget your kindness to me, sir."

Durand nodded in satisfaction. He sat back down at his desk and began writing furiously, completing two documents in a row. Then he came out again and helped William up. "I believe you can do it. This is the transfer order. Take it to the military affairs department and the logistics department to collect the necessary supplies. You can choose the personnel yourself, as long as they agree. Depart on time in a week."

"This is your order of promotion. From today onwards, William, you are the youngest sergeant major in our Crusade."

William took the two documents with both hands and held them tightly in his hands.

William genuinely hadn't expected to be promoted to sergeant major. But he quickly realized the problem: the outpost he was going to was definitely not a small outpost.

It's very likely a large camp at the company level, otherwise he wouldn't have been promoted. The maximum rank for a sergeant is only platoon-sized companies. Only a sergeant major can command a company-level unit.

This means that the camp is large, and not only large, but also dangerous...

"Go ahead, and prepare yourself well." Durand waved his hand, a hint of expectation in his eyes. "I'll be waiting for your good news."

"Yes! Then I'll go and prepare, sir."

In the command post, Durand was still standing in front of the map, his gaze fixed on the red marker of the outpost camp.

The worry lingered on his aged face, impossible to erase. It was too close to the old capital. Transporting supplies there would require a huge detour. The route would cross the Scourge's controlled territory and the undead tribes that called themselves the Forsaken.

This means they need to take enough supplies with them when they leave.

He's so young, can he really do it?

He wouldn't have been sent there if there hadn't been a lack of suitable personnel.

That was a large camp, and they had to be self-sufficient there and have the ability to resist the plague.

There has been no news from that outpost for more than three years.

For a long time, the command had assumed that the area had already been captured.

"I hope everything goes well, and I hope things aren't too bad."

Durand sighed and looked away.

What a wonderful young man...