Neither Duke nor Aurelia had the slightest clue that not long after they left, a third party stumbled upon the infamous wild boar.
"Wait a second! Isn't this the so-called 'Prince'?!" a servant blurted out, eyes wide.
"Prince?" sneered a young nobleman, his eyebrows practically arching off his face with contempt.
The servant immediately bowed like he'd insulted a king. "Ah, apologies, milord. 'Prince' is just a nickname. The Blackwell family owns a prized sow named 'Princess.' Massive beast, always waddling into Stonefield Farm and making off with cabbages like a veggie-loving bandit. Turns out she's smitten with an even more monstrous boar. Three farmers dead so far. That killer hog made it to the town's Most Wanted list. They call him 'Prince.'"
The nobleman's eyes lit up, and a sinister grin curled across his face.
"Oh? If I take down this 'Prince,' my name will echo across the kingdom!"
The servants, ever the sycophants, caught the hint quicker than a hawk on a mouse.
Now, the current king wasn't a fool. In a bid to ensure the nobility didn't rot in idleness, he had laid down an unshakable law: no title inheritance without merit.
But where there's law, there's loophole. Peaceful times meant no grand wars, bandits were rare, and crime barely registered. The only things left to fight were monsters, wild beasts, and whatever strange races called the mountains home.
Want to claim new land? You've got to wrestle it from claws, fangs, or something far worse.
Hence, monster hunting earned you merit.
"Yes, exactly! Milord, imagine it: you, casting magic in a blaze of glory, slaying the dreaded 'Prince' from the top-tier bounty list! The Viscount will be dazzled beyond words!"
The noble basked in the imagined applause, teeth gleaming with ambition.
Meanwhile, Duke was absolutely clueless about all this drama.
He was still busy not dying. After barely crawling out of the churning river like a soggy burrito of misery, he looked around, blinking against the sun.
Just as he began to relax, the voice of the system rang in his head with all the compassion of a toaster.
"Dear Host, your probability of catching a cold is currently 68.3%. This system recommends... maybe *not* lying half-naked in the wind."
Grinding his teeth, Duke obeyed.
He peeled off his drenched burlap shirt and flopped onto a sun-warmed rock like a defeated hobo-lizard, gasping like a fish.
So... this was time travel. A physically exhausting, soul-wrenching, borderline criminal prank from the universe.
College life had not prepared him for this. He used to complain about military training. Now? He'd kill for a sweaty jog around a track.
Mind hazy, Duke replayed what little he knew of Azeroth. The fact that Alleria was here meant this had to be early in the timeline.
"If Alleria's still around, then we're pre-Outland... right before she disappears. Great. I'm stuck in the Prologue of Doom."
He sighed, got dressed again, and scanned the horizon. Smoke. Smoke meant fire. Fire meant people. Hopefully.
He trudged toward it, heart thumping with cautious hope.
Half an hour later, his gamble paid off. A village emerged, tucked neatly in a clearing. Several four-story buildings broke through the forest's green veil, monuments of stubborn human presence.
Duke's knees nearly buckled in relief.
Those rooftops, those brick-and-wood houses, even the dorky gables made him want to sob. Civilization! Not cannibal ogres!
He practically skipped to a dirt road covered in gravel—a massage compared to the forest's uneven death traps. Rows of crops stretched into the distance, and there, nestled in the heart of it all, was the town.
It was like walking into a medieval festival. Colorful flags, cheer, noise—the full fantasy fair. One grand white-and-black building towered over the rest like a proud rooster.
Then he saw them. Guards.
Blue-trimmed silver armor. Golden lion crests. Stormwind.
And that armor wasn't cosplay. It had been through hell—scratches, punctures, patches, repairs done with love and desperation.
Even here, in the so-called beginner's zone, the forest bites back.
Duke's survival instinct perked up. This place wasn't safe.
Still, he exhaled. Seeing Stormwind guards meant he had a shot.
"Hey, kid! Here for the job trial too? You look like you couldn't guard a chicken coop!"
"Maybe he's an archer?" said the other.
"More like a noble wizard—look at those baby-soft hands!"
Duke resisted the urge to throat-punch them. 'Laugh it up, meatheads. We'll see who's laughing when I'm not zombie chow.'
Right as his knuckles twitched, salvation arrived.
A square-jawed officer with golden brows and a sword thick enough to cut taxes strolled over.
"That's enough! Shut up, you two morons."
The guards snapped to attention, sweat practically dripping.
The officer turned to Duke and offered a warm smile that didn't match the bruiser exterior.
"Nobility isn't blood. It's what you do for humanity. Everyone hopes to become a professional, but even if you fail, you can still serve Stormwind. Sound fair, lad?"
He extended his hand. "Wilhelm. Lieutenant Captain."
"Duke, David Duke" he replied, shaking the hand—then immediately regretting it.
"CRITICAL DAMAGE! Palm integrity compromised!"
"Welcome to the North County Monastery Trial Field, Duke. May you rise above. Humanity needs more heroes."
And just like that, Duke was in.
Wilhelm watched him walk off and stroked his chin.
'Maybe this one won't die in a ditch.'