664 Chapter 664: The Eternal Light
As Duke gazed at the kind and noble old man extending his frail hand towards him, a myriad of emotions swirled within. He had considered utilizing the seven eternal slots gifted to him by Alexstrasza. However, the system's scan left him disheartened.
"After scanning, there is a 98.44% probability that the Archbishop, having purged too much evil power, has accumulated dark forces that damage his body's acceptance of further Light. This leads the Archbishop to self-destruction, unable to bear the excess Light within him," the system reported.
Duke sighed deeply, extending his hand to gently grasp that of Alonsus.
A gentle Holy Light transmitted, akin to the comforting warmth of winter sunlight.
There was no surge of power, no lofty majesty, only the benevolent belief that an old man had devoted his life to.
Within the golden Holy Light, Duke found his spirit becoming ethereal.
His vision blurred, and it seemed as though he traversed through over two millennia, arriving at the freshly-founded Lordaeron.
Numerous new human settlements were scattered like stars across the lush Tirisfal Glades.
After defeating the malevolent trolls, humans were gradually taking root in this forest. With the hope of civilization, they drew sustenance from this land, proliferating and thriving.
The King of Menethil, deeply loving his people, believed that his efforts would one day enable these empowered people to reciprocate to all of humanity.
They faced countless beasts, unyielding troll remnants, and fought valiantly...
Over two thousand years later, a new green tide swept across the continent, only this time, the enemy had shifted from trolls to orcs.
Humans, along with dwarves, high elves, and even dragonkind, achieved victory through collective effort.
Yet, for the first time in 2800 years, the land suffered devastating destruction.
Alonsus was heartbroken because, in the darkest era since the pioneering days, when the people most needed hope, he could not sustain them.
Even with merely the will transmitted through the Light, Duke could sense Alonsus's sorrow.
The land was ravaged, and people were displaced.
Women, bereft of their husbands, carried wailing infants, enduring the grief brought by war, and with tears, undertook men's work: climbing roofs to help neighbors patch holes, braving the winter chill to chop wood in the mountains, and, like men, wielding sickles to launch desperate charges against orcs that rushed into the village...
Everything Alonsus had witnessed was transmitted and presented so vividly before Duke's eyes.
For the king, the war had ended.
For the people, the war was not over.
The old peace was incredibly brief.
A new war would come.
At this moment, Duke truly felt a colossal sense of mission, breathing the same future air as the people of Azeroth, shouldering a common destiny.
Even though, as a transmigrator, he possessed a prophet's vision that could terrify anyone in this world.
Duke still hadn't done enough.
He could do better.
Guarding Azeroth, the last refuge of humanity, is not a simple matter.
Duke couldn't go back.
So, he prepared to devote decades, even a century of effort, to endure until the Titans of Creation return, to destroy the Burning Legion, and to achieve ultimate peace.
He bore the future of the entire Azeroth, the inheritance of civilization, and the continuation of order.
His efforts to change the Second War were merely a small step to change Azeroth's future.
It's far from enough. The battles between the Alliance and Horde on the Eastern Kingdoms, a continent that only makes up one-fifth of Azeroth, even wars that spread across the entire world, seem laughably primitive in front of the Burning Legion's cosmic warships.
"There is still much I can do, more black technology, more progress, more magical skills. Only in this way can humanity, no, the entire Alliance stand at the end of this mysterious universe," Duke thought.
Alonsus Faol, without telepathy, didn't know what Duke saw, discovered, or realized after inheriting his will through the Light.
But seeing the expression on the face of Duke, the most talented and versatile young man in the history of the Alliance, no, of humanity, Alonsus knew that as a guide, he had opened a vast world door for Duke.
He no longer had the chance to see the magnificent scenery at the door, but he knew that the will of the Light would surely be inherited, and the hope of humanity would be ignited once again.
Alonsus, smiling, patted Duke on the shoulder, making a move that utterly surprised Duke.
Supposedly weak, he suddenly rose from the bed.
Not at all like a man on his deathbed.
Only Duke mourned, knowing that Alonsus, this respectable elder, had released his final shackles, allowing the Light to assault every cell, every muscle, every organ within him.
This was his last brilliance, and the will that the Archbishop of the Light wanted to pass on to the world.
Every chapel in the Cathedral of Light, every prayer hall, echoed with the uniform prayers of the priests. But the bishops, large and small, dressed in splendid robes, opened their eyes in astonishment because, for the first time in the ethereal and silent spiritual world, there came a response from the Light.
The temple bell, sensing the strong Holy Light reverberating in the air, suddenly rang of its own accord!
Priests rushed out of the prayer halls, witnessing the door to Archbishop Faol's sickroom thunderously open.
No one opened the door, yet Alonsus, supported by the power of the Light, floated in mid-air, slowly drifting out, with Duke following him to the center of the main hall.
Alonsus, standing in the void, seemed like a deity descended.
Every priest instinctively prostrated on the ground.
Every paladin knelt on one knee, right hand over the left side of their breastplate.
Even a king bowed deeply, showing his humility towards the sacred power.
Alonsus spoke with a smile, "Someone once asked me why I did not appoint the next Archbishop of the Light. At this final moment, I will answer this question for everyone."
Several bishops, who had once attempted to vie for power, shuddered, unconsciously pressing their foreheads even closer to the cold ground.
