Rushing over from Kalimdor, Andreas didn't have time to admire the many towering mage towers that already gave Dalaran an impressive appearance.
He keenly sensed a familiar energy signature within the city—Fel energy.
Dalaran at this time was far from as developed as it would be in later generations; the entire city didn't even have a proper protective barrier.
Andreas effortlessly flew into Dalaran and located the source of the fel energy.
Looking at the dried corpses scattered haphazardly at the old mage's feet, Andreas' expression grew colder and colder.
"Human, why are you so desperately seeking fel energy?"
Rudolf watched Andreas, who was suspended in mid-air, with vigilance. "I have no obligation to answer your question. Who are you? This is my mage tower; what I choose to research is my freedom, and others have no right to meddle!"
"Freedom?"
Andreas sneered, pointing at the dried corpses at Rudolf's feet. "Is your freedom built upon the suffering of others? Did the Dreadlord who taught you to use fel energy not tell you about its side effects?"
"Side effects?"
Rudolf's face changed, but he managed to maintain his composure, his left hand behind his back, accumulating fel energy.
"I'll say it again, it has nothing to do with you. According to Dalaran law, a mage tower owner has the right to kill any intruder who trespasses. If you don't leave now, don't blame me for being impolite."
Rudolf was not an easy person to talk to; he had always adhered to the philosophy that power reigns supreme.
If he hadn't been unsure of the background of this "flying man" in front of him, he would have attacked directly long ago.
In the blink of an eye, the unidentified flying man had already entered the tower as if by a flash, but Rudolf, as a mage who controlled the arcane, did not sense any arcane energy fluctuations.
"There's nothing to say to a traitor. Those who betray Azeroth and side with demons only have one outcome."
After years of arduous practice, Andreas had long since achieved spellcasting without incantations.
"Die!"
An instant Mind Blast exploded in Rudolf's mind. Even though he had raised his guard, Rudolf was still somewhat unprepared for this type of spell attack he was encountering for the first time.
His brain went completely blank for a moment. Although he quickly recovered with his powerful mental strength, Andreas' second spell had already been cast.
"Mind Control."
Rudolf's spirit struggled fiercely, but facing Andreas' vast mental power, which was like an abyss or a sea, his eyes finally began to glaze over, and his previously tensed body and left hand, which had been secretly preparing a spell behind his back, relaxed and drooped down.
Compared to an Archmage of Dath'Remar's caliber, this old mage in front of him was still far behind.
Human mages had only existed for 200 years; it was impossible for the High Elves to teach them all their most secret techniques.
In this situation, lacking in foundational knowledge, even a member of the Kirin Tor's Council of Six was nothing more than this.
Perhaps saying this might seem to belittle humans as an emerging force, but the mages Anastarian sent to the Council of Tirisfal were definitely not the best in his country.
He was reluctant to send his most elite mages, and he couldn't easily command some of the other high-ranking Archmages, who were all outstanding successors cultivated by various major families with vast resources.
Humans thought that the powerful High Elves they saw in the Council of Tirisfal represented the pinnacle of Quel'Thalas' Archmages, but reality was cruel to this young race; they still had a long way to go in the future.
"I ask, you answer."
Rudolf's eyes were vacant. "Yes, Master."
"Who are you, and why did you side with the demons?"
"My name is Rudolf Oberman, and I am..."
...Half an hour later, Andreas sat in Rudolf's mage tower, frowning.
He hadn't expected the traitor he had punished to be one of Dalaran's six highest-ranking individuals, arguably the number one person beneath the Speaker.
'They said high-ranking... this is a bit too high-ranking.'
He rubbed his forehead, annoyed. Someone of such status would betray them for longevity; the mage profession's tendency to court death was truly no joke.
"Indeed, what one cannot obtain in this world is always the best."
Looking at Rudolf, who lay on the ground with wide-open eyes and drool at the corners of his mouth, Andreas shook his head helplessly.
A small number of the immortal Night Elves had recently grown tired of their endless lives and were secretly trying to exchange suicide experiences.
When Maiev brought this up, it immediately drew the attention of the Council.
The Night Elf population growth was already slow, and Andreas' vigorous development of arcane golems was precisely to prevent a drastic reduction in population. Now, some people were tired of living and starting to research how to commit suicide—this was completely intolerable.
After a brief discussion, the four members of the Council unanimously agreed to establish a psychological guidance center, where all the pessimistic and world-weary people in the country would be sent for re-education, to be imbued with the core values of the Republic, and to have new life goals established for them.
Fortunately, most of these world-weary citizens were from the lower strata of society, and their demands were generally easier to satisfy: nothing more than promotions, salary increases, marrying beautiful and wealthy partners... Although stated rather bluntly, that's essentially what it came down to. A common person's life is simply about food, sex, and nature.
The doctors at the psychological guidance center were all novice priests from the Church of the Dark Moon Shadow. They used shadow power to guide these world-weary individuals with psychological issues to rebuild their self-confidence, and the state would also strengthen its attention to the common people, improving their welfare... Of course, giving out wives was impossible; they had to work for that themselves.
Night Elves grew world-weary from living too long, while humans complained that their lifespans weren't long enough, especially those in high positions, who wished they could maintain their power and live forever.
However, human societal ideals would not allow such immortals to remain in power indefinitely. Medivh could hold a high position in the Council of Tirisfal only because the organization included High Elves, a long-lived race; another immortal undead wouldn't matter.
But Medivh was a very perceptive and opinionated person; he didn't intend to cling to the high echelons of the Council of Tirisfal forever.
Once the Council of Tirisfal was on the right track and had researched the best way to fight demons, he planned to resign and live in seclusion.
Rudolf's soul had already been shattered by Andreas. Although his body was still alive, he was now no different from a vegetable, and it was impossible for him to ever wake up again.
"Dong! Dong!"
Before disappearing into the Shadow Realm, Andreas used invisible shadow energy to trigger Rudolf's mage tower's alarm system.
The city-wide bell chimed, echoing far and wide. As Andreas left, three beams of light from teleportation circles appeared on the top floor of the mage tower shortly after.
"Rudolf, what hap..."
The white-bearded old mage leading the group froze before he could finish his sentence. The sight of dried corpses scattered all over the mage tower was visually stunning. In comparison, Rudolf, lying on the ground with vacant eyes, seemed less conspicuous.
One of the female mages, who used arcane arts to maintain her youth, opened her mouth wide. "What on earth happened here? How did it get so bad...?"
"Look."
The taciturn middle-aged bald man pointed to Rudolf's workbench, where a pale purple letter lay, adorned with elegant script.
"Thalassian?"
"No."
The leading old mage said gravely, "Although the difference is very small, this is not the High Elves' Thalassian, but the Night Elves' Kaldorei."
In the letter Andreas left for the high-ranking officials of Dalaran, Rudolph Oberman's crimes of colluding with demons were detailed, as well as the fact that he had drained the life force of all apprentices in the tower in pursuit of immortality.
The Kirin Tor high command were all extremely intelligent people—not "extremely" in that sense—they only needed to carefully investigate to confirm the authenticity of the letter.
After leaving Rudolph's mage tower, Andreas did not immediately leave Dalaran.
According to the content of patch 7.0, the headquarters of the Council of Tirisfal was located in one of Dalaran's towering mage towers.
In the Guardian's Sanctum, council members were gathered for a ritual.
A handsome, black-haired half-elf stood at the center of the ritual grounds, surrounded by members of the Council of Tirisfal who were channeling their power into the Guardian's Altar. This power was then guided through a precise magic circle into the half-elf's body.
"Ah ah ah!!"
The sudden influx of power that wasn't his own caused immense pain. Allodi gritted his teeth and endured for a long time, but finally couldn't help but let out a pained roar.
"Allodi, hold on! One last minute!"
Meryl Winterwind's deadpan face was pale, and his grey eyes, once filled with magic, gradually dimmed as the power within him rapidly drained away.
"I... I can do it!"
Allodi's veins protruded on his forehead, and he bit down hard, enduring the pain. "Continue! For the future of Azeroth, the ritual must succeed. Kathra'natir must die!"
"Sizzle sizzle!"
As the Guardian's Altar made a slight overloading sound, all the members of the Council of Tirisfal who were channeling power around the altar collapsed to the ground, exhausted.
"Hoo~ hoo~"
One of the High Elf mages gasped for several breaths, finally helping each other up with a companion beside him.
As an undead, Meryl had no stamina limitations. Although the magical exhaustion made him very uncomfortable, he was the first among everyone to recover.
"How is it? Did it succeed?"
Allodi closed his eyes tightly, trying to regulate the excessively vast power within him. This power, according to the ritual design, slowly integrated into his own power system, beginning to serve him.
"It succeeded!"
Allodi turned his head back joyfully. "We succeeded! With this powerful force, Kathra'natir is definitely no match for me!"
Meryl and all the core members of the council smiled with relief. "That's good. Prepare yourself and set off. This time, we must eliminate that damned dreadlord."
Allodi confidently gripped the exquisite staff in his hand. "Don't worry, he won't escape."
...Andreas, maintaining his Shadow Meld, wound his way through various high-level mage towers in Dalaran, finally locating the Guardian's Sanctum.
However, a defensive barrier had already been activated around the sanctum. Andreas stopped and pondered, ultimately choosing not to force his way in.
A small, insignificant shadow bolt tapped against the magical barrier, and there was soon a reaction from within the Guardian's Sanctum.
As the illusionary magic circle covering the top of the tower dissipated, a dozen fully armed mages appeared before Andreas.
"Don't be nervous."
Andreas spread his hands, indicating he had no ill intent. "I come from the continent of Kalimdor across the great sea. Someone in Dalaran should have already delivered a message to you, right?"
Since she didn't know the exact location of the Guardian's Sanctum, Priestess arranged for scouts to relay Andreas' message—that he wished to meet with the Council of Tirisfal—through Dalaran.
Although the Kirin Tor Archmage was surprised that the Night Elves from across the sea would proactively contact the Council of Tirisfal, he dutifully forwarded the letter to the Guardian's Sanctum.
A weak-looking undead, leaning on a staff, slowly walked out. "Do not be rude. This is Speaker Moonshadow of the Night Republic, whose status is equivalent to the highest head of a nation. Lower your weapons."
Andreas gracefully landed in the Guardian's Sanctum and, without ceremony, clapped the undead on the shoulder, almost knocking him to the ground.
"Meryl, long time no... What happened to you?"
"Cough cough! Speaker Moonshadow, please be gentler."
Meryl said with a wry smile, "We have just completed the power transfer ritual and are temporarily unable to adapt to the weakness of our bodies."
...Meryl Winterwind and Andreas met at the celebration feast after the victory of the Troll Wars.
Andreas was quite curious about this first-ever lich in history and asked Meryl many questions at that boring networking banquet.
"Here."
Andreas pulled out a delicate small bottle from his spatial pouch and placed it on the table in front of Meryl.
"The latest preservative produced by the Night Republic. Not only does it eliminate the smell of decay, but it also contains a faint herbal fragrance. I think you might like it."
Meryl's expression stiffened for a moment. He hesitated for a while, but ultimately couldn't resist the temptation and accepted the preservative.
"Thank you for the gift, Speaker Moonshadow. Let's discuss serious matters first."
"Alright."
Andreas straightened his face and said, "I heard you've suffered quite a bit at the hands of a dreadlord. Do you need my help?"
The faces of the Council of Tirisfal members present looked a bit awkward. One of the High Elf mages lowered his head and softly said, "Speaker Moonshadow, it shouldn't be necessary. We have transferred our power to Allodi, and he has already set off to hunt Kathra'natir."
'Oh? It seems the ritual for the first Guardian of Tirisfal has succeeded.'
"Then I'll be brief."
Andreas stood up from his chair. "The situation might have changed. There's a traitor among the Kirin Tor's Council of Six."
"I followed the clues he left and searched the estate outside the city. There are traces of magic circles used to summon demons. Kathra'natir might have other powerful demons lurking nearby, preparing for a sneak attack."
"Kirin Tor?!"
Meryl stood up in disbelief. "Speaker Moonshadow, would you mind telling me who it is specifically?"
Meryl subconsciously had a bad premonition, but he hoped it wouldn't come true.
From Rudolph's self-introduction, Andreas already knew that he was also a member of the original Hundred Mages.
Looking at Meryl with pity and comfort, Andreas sighed, "Just as you guessed, it's Rudolph Oberman. To gain immortality, he betrayed Azeroth and defected to the demons."
"Is... that so."
Meryl stumbled and sat back down, his eyes staring blankly at the exquisite carpet beneath his feet.
Andreas changed the subject, saying, "Who he is isn't important. What's important is what he did."
"The summoning portal for the demons is quite large, at least for medium-sized or larger demons. Are you sure Guardian Allodi can defeat two high-ranking demons simultaneously?"
The faces of the Council of Tirisfal members looked a bit grim. One of the Elf mages hesitated and said, "It should be possible, right? Allodi has gathered all our power, even if he faces two demons at once..."
He stopped halfway through his sentence, apparently lacking confidence himself.
Andreas didn't expose the Council of Tirisfal's insistence. He smiled gently and said, "Better safe than sorry. You should still tell me Allodi's whereabouts, and I'll go check on the situation."
Andreas didn't quite agree with the founding philosophy of the Tirisifal Council, and he had always harbored doubts about the Guardian system they had created.
Placing the heavy responsibility of saving the world on a single hero fits mainstream American values, but in a dangerous world like Azeroth, filled with hidden threats, it was clearly impractical.
Take, for instance, the strongest Guardian of Tirisfal in later generations, Medivh, known as the Magus.
His strength was certainly outstanding among Mortals, and one could even say it exceeded Mortal limits to a certain extent.
However, when Sargeras personally sent down his soul to intervene, Medivh eventually fell into corruption beyond his control. The esteemed Guardian became an accomplice, opening the gates of invasion for the Burning Legion's lackeys.
This is the biggest drawback of concentrating all hope for the world's protection on one person. Once this hero, who carries everyone's expectations, goes astray, the entire planet waiting for his salvation falls into a fatal crisis because of it.
Andreas' philosophy differed from that of the Tirisifal Council; he wouldn't put all his eggs in one basket.
A Guardian might be necessary—after all, they are a powerful combat force—but concentrating too much pressure and expectation on a single individual is clearly unreasonable.
However, it was too early to say these things now. At least until a certain rebellious Guardian appeared, the operational model of the Guardian of Tirisfal was still commendable.
Andreas learned of Alodi's whereabouts from Meryl. The Dreadlord Karsusnatir was hiding on a small island in the middle of Lordaeron Lake.
Lordaeron Lake spans Tirisfal Glades, Hillsbrad Foothills, and Silverpine Forest, and it is very close to the three city-states of Lordaeron, Dalaran, and Alterac.
The cunning Dreadlord deliberately chose a middle ground as cover, so no one would know which city-state his next move would target.
But in Andreas' view, Karsusnatir's deliberate posture was actually a disguise and a bluff.
His goal was to make the Tirisifal Council anxious about protecting everything at once, forcing them to take the initiative to hunt him down. This way, he could leisurely set a trap and wipe them out all at once when the greatest threat, the Tirisifal Council, pursued him to the island.
Andreas didn't know which demon Rudolph had summoned or how strong it was, but since Karsusnatir had set the stage so confidently, that demon's strength would at least not be inferior to his own.
This was far from the first time Andreas had faced a Dreadlord. The advantage of this race lay in manipulating schemes and human hearts; their absolute strength wasn't considered top-tier within the Burning Legion.
Even Tichondrius, the leader of the Nathrezim, was only so-so, having his head easily plucked off by Queen Azshara.
However, while one can despise the enemy strategically, one must remain vigilant tactically. Andreas didn't want to fail in an easy task due to arrogance.
By the time he left Dalaran and headed north into Lordaeron Lake, the magical city-state was already in a state of chaos.
If it were just Rudolph's death, the Kirin Tor Council could have easily suppressed it, simply lying that he died in an experimental accident—such occurrences were not uncommon in Dalaran.
But every living being inside the entire mage tower had been sucked into a mummified corpse; the scope of this impact was far too wide.
One must know that many of the apprentices in Rudolph's tower came from the prominent families of the Arathor city-states. They sent their children to Dalaran just to gain prestige and curry favor with powerful mages.
With so many people dead suddenly, no matter how strong the Kirin Tor Council's magical concealment was, it couldn't stop the spread of information.
With someone specifically arranging for people to secretly spread the news, the entire city of Dalaran soon knew of Rudolph's betrayal.
Depending on their proximity, the families of the deceased apprentices also began to voice their grievances, starting with the noble families living within Dalaran itself.
Andreas did this intentionally. On one hand, it made Rudolph's crimes public; on the other, it served as a demonstration and warning to the lawless mages of Dalaran, letting them know the consequences of betraying Azeroth.
At this moment, the remaining five members of the Kirin Tor Council were frantically discussing countermeasures in the Violet Citadel.
"The Night Elves are a super-race with ten thousand years of heritage. Although they are far away on another continent and don't interact closely with the Arathor Empire except for trade, as far as I know, their shadows were active behind the Troll Wars that facilitated Arathor's rise."
The speaker was an old mage with a white beard and hair; he was the current Speaker of the Kirin Tor in Dalaran, Beasley Deldorga.
The old Speaker was one of the trusted apprentices of Aldorgan, the original founder of Dalaran. Having followed Aldorgan through the many storms of Dalaran's early founding, he was a man of great experience and knowledge.
Regarding the Night Elves, although he hadn't seen them personally, Aldorgan had repeatedly warned his apprentices not to casually provoke this powerful race with infinite lifespans.
Beasley had long suspected that his senior, Rudolph, was hiding some secrets, but he never expected Rudolph would actively study Fel Energy and collude with demons just to extend his life. Even less did he expect Speaker Moonshadow to personally take action to kill a traitor of Azeroth.
A female council member asked with a deep frown, "Speaker, how should we announce this to the public? Do we admit to the rumors currently spreading throughout the city?"
"No!"
A balding council member opposed vehemently, "That would damage Dalaran's reputation and image! If other city-states find out Dalaran produced a traitor who betrayed humanity and the entire world, how will they view this free magical city?"
"Then what do you suggest? Continue hiding it like this? Don't treat the residents of Dalaran like fools!"
Beasley reached out with a headache to stop the argument. "Paper cannot wrap fire. Since the person who acted arranged for the news to be spread so thoroughly, if we hide it and don't report it, he—who is already dissatisfied with Dalaran—will surely be even more enraged."
"Announce it. That's that."
Beasley waved his hand tiredly, cutting off the balding council member's attempt to speak. "I'm tired. Everyone, dismiss."
"After you return, think carefully about how to prevent similar situations from happening again."
"We might be able to get by with a sincere apology once, but if traitors appear again and again... you should all understand the consequences."
The female mage curled her lip in disdain. "That's why I said long ago that corresponding laws should be enacted to prohibit the study of certain dangerous powers."
"Nonsense! Would that still be the Dalaran that advocates for the spirit of free research?"
"Enough!"
Beasley waved his hand unpleasantly, signaling everyone to leave. "Say what you have to say after you leave. I want to rest."
As his bickering colleagues gradually moved away, Beasley turned to look at the small stone statue erected in the Violet Citadel.
"Mentor, you left Dalaran a wealth of precious knowledge, but you also left behind many hidden dangers sufficient to shake its foundations..."
The small island in the center of Lake Lordamere would be named Fenris Isle at some point in the future, but at this time, it was still an unnamed island with no jurisdiction.
Lordaeron, backed by Lake Lordamere, wanted to bring this great lake under its control, but Dalaran and Gilneas both vehemently opposed it.
Although Gilneas was temporarily unable to spare manpower to control the territory north of Silverpine Forest, according to the boundaries of the fiefdoms, at least more than half of Lake Lordamere was located within Silverpine Forest.
Dalaran's reasons were also sufficient; they needed the lake to remain open to facilitate water trade routes between other city-states and Dalaran via Lake Lordamere.
Lordaeron also had a compelling reason to take control of Lake Lordamere; this great lake was directly behind Lordaeron City, and if they couldn't control the entire lake, the Menethil family, as lords, couldn't sleep soundly at night.
Territorial disputes were just a microcosm of the conflicts among the city-states of the Arathor Empire, and as time went on, more problems would eventually surface.
Departing from the southern shore of Lake Lordamere, Andria, in golden eagle form, soared over the lake, reaching the Fenris Isles in just over ten minutes.
He was surprised to find that there were already some indigenous species around the island, and these ugly, fishy-smelling creatures made him feel nostalgic yet also a bit strange.
Murlocs.
These little creatures, fond of charging with "Murloc-like" cries, were incredibly annoying in the game; if you weren't careful while fighting monsters, the hospitable murlocs would bring you a whole host of "surprises."
Andria still remembered his first death in the World of Warcraft game, which was at the hands of a large group of murlocs on the Whispering Coast in Tirisfal Glades.
Murlocs could appear wherever there was water in Azeroth, and like the Naga, they had the highest appearance rate among aquatic creatures.
However, these murlocs, who only operated near the water, posed no threat to Andria in the air. After glancing at the swarming murlocs, Andria landed on the main island of the Fenris Isles.
"Boom!"
No country had yet built a castle on the island at this time. A violent explosion echoed from within the dense forest, and flashes of magic were faintly visible through the gaps in the trees. Allodi and the demon's battle had already begun.
Transforming directly from a golden eagle into a silver wolf, Andria channeled shadow energy to enter stealth mode. The soft paw pads on his four feet ensured that Andria made no sound as he moved.
Ancient trees were affected by the clash between Allodi and the demon. As Andria approached the battlefield, bursts of bone-chilling cold emanated from the largely frozen forest.
'Is Allodi's primary attribute ice?'
Arcanists can use arcane energy to manipulate other elements, and the two most easily shaped elements are fire and ice, which can control temperature.
Although Andria himself was not an arcanist, his wife and daughter both specialized in arcane magic, and through osmosis, he had a relatively deep understanding of this power system.
Strictly speaking, whether it's fire or ice, their essence still involves controlling them with arcane energy.
Due to the Sunstrider family's bloodline, Celes' fire magic talent was exceptional; it was likely that no mortal in the current era could rival her mastery of fire spells... after all, she had lived long enough.
Aurora, influenced by Celes' arcane tricks when she was young, ultimately chose the purest arcane path, directly controlling raw arcane energy to attack enemies, and she had already become quite proficient.
Andria had seen arcanists who used ice spells before, but a wide-area ice spell capable of freezing an entire forest was truly unprecedented.
Allodi was currently suspended in the center of the forest, effortlessly casting various frost spells, and the surrounding forest had been frozen into a crystalline state by his ultra-low-temperature magic.
A... Andria couldn't distinguish between individual dreadlords; these bald ones all looked pretty much the same.
Kazzak was quite disheveled as he moved through the forest. Allodi's continuous barrage of Ice Lances and Blizzards kept him scrambling, and if he wasn't careful, he could be frozen by Allodi's spells.
"Blizzard!"
Several blasts of cold air erupted from Allodi's left hand, almost completely sealing off Kazzak's nearby escape routes.
At the same time, Allodi's right hand, multitasking, conjured a giant ice shard and, using magical acceleration, hurled it in the direction of the dreadlord.
Although Kazzak appeared very disheveled, by not attempting to counterattack and focusing on defense and evasion, he was barely able to hold his own against Allodi.
Seeing the surrounding space sealed off, Kazzak drew circles in mid-air with both hands. A fel portal, the height of a man, appeared in the air, and the ice shard thrown by Allodi flew precisely into the portal.
"Aow!"
An angry roar came from the other side of the portal, "Kazzak! What in the world are you doing?!"
Allodi, hearing this powerful roar, suddenly paused, and a look of surprise appeared on his face.
"This is..."
Kazzak ignored the curses from the other side, and a massive amount of fel energy surged from his body. He made a motion of tearing with both hands, and the fel portal, originally only the size of a single person, rapidly expanded.
A massive pit lord, his face filled with rage, emerged from the swamp on the other side. Some ice shards were still clinging to his right hind leg.
Andria, hidden in the shadows, watched the bald back of the pit lord with slight surprise. This monstrosity actually lacked the iconic large wings of the pit lord race.
'No wings? Could this guy be... Brutallus?'
Brutallus was the third most important figure among the pit lords, second only to their leader Mannoroth and second-in-command Magtheridon. Although his combat power wasn't top-tier when compared to many other powerful figures, he was undoubtedly one of the core forces of the Burning Legion.
At least Kazzak didn't dare to spout nonsense in front of Brutallus. He respectfully bowed and said, "Mighty Brutallus, I apologize for the ill-timed opening of the portal. The previous attack was from that mortal mage on the other side."
Brutallus' weapon was not the giant two-headed war spear commonly used by the pit lord race. His hands were each encased in a grotesque blade gauntlet, and unkempt blades were stained with dark red blood, emanating a pungent, bloody odor.
Allodi, upon suddenly seeing this massive demon, immediately shifted his attention from Kazzak to Brutallus.
"Another vile demon, get out of our world!"
Allodi waved his hands upwards, and a large-scale blizzard appeared above Brutallus' body, but these extremely cold ice shards, due to their scattered power, seemed unable to pose a fatal threat to the thick-skinned Brutallus.
"Hmph hahaha!"
The fel flames on Brutallus' body were still vigorous, and he looked at the solemn-faced Allodi with a sneer.
"Little mage, your spells are powerful, but unfortunately, you lack practical experience and chose the wrong spell."
"Hmph!"
The seemingly clumsy Brutallus' charge speed far exceeded Allodi's imagination. As he instinctively cast Blink to dodge, the massive pit lord crashed exactly into the area where he had just been.
"Rumble!"
Large areas of crystallized trees were shattered. Allodi's face was somewhat pale, and he gasped for breath, still shaken.
"Heh heh~"
Kazzak no longer showed his previous dishevelment. He chuckled maliciously, looking at Allodi and sarcastically taunting, "Mage of the Council of Tirisfal, the tables have turned now, haven't they?"
Alodi was a half-elf who had no idea who his parents were. Abandoned in Dalaran as a baby, he was raised in the city's orphanage and felt a fierce attachment to the magocratic city-state that had reared him.
Perhaps because both his High-Elven and Human bloodlines were at work, he displayed Arcane talent far beyond his peers from a very young age.
Yet Alodi had been born in an era of peace; after the Troll Wars, Dalaran's mages grew up in comfort and rarely saw real combat.
Like most mages of his generation, he possessed tremendous Arcane power but wielded it rigidly, with little flexibility when it came to battle.
The Tirisifal Council, constantly hunting demons, drilled its mages in actual combat, but Alodi had joined only recently.
Though his dazzling talent let him become the first Keeper, once sheer strength could no longer carry him, his lack of experience showed all too clearly.
Brutallus, relying on his monstrous physique, took the front; most of Alodi's spells simply slammed into the Pit Lord's chest-plate of specially forged Fel-metal and broke apart.
Karsusnatir, cunning as ever, cowered behind Brutallus' bulk, firing quick, small Fel spells through every gap to disrupt Alodi's casting and keep him off balance.
"Sigh—"
A soft exhalation drifted through the forest. Hard-pressed from every side, Alodi had no attention to spare, but the wily Dreadlord suddenly halted and spun around.
"Who's there?"
A wolf with snow-bright silver fur padded from the trees, eyes gleaming with intelligence as it regarded the flustered Alodi in disappointment.
"Still too young, far too short on experience. All that power, and two second-rate demons have you pinned."
Karsusnatir unfurled his wings warily, Fel-charged hands leveling on the silver wolf.
"I'll ask once more—who are you? If you're merely passing through, leave this place. This fight is none of your concern."
Andreas Moonshadow gave the Dreadlord a sidelong glance. "Are you stupid? If I had nothing to do with this battle, why step forward?"
Karsusnatir wasn't provoked—not from any great self-restraint, but because he sensed formidable, deliberately suppressed power in the unknown wolf.
Brutallus swung his twin blades with fanatical glee, his practiced sword-pressure driving the Keeper back step by step until Alodi began to wonder who he was, where he was, what he was even doing.
"Karsusnatir! Finish that one and get over here—the kid's falling apart!"
"Finish me?"
Andreas chuckled softly; under Karsusnatir's wary stare he shifted into his Night-Elven form.
"A Night Elf!"
The Dreadlord's cheek twitched. Over seven millennia ago the Burning Legion's first invasion had ended in failure, news that had spread through the Twisting Nether. The Night Elves, Mortal vanguard of that resistance, had earned a top spot on the Legion's kill-list—right at the very top.
Sargeras' Burning Legion did not bear grudges; they usually settled scores on the spot.
Before assaulting Azeroth, the Legion had met fiercely resistant worlds, yet none had withstood the Fallen Titan when he took the field.
The War of the Ancients marked Sargeras' first defeat. Under his iron discipline the setback was minimized, but Night Elves inevitably became favorite gossip among demons who had missed that war.
Conveniently, Karsusnatir and Brutallus were two such demons.
Where the Pit Lord brimmed with arrogant confidence, the Dreadlord, true to his kind, eyed Andreas with caution.
"What's wrong, little bat?"
Leaning on the Staff of Ganir, Andreas asked with a half-smile, "Not going to attack?"
Demons are creatures of chaos and distortion; wary though Karsusnatir was of Night Elves, he would not be paralyzed into inaction.
Steadying himself, the Dreadlord raised his hand and released a thick cloud of green, corporeal mist.
"Carrion Swarm!"
The signature spell of the Nathrezim—Andreas had seen it more than once.
Shadow-form blooming around him, he lifted the Staff of Ganir; the tear of Elune set into it shimmered violet.
Formless ripples of shadow burst from the staff's head, colliding with the Carrion Swarm. For a moment the forces balanced in mid-air, then began pushing toward the Dreadlord.
"Impossible!"
Twice in one day a Mortal had overpowered him; Karsusnatir's worldview cracked.
"A mere Mortal surpassing a demon in raw strength? Who—what are you?"
"Heh—guess."
With the spell cast, Andreas did not linger; Shadowmeld carried him behind Karsusnatir in an instant, the blade of the dark empire slicing in from a tricky angle.
Sensing the threat, the Dreadlord arched backward at the last second, dodging the horizontal slash.
But Andreas had used little force, leaving plenty of room to adjust; the sword pivoted ninety degrees mid-air and chopped down into Karsusnatir's belly.
"Aagh!!"
The sword of the dark empire was not especially keen; its lethality came from the Xala'thath bound within.
In the instant of contact, a torrent of chaotic thoughts flooded Karsusnatir's mind, the overwhelming surge of mental filth nearly splitting his skull.
Meanwhile Brutallus gleefully pressed his assault on the rattled Keeper. Though each blow lacked the raw power of Mannoroth's, his twin-blade chains let him keep opponents breathless, a more effective suppression.
Hearing Karsusnatir's scream, Brutallus instinctively glanced aside; Alodi seized the moment to blink clear of the relentless sequence.
"Huff… huff…"
Dozens of meters away, Alodi sucked in ragged breaths, still dazed.
Ignoring the others, Andreas seized the instant while the Dreadlord's mind reeled. A blade of light flared from the Staff of Ganir and cut the howling Karsusnatir clean in half, green Fel-blood spraying everywhere.
Alodi stared, stunned. "That… that easy?"
"What did you expect?"
Slipping through Brutallus' roaring charge via Shadowmeld, Andreas reappeared beside Alodi, expression exasperated. "A fringe bat barely worth notice among the Nathrezim—how tough did you think he'd be?"
In fact, Andreas' effortless slaying of Karsusnatir was largely due to the asymmetry of intelligence between the two sides.
Karsusnatir's calculations were all aimed at the Tirisifal Council, and he successfully, with Brutallus' cooperation, left the inexperienced Alodi completely bewildered.
Andreas knew the Dreadlord race very well; their killing moves and characteristics were all clear to him.
However, the opponent knew nothing about Andreas, and the soul erosion of the ancient god's demonic sword was not something a mere small bat could withstand.
"Bah! Although the soul strength is decent, this stench of Fel Energy is truly nauseating."
Xal'atath disgusted voice rang in Andreas' mind; he seemed very displeased with souls soaked in Fel Energy.
However, despite saying so, he honestly intercepted a portion of Karsusnatir's soul and swallowed it into the sword before it could escape into the Twisting Nether.
Although Alodi couldn't hear Xal'atath's voice, seeing the extremely sinister longsword in the Night Elves' hand, he felt a certain oppression in his heart.
Karsusnatir was merely one of the numerous mid-to-lower level cannon fodder in the Burning Legion, but Brutallus was different.
Andreas heightened his vigilance, looking at the enraged Brutallus. The Pit Lord roared furiously, "Mortal! You dare to kill my partner right in front of me!"
The Pit Lord race is very straightforward; what they pursue is immense power, and they have no interest in most convoluted matters.
Karsusnatir and Brutallus working together undoubtedly complemented each other's weaknesses: one lacked power, the other lacked brains. Together, they could form a small team capable of stirring up trouble in Azeroth.
However, at this time, the Burning Legion had not yet refocused its attention on Azeroth. Brutallus and Karsusnatir's actions were not driven by orders but primarily to earn merit.
Azeroth, which even Sargeras failed to conquer, if they could successfully re-establish a Burning Legion outpost in this world and draw in the main forces of the Legion, this merit would certainly not be small.
Unfortunately, these two demons, who did not participate in the War of the Ancients, clearly lacked sufficient understanding of how deep the waters of Azeroth were.
Seven thousand years later, most of the demon generals who died back then have successively revived, but none of them would venture into Azeroth alone.
Although demons can revive, foolishly floating in the Twisting Nether while channeling is not a good experience. Having just regained their bodies, major demons, including Tichondrius, did not want to re-enter Azeroth to seek death.
It was no wonder Brutallus was angry after the 'Hardheaded Duo' lost the Dreadlord who served as their strategist.
With his brain, he couldn't figure out what to do next. Even if he killed these two Mortals, he would probably just single-mindedly charge into human cities until he encountered a powerful enemy or an overwhelming military force and was vanquished.
"Go."
Andreas patted Alodi's back, "What was lost there must be reclaimed there. You wouldn't even dare to go one-on-one, would you?"
"Uh..."
Alodi's mouth twitched. "You go first. I'll observe this demon's detailed fighting style first."
"Heh heh~"
Andreas rolled his eyes, 'Coward.'
At this moment, Brutallus charged again. Alodi used Blink to dodge his frontal assault as before, while Andreas opened a Shadowmeld void gate on Brutallus' back.
Stomping on the solid muscle beneath his feet, Andreas grinned mischievously and raised Xal'atath.
"Wait! You're not going to make me absorb Fel Energy souls again, are you? Andreas, I..."
"Pfft!"
Infused with Shadow Power, the sword of the dark empire was plunged into Brutallus' body.
"Ow!"
The massive Pit Lord let out a howl, but he wasn't defeated as quickly as Karsusnatir. Before Andreas could channel Shadow Power to unleash a grand spell, Brutallus actually performed a long-lost ultimate move—the lazy donkey roll.
"Woah~"
The massive Pit Lord began to roll on the ground. Andreas immediately transformed into a Golden Eagle and escaped. Many surrounding trees were crushed by this behemoth.
Although not very intelligent, Brutallus had extensive combat experience.
After shaking Andreas off, he immediately regained his balance and swung his dual blades, using the same oppressive fighting style against Andreas that he had used against Alodi earlier.
"It's boring to use the same trick twice, isn't it?"
Andreas gently tapped the Staff of Ganir on the ground. The tear of Elune glowed with brilliant black light, and tough Shadow Vines, reinforced by the Pillars of Creation, shot out from beneath the ground.
It was unrealistic to target all four of the Pit Lord's legs, so Andreas focused on his two hind legs.
Tripped by the vines during his high-speed charge, Brutallus' momentum suddenly slowed.
Andreas pressed his advantage, once again borrowing the power of the tear of Elune, and immediately summoned a massive black tornado. The sky-reaching whirlwind lifted Brutallus' already unbalanced rear half high into the air.
The unbalanced Pit Lord futilely swung his dual blades, letting out earth-shattering roars.
"Boom!"
As Brutallus fell headfirst, the entire main island of Fenris began to shake violently. Nearby murlocs, thinking it was an earthquake, scattered in terror.
"Hey, kid."
Andreas turned to the dumbfounded Alodi. "You finish him off."
"Ah? Oh..."
Alodi felt as if a door to a new world had opened for him.
Andreas' individual spells didn't seem very powerful, at least they weren't grand spells, but when combined, they produced surprisingly astonishing effects.
First, he used vines to tie Brutallus' hind legs, leaving them suspended, and then used the strong winds to lift his unbalanced rear half.
As Alodi held his staff, preparing a large ice spell, his mind was still replaying Andreas' previous actions, attempting to replicate this spell combination pattern in his own way.
Brutallus struggled on the ground, trying to stand up, but Andreas' Shadow Vines began their mischievous work the moment he fell.
His four hind legs were randomly paired and tied together in bows. No matter how Brutallus' upper body struggled, without the support of his hind legs, he simply couldn't stand up.
Alodi raised his staff high, and the energy spiral at the staff's head began to emit a striking ice-blue light. Powerful energy surged from within him.
"Oh?"
Andreas raised an eyebrow, 'The power level is sufficiently strong. If its wielder had more control, it could indeed unleash quite impressive strength.'
These powers, infused through rituals, were not his own, and Alodi hadn't had them for long, so it was impossible for him to fully master them so quickly.
Coupled with his lack of practical combat experience, he had appeared helpless when facing the pincer attack of the two demons earlier.
'There should still be a lot of room for improvement. This setback and blow should become the motivation for his rapid progress.'
"Ebony Chill!"
Three large ice cones successively hit Brutallus' large head, which was burning with Fel Energy flames. The first two were blocked by his Fel Energy skin and physical strength, but the third finally pierced Brutallus' head.
Without the master's control, the body originally covered in Fel Energy immediately lost its inherent strength. The ice cone embedded in Brutallus' forehead quickly expanded its frozen area, and soon a large ice mountain appeared before Andreas and Alodi.
When Alodi returned to the Guardian Sanctum in Dalaran after casting a spell to annihilate Brutallus' body and cleaning up the aftermath, a thoughtful expression still lingered on his face.
Meryl Winterwind and the other council members hurried over.
"How was it? Was it successful?"
"Was there really a second demon?"
"Did that Night Elf help at all?"
Meryl helplessly made a downward pressing gesture. "Everyone, calm down. Let Alodi speak slowly."
Alodi, having collected himself, looked at the eager, expectant eyes around him and couldn't help but scratch his head.
"Uh... let me ask a question first. Who exactly was that Night Elf just now?"
...After leaving Fenris Isle, Andreas wasn't in a hurry to return to Kalimdor.
Since he was already here, he might as well go to the nearby Tirisfal Glades to check on Thorim's situation.
The battle with Brutallus seemed effortless, but that was because Andreas' energy level was sufficient.
If his own strength had been insufficient, with Brutallus' charge, the vines binding his legs would have easily broken under the immense pulling force, and insufficient wind power would not have been able to lift him.
The battle with Brutallus gave Andreas a clearer understanding of his current strength.
After figuring out a clever way to use the Pillars of Creation, he would at least not easily suffer losses when facing mid-tier generals of the Burning Legion.
As for the three high-ranking ones... might as well just go to bed.
Kiljaeden and Archimonde were simply not on the same level as their subordinate generals, let alone the Fallen Titan above these two 'Heng-Ha' generals.
When Andreas arrived near Tirs Tomb, the original female Vrykul had long since disappeared after several generations of reproduction, replaced by a group of strong, healthy human women.
The female warriors guarding the village mostly wore ice-blue metal armor, likely modified from oversized Vrykul armor passed down by their ancestors. They were very wary of Andreas, who was approaching brazenly, and stopped him far from the village.
"Stop!"
Two patrolwomen, armed with long spears, pointed their weapons at Andreas, asking with great vigilance, "This is Hild Village territory ahead, no passage!"
"Uh..."
Andreas spread his hands and said, "After so many generations, you no longer recognize me?"
"Wait!"
A female warrior with an heroic face, clad in full armor, and holding a sword and shield, stopped her two subordinates. She approached Andreas with a look of surprise and suspicion, carefully scrutinizing him.
"Could it be, are you Lord Andreas Moonshadow?"
Andreas smiled and nodded. "Yes, and you are?"
The female warrior put away her sword and shield, and saluted by hammering her chest with a thick arm. "I am Yarlvit, leader of the Valkyrie Corps, Lord Andreas. Please forgive my subordinates for not recognizing your appearance."
Andreas waved his hand dismissively. "Don't worry about it. After so many years, it's good enough that anyone still remembers me."
Since degenerating into humans, Thorim's followers no longer possessed infinite lifespans. Through generations of reproduction over long years, Andreas, who had helped them relocate and settle here, had become a legendary figure.
As the warrior leader of Hild Village, Yarlvit had seen Andreas' portrait from the village chief, and coupled with the rarity of Night Elves in the Eastern Kingdoms, she had boldly made a guess, and unexpectedly, she was right... "War?"
"Yes, war with Lordaeron."
On the way back to Hild Village, Andreas inquired about the recent situation in Tirisfal Glades from the respectful Yarlvit.
Because of King Thoradin's rash act of breaking the seal back then, Hild Village, which was independent of mainstream human society, was quite displeased with the Arathor Empire.
After the city-state of Lordaeron was established, Lord Menethil began exploring and colonizing the surrounding territories, and naturally, conflicts arose with Hild Village, which already had a poor impression of them.
Upon arriving at Hild Village, Andreas observed the layout of the village.
This village, built upon the abandoned temporary residences of the High Elves, had gradually developed its own style through years of evolution and expansion.
Compared to the rugged architectural style of the Arathor Empire, Hild Village was influenced by the original High Elf architecture, and coupled with the more delicate sensibilities of women, their buildings were a blend between the exquisite High Elf style and the roughness of Arathor, making them quite unique.
Most of the remaining High Elf buildings were purple in color. Through generations of modifications by the Hild people, the color was fixed to the ice-blue favored by their ancestors, the Frost Vrykul.
A rough observation showed that the village had a considerable population; the strong reproductive capacity of humans was evident in this village.
The village did not maintain the old custom of only keeping women; the men captured by the Hild people for mating were not driven away.
Although the number and status of women still held absolute dominance, at least it wasn't a village full of only women at first glance.
In the center of the large lake named Tirisfal Lake, a magnificent temple was built around Thorim, who was in a semi-kneeling, deep slumber, protecting him from daily sun and rain.
Since Hild Village was still at war with Lordaeron, Yarlvit, as the leader of the female warriors, could not stay in the village for long. After bringing Andreas into the village and entrusting him to the village chief, she returned to her post.
The village chief of Hild Village was named Brunhilde, and she was the only true immortal among all humans in this village, and arguably in the world.
She was a blessed dependent of Thorim, and it was said that she had some connection to the former Frost Giant King Angrim.
Brunhilde personally witnessed the degeneration of the Frost Vrykul and the changes of the era.
Because she received Thorim's blessing of power, her lifespan was endless, and her combat prowess far exceeded that of her other kin.
Brunhilde was not as crude as the other female warriors of Hild Village. Her appearance was beautiful and heroic, and her words and actions were cultured, making her seem somewhat out of place in this boisterous matriarchal village.
However, no one in the village dared to criticize Brunhilde's position or assume she was weak and easily bullied; anyone who dared to challenge her was, without exception, easily pinned to the ground and rubbed by her.
"Long time no see, Brunhilde."
Andreas smiled and waved to this lady, whose hands were clasped in front of her lower abdomen. "Did you order the construction of Thorim's temple?"
"Long time no see, Andreas."
Brunhilde politely lifted her elaborate skirt and bowed to Andreas. "Yes, Lord Thorim couldn't possibly be exposed to the elements all the time, could he?"
"He still hasn't woken up?"
"No."
Brunhilde seemed a little worried. "I've contacted Lord Thorim through meditation. Perhaps due to the immense blow of Loken and Sif's betrayal, he has sealed his mind while guarding Tirs Tomb."
"Although Lord Thorim's emotional wounds have been improving year by year recently, it should still take some time until he fully awakens."
"Emotional wounds?"
Andreas looked at Thorim, who was motionless like a statue, and sighed softly. "That's good. Let him sort out his thoughts during this relatively peaceful period. When he wakes up next time, I'm afraid he won't have this much time to reminisce about the past."
Brunhilde raised an eyebrow. "Andreas, has something happened?"
"Yes, you should recognize this, right?"
Andreas took out a bottle of green liquid from his backpack and placed it in front of Brunhilde.
Brunhilde opened the bottle and sniffed it, her brows gradually furrowing. "This is... Fel Blood?"
"Yes."
Andreas said with deep eyes, "The Burning Legion has recovered from the War of the Ancients and is stirring again."
Andreas told Brunhilde how he had lured demons into Dalaran and everything that followed.
"Hmph!"
The ladylike composure Brunhilde had kept until now cracked; a chill flashed in her eyes as she snorted. "I knew it—anyone trained by Thoradin would be nothing but trouble."
Andreas shook his head in amusement. "You can't tar everyone with the same brush. Thoradin made mistakes in his later years, but he did plenty for humanity."
"You're part of humanity now; sooner or later you'll blend into human society. There's no need to stay hostile to the Arathor Empire forever."
Brunhilde sneered. "At the very least, we'll never establish normal relations while the Arathor Empire still stands. Let Thoradin's descendants pay for his sins."
Andreas rubbed his temples in exasperation. "Brunhilde, Thoradin already paid for those sins with his life."
"Zakaz, who was on the verge of breaking free, has quieted down again. Haven't you wondered why?"
Brunhilde blinked, then a light bulb went off. "Because of Thoradin?"
"Almost certainly."
"Thoradin's sword, Strom'kar the Warbreaker, was forged from the ancestral weapons of every human Clan, gathering the will of most Arathor citizens. After the Troll Wars it ascended into an artifact."
"I don't know exactly what happened inside the tomb, but I suspect that, at the very end, he used the artifact to suppress Zakaz, trying to atone for the mess his recklessness created."
Brunhilde frowned in thought. Reluctantly, she had to admit that only that explanation made sense for Zakaz's sudden silence.
Patting her shoulder, Andreas consoled her. "Wait a bit longer. When Thorim wakes, I'll enter Tirs Tomb with him and finish Zakaz for good."
Between the Silver Hand's seal and Strom'kar's, Zakaz had been weakened drastically; Andreas had planned to deal with the creature on this very visit.
But just to be safe—and to give Thorim, long absent from his followers, a chance to earn glory—Andreas postponed the expedition. After leaving Hild Village he continued north to Quel'Thalas.
Two centuries had passed, and the once-green Lirathra had grown up; her mother Veronica was now giving her real combat experience.
When Andreas reached Quel'Thalas, Lirathra was off with her mother hunting trolls in the Amani Forest; he missed them by a hair.
Teleporting back to Anathiss, Andreas hadn't even greeted his family before Fandral delivered news.
"Via Kul Tiras, Dalaran contacted Black Rook Hold, hoping to boost trade and scholarly exchange with the Night Elf Republic."
Andreas wasn't surprised. Though he hadn't told Alodi his identity outright, once he returned to the Guardian Sanctum Meryl would inform him at once.
The Tirisifal Council and Dalaran are technically separate, but their upper echelons still cooperate behind the scenes.
Dalaran didn't want demons, undead or Void Creatures running rampant through its streets every other day. After talks with the Council, pressured from all sides, it finally compromised.
The Kirin Tor Council publicly condemned Rudolf Oberman's crimes and used the occasion to outlaw research into Shadow, Death, and Fel energies.
Officially, that is. In practice Dalaran imposed no real crackdown; it was mostly a show for the outside world.
"Hah…"
Tossing Fandral's report on the table, Andreas smiled thinly. "Trade? Fine. Scholarly exchange? Forget it."
"Until Dalaran actually reforms, I'm not importing their bureaucratic mage-ism into the Night Elf Republic."
In the republic being an Arcanist is just a job—no different from druid, Priestess of the Moon, warrior or hunter.
The title grants no everyday privilege; Andreas' long push for equality was finally bearing fruit.
But Quel'Thalas—and Dalaran, still under Highborne sway—see things differently.
They believe Arcanists are born superior, and they strike haughty poses of "nobility" and arrogance toward other professions, especially non-casters.
That mindset is toxic; the Night Elf Empire already demonstrated how ruinous a privileged class can be to social order.
Andreas was tempted to tell them: Sir, the times have changed.
With the people wiser, fooling them the old way isn't so easy.
The pragmatic ranger families led by Windrunner and Silvermoon's aristocracy have drifted apart, each despising the other's lifestyle.
Nobles see the border rangers as lowly mud-grubbers who know nothing of refinement; rangers see the decadent aristos as deadweight who wine and theorize but never act.
After the troll wars, with nobles refusing to risk troops for merit, the rangers—main force of the counterattack—gained clout fast, and tensions soared.
Anasterian exhausted himself mediating, but clashing world-views meant the two sides simply couldn't get along; even the Sun King's efforts achieved little.
"In Dalaran, once you have the mage label you start several rungs above the 'rabble'."
Andreas snorted. "Aldogan's done a lot to curb mage arrogance, but early on he handed them too many privileges to attract numbers. Reform now? Good luck."
Tyrande gave him a sidelong glance. "Rare to hear you speak sense. Arcanist privilege is a plague on society."
"The Highborne who sailed east and their pupils are retracing our Night Elves' old path. Aren't you going to intervene?"
"And do what?"
Andreas shrugged. "Meddle in another country's politics? Not my style."
"Quel'Thalas has its own clear-sighted people resisting; Dalaran has the Tirisifal Council watching, and the other Arathorian city-states are waiting for them to slip. No big crisis looming."
"History follows its course. Let's mind our own house first; nations that can't adapt will simply be swept away by the tide of time."