The arcane shield had vanished—poof—like Medivh had flicked it away with an absent-minded sigh sometime earlier. Nobody quite noticed exactly when. Magic shield: gone. Just like that.
Spring was winding down, the flowers still blooming, but from Duke's lips came visible breath—thin, icy wisps tinged with crackling arcane energy. You could almost hear it whisper, "I'm unstable, deal with it."
Because Duke couldn't control his newfound power worth a damn, everyone got a front-row seat to this glowing aura drama. The blue-purple arcane light shimmered on his arms and feet like someone had painted him with magical highlighter, making him look like a walking neon sign at a wizard convention.
The sudden surge in power didn't just turn up the lights on Duke's body—it threw his senses off-kilter too. He tilted his head slightly, squinting like he'd just stepped out of a dark cave into a blindingly bright magic lamp showroom. But then, just as quickly, he snapped back, eyes sharp and unblinking, staring straight ahead.
Those eyes—deep black pools as still and ancient as a forgotten well—held no trace of excitement or panic. No "OMG I just got upgraded" sparkle. No fury at the snide remarks from the mages who'd earlier tried to talk him down. No fight. No flight. Just calm, like he'd been promoted a thousand times before and was late for tea.
To everyone watching, it felt less like witnessing a rookie wizard fresh off the apprenticeship boat and more like watching a new god of magic being born—one who could give Medivh a run for his money without breaking a sweat.
The pale blue glow around Duke wasn't blinding, but in that instant, every magic lamp in the grand hall dimmed just a little, as if acknowledging they were outshone.
Duke pushed himself up using his hands, movements slow and creaky, like a rusty clockwork golem struggling to wake. After a few agonizing seconds, he stood fully upright, chest out, soaking in the spotlight like a born star.
Every single gaze sharpened, pupils narrowing with a mix of suspicion, awe, and something dangerously close to envy.
And then—bam—Duke stumbled forward, nearly face-planting.
He caught himself just in time, but the entire room took a collective step back, as if Duke had suddenly morphed into some ancient demon king just risen from the depths or an eldritch horror reclaiming lost power.
"Pfft!" Duke burst out laughing, unabashed. "What? I got promoted by accident. Got a problem with that?"
Promoted by accident?!
Cue the collective flabbergasted and outraged gasps from the crowd.
The magic apprentices gathered here weren't just your run-of-the-mill wannabes. No, these were elite magic prodigies—from prestigious families, noble lineages, the whole fancy "rich and royal" package. They were plotting, training, scheming to outshine each other, and then this happened.
Duke, the upstart, had left them all choking on their own dust before the real contest even began.
The blow? Too savage.
The moral? Shop around before you throw away your pride!
Comparisons were now painful, like walking around with a "thief" sign slapped on their foreheads.
Except for a rare few still clinging to hope, the majority of these hotshot apprentices bowed their heads in shame, defeated before the starting line.
Daniel and Anya—Duke's recent traveling buddies—were so shocked they nearly forgot how to breathe. Just days ago, Duke had been "one of them." Now? He was a full-fledged wizard, the kind who gets invited to royal ceremonies and official meetings.
Even Khadgar,Medivh's own personal disciple, and no stranger to greatness,was wide-eyed and slack-jawed. Suddenly, everything made sense: why his master was so eager to personally accept Duke as his own disciple. The kid wasn't just good; he was phenomenal.
Khadgar's cheeks burned red, embarrassed to be caught gawking like a kid at a fireworks show.
Medivh himself stepped forward, that calm and elegant demeanor flawless as ever. With a graceful flick of his wrist, he conjured a palm-sized emblem of a lion's head, gold-rimmed and glowing softly with arcane light.
His voice was gentle but authoritative, eyes pure and sincere: "Edmund Duke, I, Medivh, Guardian of Azeroth and Grand Wizard of the Stormwind Kingdom's Court, hereby extend to you an invitation,on behalf of myself, my friend and lord King Llane, and the entire Stormwind Royal School of Magic, to join the National Wizard Corps. Will you accept?"
The scene felt surreal, almost like a warmonger awkwardly handing a Nobel Prize to a brilliant scientist. Duke, knowing full well that this Medivh was puppeteered by the sinister Burning Legion lord Sargeras, was dancing on a razor's edge.
Playing with a wolf disguised as a sheep? No. More like inviting the wolf to tea.
But this was the exhilarating part. Duke knew Sargeras wasn't focusing on him—at best, he was a promising kid on the sidelines. Sargeras was too clever to blow his cover yet. The powerful Council of Tirisfal and Medivh's formidable mother Aegwynn still stood in the way.
Besides, Duke's system AI had scanned the emblem carefully and given it a thumbs-up.
With a slight tremor in his voice—equal parts rookie excitement and pride—Duke declared, "I do!"
And just like that, the second youngest official wizard in Stormwind's Royal Academy was born. (Youngest? The notorious Medivh himself, who somehow got official wizard status at age ten—because of course.)
Medivh gently pressed the glowing emblem onto Duke's left arm. A flicker of burning pain followed, and the gold-rimmed lion-headed arcane insignia branded itself on his skin, sparkling with authority.
"Welcome, Apprentice Edmund," Medivh announced with a smile.
"Master?" Khadgar eagerly explained, ""It's a broad beginner's term for the layfolk, but really, our order knows many tiers of mastery. The journey begins as an Apprentice, then progresses to an Adept – one who truly grasps the arcane. Beyond that, a spellcaster becomes a Master, bending magic to their will. The next leap is to Archmage, a title reserved for those of profound power, and ultimately, a Grand Magus, commanding the very fabric of reality."
Medivh grinned knowingly: "If you're lucky enough to reach my level, you'll understand."
Duke blinked, nodding with faux understanding.
This wasn't like some silly video game with straightforward "levels 1 to 100" nonsense. Azeroth's magic was a whole other beast, layered and nuanced, dripping with ancient tradition.
With some time left before the Dark Portal chaos, Duke figured he might as well set his sights on becoming a Grand Magus.
Because, you know—why not aim for the top when you've just accidentally leveled up to godhood?