--- CHAPTER 1: Reincarnation is a Bitch, But the View's Nice ---
The official court chronicles marked it as the fourth year since the opening of the Dark Portal. The capital of Lordaeron, in all its gleaming white splendor, was a masterclass in willful denial.
Down in the south, the savage, green-skinned orcs had boiled out of that magical tear in reality. They hadn't just invaded; they'd erased the Kingdom of Stormwind, burning, killing, and looting their way across the continent. Now, without even pausing for breath, they were preparing for a new war, their sights set firmly on the six human kingdoms of the north. Rumors, delivered by soot-stained and terrified refugees, claimed the endless orc army was close to a million strong.
*Wait… what the hell?* I thought, my mind reeling like I'd just been smacked with a plot twist hammer. According to the game lore I'd obsessively memorized back on Earth, the Second Orc War kicks off when Arthas Menethil is ten years old. A kid. A bratty, idealistic, horse-loving kid.
But here I was, in this body, nineteen years old. Nineteen! The math was glaringly wrong. Was the game lore bullshit? Or was this some kind of bizarro-world alternate timeline? Either way, this world's problems were very real—and very green. These weren't just dudes painted up for cosplay; the orcs were behemoths, almost twice as strong as a fully grown adult man. It took three well-trained human soldiers to take down a single orc grunt—and that was assuming the humans were pros and, presumably, very, very lucky.
Unfortunately, humanity had been at peace for far too long. The army had gone soft, more skilled at parade-ground drills and polishing armor than actual, you know, not dying horribly. It was a particularly shitty time to get thrust into a war for survival.
And yet, at this precise moment of life and death, the nobles in the kingdom still had the mind and the time to hold a grand banquet. The air was thick with the smell of roasted capon and expensive wine, pierced by the braying laughter of some minor lord complaining about his tailor. It was as if those green-skinned orcs weren't a genocidal threat, but just an inconveniently loud group of tourists. I truly don't know if they were too big-hearted or just really, profoundly ignorant and arrogant.
In my eyes—Arthas's eyes—they were nothing more than a swarm of termites scurrying around in fine clothes, nibbling at the foundations of the kingdom while admiring their own antennae. To me, the so-called lord of lords was just another guy flashing a fancy title. A king's power is really just borrowed from his nobles—he just happens to borrow the most. In truth, my "father" King Terenas was merely a grand noble who happened to win the crown lottery.
I, Arthas, slumped on that ridiculously plush sofa in the great hall, looking every bit the poised 19-year-old noble in my starched tunic—like I was auditioning for "Future King of Awkward Family Dinners." On the outside, my eyes were cool as a cucumber. But inside? *Man, my head is spinning like I chugged a potion of pure chaos. What the fuck is even happening?*
Yeah, that's right—my head. Because from the second I got yeeted into this world, kicking and screaming as a helpless little meatloaf of a baby, I've been the one calling the shots in this skull. Reincarnation's real, folks. Who knew? Swords clashing, dragons hoarding gold, elves strutting around like they invented skinny jeans? And me, starting from scratch as some wide-eyed infant who couldn't even roll over without a team of nursemaids? It's like the universe looked at my Earth life and said, "Hold my beer."
*God, I still replay that night in my brain like a bad highlight reel,* the one that flipped the script on everything. Picture this: me, your average dude from Earth, on a bender of epic proportions. My quest? To smash the world record for, uh, let's call it "extended personal cardio." My focus? A high-definition, 4K loop of Sylvanas Windrunner, the Banshee Queen. Don't judge. You know the one—those piercing eyes, that undead grace, that body that could launch a thousand raids.
I'd set my sights on 47 rounds, no breaks. By round 20, my arm was screaming for mercy. At 35, I was seeing stars that weren't even in the game. And by the big 47? Boom—lights out. My heart, bless its over-ambitious spirit, gave out. I collapsed face-first into my keyboard, fingers twitching out a final, delirious "GG" to nobody, heart pounding like I'd just soloed the Lich King himself. A glorious, sticky, and utterly pathetic end. *Thirty years old, still a virgin. Died mid-wank. If there's a hall of fame for losers, I'm the MVP.*
Next thing I know? Not the ER with a medal and a fruit basket. Nah. I'm him—Arthas, the tiny prince—blubbering in silk swaddling while some doting servant frets over my "royal complexion."
Arthas stared out at this fantasy buffet of magic and mayhem, wondering if the gods up there were just cackling. Reincarnation? More like a divine prank call. "Congrats on peaking at 47, champ—now here's your quest log: Nap. Poop. Repeat."
*Total, unfiltered bullshit. But hey, at least the view's got potential.* World of Warcraft—I remembered this world. I'd played the game before. It was addictive as hell, a grinding war, a total pain in the ass. What made it crazy was that I actually became Arthas! The prince of Lordaeron, the most powerful kingdom of mankind, the only legitimate prince. Since birth, I've been carrying the hope and attention of an entire nation, and also lugging around huge pressure and responsibility. *Being a king? Not as easy as it looks in the cutscenes.*
And at nineteen, the "puppet" strings felt less like guidance and more like a choke chain. My day was a suffocating loop. During the day, I learned martial arts from Muradin, the younger brother of the dwarf king. In the afternoon, I learned the way of the Holy Light from the priest bishop. In the evening, I also had to learn the etiquette of the nobility. Every day's schedule was arranged properly. It was better to say I was a puppet than a prince. Whether I wanted to or not, I had to learn. Born in an imperial family, sometimes it wasn't so happy and joyful. *Arthas thought this sentence was just a show, but now I can relate to it. Fuck royalty—give me a respawn point any day.*
It's not that there was no welfare at all. At least Arthas enjoyed the massage of the young maid's hands when he took a bath. He had fine clothes and delicious food. Food came to his mouth and clothes came to his hand. His material life was ten thousand times better than before his rebirth. *Those maids... soft hands, lingering touches. If only I could level up my charm stat without getting beheaded for scandal.*
These weren't the problems. The real problem was that Arthas's fate was not very good. At nineteen, these weren't distant boogeymen; they were just around the corner. A lot of people were thinking about him. The nobles in the kingdom were thinking about dividing his power and undermining his status as the crown prince. The future Lich King wanted to turn him into a death knight who couldn't have sex. *The very thought sent a shiver of pure terror down my spine. No dick? Eternal blue balls? Hell no—I'll die first. Wait, no, I don't wanna die!*
The ladies in the nobles, meanwhile, seemed to want to ravish him. He felt a lot of pressure, and in a world where strength was respected, the bigger the fist, the truth. *I was a 19-year-old prince in what should have been a 10-year-old's war, armed with a libido I couldn't (publicly) use and a fate I couldn't dodge. It was the ultimate cosmic screw-job.*
And as that wave of pure, unadulterated frustration peaked, something pinged in my skull.
[System UI] The system has been corrected and is starting to reactivate.
*A voice that Arthas had never felt so beautiful came in his mind, which made his calm eyes flash with a hint of excitement.* Finally. As a reincarnator, he was embarrassed to go out and say hello to people without a system. Having a cheat code and not having one were two completely different things. With a cheat code, you could give someone a big money bag and slap anyone without worrying about retaliation, but without a cheat code, you could only accept other people's big money bags on your face without resistance.
[System UI] Activation completed. Scanning host information. Starting to generate templates. Template application. Ding, application successful.
[System UI] Initial task released: Liberated Scion.
A quest window shimmered into existence, visible only to me.
[Task: Liberated Scion] What separates a prince's unfreedom from a caged prisoner? Strive for enough freedom for yourself. Participate in the orc war, command a team, and make contributions.
[Task Reward] Language Proficiency.
*The system was right. I wasn't a prince; I was a prize pig being fattened for slaughter. This task wasn't just a suggestion; it was an escape route.* "Language Proficiency?" A bit underwhelming, but fine. Orcish, probably. A key is a key, even a small one.
Arthas clicked on the panel in his system, which not only contained his detailed information, but also a task panel.
> Name: Arthas
> Race: Human
> Age: 19 years old
> Identity: Crown Prince of the Kingdom of Lordaeron (can mobilize troops of less than 500 people)
> Class: Warrior/Paladin
> Spouse: None
> Reputation: 100
Touching my chin, I looked at the reputation column, and a detailed explanation appeared. "Reputation represents the popularity of a character... It's always right to improve your reputation."
Looking at his profession, Arthas still chose the Paladin specialization. Warriors were indeed fierce, but Paladins could better promote themselves and were easier to fool others. As a prince, it's not too much to use holy light to improve your status, right?
Since you wanted to participate in the battle, you had to choose a suitable profession and professional specialization. Each profession had three different specializations: output, defense, and treatment. Arthas just hesitated for a moment and chose the safest profession, Paladin-Guardian.
*I'm not here to top the damage meters. I'm here to survive. The original Arthas was a DPS-junky, and look where it got him—frostmourne'd and frosty. No, I'm building a tank. An unkillable, obnoxious, self-healing wall of 'nope'. Don't wanna die, remember?*
[System UI] Confirm to choose the Guardian specialization. The specialization cannot be changed after selection. Please confirm.
*"Still can't change the specialization? It's a bit tricky!"* Arthas was a little dumbfounded. This was different from the game. Well, it's really different. In the game, you could only ogle and drool at pixelated women, but in Azeroth's reality, you could touch and feel with all kinds of beauties.
When Arthas thought of women, he became energetic. If there was any nonsense about protecting world peace and crushing all evil, he had no interest at all. But if the war was launched to conquer more hot baddies, then he wasn't sleepy when talking about this topic, and he was very energetic! *She's so hot, I wanna fuck her—wait, all of them. Elves with those lithe bodies, draenei with curves that defy gravity, even female orcs... huge waists, six-pack abs, fit bodies, strong thighs, slender calves. My kind of woman. What could be more interesting than capturing the enemy's females? Female elves? Female dragons? Female dwarves? Female gnomes? Weak beta males know that taking all of them will cause kidney deficiency, but a true alpha male don't care—of course gotta collect them all! POKEMON!*
"Confirmed!"
Buzz!
A powerful holy light burst out from Arthas. This wasn't the gentle, flickering glow of his afternoon lessons. This was a supernova. A pillar of golden energy erupted from his body, shattering the polite hum of the banquet. The dazzling light covered the entire banquet hall, and even the castle couldn't contain it. Wine glasses vibrated, and dust rained from the rafters.
All the guests, nobles, and guards present looked at their prince Arthas in surprise!
Across the room, he saw her. The white and tender skin, the girl with pink cheeks, a pair of standard almond eyes, light eyebrows, and small red lips. At eighteen, Jaina Proudmoore was already a stunning beauty. She looked at him with wide, surprised eyes.
*Ah,* he thought, the light still bathing him. *Isn't this the filial daughter Jaina who sold her father? She is a perfect match with the original Arthas. The man killed his father and the woman sold hers. They are a perfect match! But it is undeniable that she is really beautiful. So hot... I wanna fuck her right here, in the middle of this absurd banquet. System, hurry up—I don't wanna die a virgin twice!*
--- END OF CHAPTER 1 ---