Consider this: with an inexhaustible wellspring of magic, the natural inclination is to pursue grandeur, not efficiency. It’s like a billionaire who can afford a meal costing tens of thousands of dollars; they rarely concern themselves with the precise economy of ingredients. This boundless supply led the Kaldorei to wield magic with a crude, almost wasteful abandon, stifling the development of more intricate, refined spells.
Later generations, however, were forced to adapt. The second Well of Eternity, crafted by Illidan, was merely a diluted echo, born from a few stolen vials of pure water. The High Elves’ Sunwell, recreated by Dath’Remar from Illidan’s meager collection, was a further degraded, third-generation imitation. Though the High Elves endlessly boasted of their Sunwell’s magnificence—and it was indeed potent for humans who lacked any magical source—compared to the primordial Well of Eternity, their claims were as absurd as boasting of filling a vast lake with a single teacup.
Without infinite magical reserves, one is forced to hone their craft, to compensate for the diminished total power through sheer skill. Observe how the once-awesome Phoenix Flame magic, which should have been universally adopted, became the exclusive domain of the Sunstrider royal family. Its prohibitive power requirements made widespread use impossible.
Because the high elves possessed boundless power from the Well of Eternity, they neglected foundational principles and the meticulous optimization of magic circuits. Consequently, once an individual’s magical capacity reached its inherent limit, their strength stagnated, forever capped. They forfeited the myriad magical skills that rigorous training should have unlocked.
When Duke unveiled his extraordinary magical prowess before Xavius, the entire chamber erupted in stunned applause. Duke meticulously drew a seven-tiered, three-dimensional magic circle. Each level, from base to apex, formed a distinct circle, creating a series of seven colossal concentric rings when viewed from above. In three dimensions, it resembled an inverted, shimmering cone. By the time Duke completed the intricate design, the Kaldorei arcanists were already prostrate on the ground, their faces etched with awe.
Duke used the impossibly cool Crystal Pulse Staff as his arcane brush, then casually returned the shimmering artifact to his spatial bag. "Excellent!" he declared, his voice resonating with an almost bored authority. "Activate the magic circle! You may now summon more of God’s messengers." Duke’s demeanor suggested he was performing a tiresome chore, yet it conveyed an immense, effortless power. Only Grom, standing beside him, knew the truth: Duke was, at heart, a priest! This kind of heavy-duty summoning was utterly beyond his actual capabilities.
At this very moment, in the swirling chaos of the Twisting Nether, Kil’jaeden’s long, skeletal right index finger idly traced meaningless circles on a colossal moonstone. His nail, strong enough to cleave gold and jade, effortlessly gouged out handfuls of shimmering green dust. The Eredar Twins, Kil’jaeden’s most trusted lieutenants, dared not even breathe. They knew Kil’jaeden’s habits: this meant he was growing impatient.
He was a master of immense generosity, yet simultaneously a master of insatiable demands. Benefits could be bestowed, and their magnitude negotiated, but only if one satisfied his seemingly bottomless, maddening cravings. The twins knew that dispatching a human overlord from nowhere into Azeroth was not Kil’jaeden’s original strategy. However, after a swift, brutal test, they had concluded that the entity named Wujiandao seemed uniquely suited to breach Azeroth’s formidable defenses, thus earning him the vanguard position.
Now, two days had passed, and still, no response. According to their prior agreement, successful infiltration demanded an immediate return signal to the Twisting Nether.
Kil’jaeden’s voice suddenly sliced through the oppressive silence. "Three days! I will wait no longer than the third day. If there is no response, then both of you shall be... replaced!"
Most demons in the Burning Legion were crude, reckless brutes, preferring brute force. Stealth and subtle infiltration were the Eredar Twins’ specialty. But if the twins were forced to act, it would signify Kil’jaeden’s misjudgment, a direct slap to his own infernal pride. This, of course, would undoubtedly give Archimonde another excuse to gloat.
At that precise moment, Oreses suddenly sensed a shift. "Master! A response! It’s Wujiandao! He has directly opened a high-level portal with extraordinary stability! It can allow a mid-tier demon lord to enter Azeroth without any damage!" A tremor of excitement laced Oreses’s voice.
"Hmph!" A rare, predatory smile touched Kil’jaeden’s lips. The difficulty of enabling a lord of equal rank, one utterly resisted by a planet’s defense system, to descend was vastly different from allowing a mid-tier lord, already adapted to Azeroth, to arrive unscathed. Add in the factor of high stability, and the difficulty multiplied tenfold!
Kil’jaeden had originally dispatched Duke to spearhead the invasion, merely tasking him with making contact with Legion loyalists on Azeroth. His initial goal was to establish a relatively stable, small portal to teleport as many elite demon guards as possible, creating a forward base before considering any expansion. Now, Duke had not merely met his objective; he had shattered it! The Eredar Twins, who had championed Duke, swelled with pride.
Aureseth stepped forward, her voice laced with triumph. "It seems our new lord is exceptionally capable. I had not realized Edmund’s mastery of spatial magic was so profound. This far surpasses the level mortals in Azeroth should possess."
Queen Sarolas added with a sly smile, "He has proven his loyalty to the Legion through his actions, Master. Don’t you agree...?" On the surface, the twins were advocating for Duke’s reward, but in truth, they were subtly claiming credit for themselves.
Kil’jaeden’s smile widened, a chilling, predatory grin. "What I despise most is incompetence. But for capable subordinates, I never hesitate to reward them." He waved his massive, demonic hand, and three boxes, each pulsating with a mysterious purple glow, materialized before the twins. "The remaining one is for Edmund."
The twins giggled, accepting their bounty. Auresais then inquired, "Master, which mid-tier lord should we send?"
Kil’jaeden’s smile turned truly evil. "Didn’t Archimonde always insist the second wave must be his subordinates? Then let Magtheridon go."
To be fair, Magtheridon was a formidable demon in his own right. Had Duke not so recently dealt with Mannoroth, the very lord of the Annihilan, Magtheridon might have posed a significant challenge to Duke. But after that incident, as two intermediary lords, the hierarchy was clear: one was master, the other subordinate.
And so, within the Mage Tower of Garhala, the high elves, chanting ceaselessly and pouring immense magical energy into the summoning, finally received the other ’God’s messenger’ they had so desperately awaited:
A colossal demon, its lower body draconic, lizard-like, supporting a grotesque, human-shaped torso. It wielded a massive, double-headed greatsword. Over thirty meters long, and twelve meters tall, it was a terrifying, earth-shaking presence.