Stormwind Wizard God-Chapter 822: The Queen’s Midnight Ascent

On this fateful night, a seismic ripple of news tore through the night elf nobility: Queen Azshara, the reclusive sovereign, had abandoned her palace in the dead of night, embarking on a clandestine journey to meet a mysterious individual near Garhala. Though branded a "secret," the movement of hundreds of her elite Moon Guards—masters of both blade and spell—through the city’s thoroughfares rendered any pretense of discretion utterly futile.

For the night elves, who knew no April Fool’s Day, this revelation plunged their most prominent figures into disbelief. Queen Azshara was legendary for her hermitic existence. Obsessed with maintaining her unparalleled beauty, she almost never ventured beyond the confines of her forbidden palace, let alone the city of Azshara itself. Her departure into the night signaled an epochal shift.

The news was so explosive it effortlessly eclipsed even the unsettling reports of a monstrous, green humanoid appearing near Suramar.

The rain lashed down, a relentless, drumming curtain. Night elves reveled in the nocturnal hours, but the damp, oppressive weather usually soured Queen Azshara’s mood. Yet, every flicker of discontent was banished by the towering, blue-skinned behemoths guarding her carriage.

"Ah! They are magnificent," the Queen breathed, her eyes strangely unfocused, lost in a haze of fascination.

Like a blazing lighthouse against the storm-swept darkness, her opulent golden carriage drew all eyes from afar. Twelve terrifying, azure-skinned warriors, a living, moving wall, flanked the Queen’s conveyance. Their immense stature forced them to stoop and bend, their colossal forms barely clearing the magnificent, arching gateways and intricate archways characteristic of night elf architecture, lest their horns shatter the ancient stone.

So perfectly attuned to her unspoken desires, so utterly obedient... Queen Azshara was mesmerized by their colossal shields, by the brutal, beautiful maces and axes they wielded with such effortless power. She vividly recalled Xavius’s answer from earlier that day when she had demanded, "What are they?"

"They are your most loyal guards, my Queen! Protecting your life is their sacred duty, the sole reason for their existence!"

Though a mere dozen celestial warriors seemed a paltry number, Xavius had promised that more, countless more, would be sent by ’God’ in the future. These twelve were merely the vanguard, dispatched solely for her protection.

Azshara fell into a profound contemplation. She extended a hand from the carriage window, her fingers, like a child’s exploring a new, forbidden toy, gently tracing the cold, bronze armor of a demon guard. A sharp intake of breath, a faint hiss, escaped her lips. The demon guard merely glanced at her, then turned his head back, his expression utterly devoid of emotion.

These potent, alien guardians were significant, but Queen Azshara instinctively knew the twelve maids were the true key. She understood the rigorous selection criteria for her attendants. Night elves were born with an innate martial prowess, whether with blade or bow, but those born with inherent magical circuits were exceedingly rare. Those with magical talent were swiftly inducted into the ranks of the wizards. Elites, skilled in both magic and combat, were absorbed into the Moon Guard, her personal, elite force.

These twelve maids, however, clearly possessed no innate talent. Yet, through the "divine power" of the lord Xavius spoke of, magic circuits had been directly etched onto their very beings, granting them magical aptitude from nothing, transforming them into low-level sorceresses. Her most trusted Moon Guard captain had personally confirmed it: these twelve maids were now true, elemental mages.

This was a truly epoch-shattering revelation! The high elves’ fervent, almost insane obsession with magic was well-known, but their curse was that only a select few could ever truly master it. Even the union of two pure-blooded high elf mages carried the risk of producing a child utterly devoid of magical affinity. This was an intolerable flaw to Queen Azshara, who fanatically pursued global dominion through arcane might.

Evidently, the new technology offered by this messenger from her ’God’ had shattered the seemingly absolute barrier between mortals and mystics. This was the paramount reason Queen Azshara had not hesitated to "condescend" to this personal, perilous visit.

"With this," she mused, a cruel smile touching her lips, "I can effortlessly crush those stubborn old fools in Suramar!"

The Queen withdrew her gaze, a strange, yet deeply satisfied expression gracing her perfect face. "It seems I must make my next decision..."

At the same moment, within the royal villa, where the tainted Moon Well lay, no night elf dared approach within a hundred meters. Duke, with the casual indifference of a child defacing a wall, scribbled and manipulated the fel energy that the high elves regarded as their most sacred treasure. Grom sighed, watching Duke toy with the very force that had once driven the Orcs to the brink of madness.

Duke suddenly spoke in Orcish: "Do you know the history of Azeroth?"

Grom shook his head. "There was never enough time for such things." The Orcs had arrived on Azeroth as conquerors, only to become desperate survivors after their catastrophic defeat.

As if remembering something, Grom added, "From my limited understanding, this War of the Ancients ended with the Burning Legion’s defeat, correct?"

"Yes, that was the original outcome. But it seems someone wishes to change that, which is why Nozdormu sent us here."

"Our mission is to ensure history remains unchanged, then?" Grom bared his teeth, a hint of challenge in his voice.

Duke did not answer directly. Instead, he posed a chilling question: "If nothing unexpected happened, would you willingly return to ten thousand years in the future?"

Willingly? The answer, unspoken, was a resounding no.

It would be different if Grom were still the arrogant Orc of old, his mind filled with the fanaticism that Orcs could conquer all other races. However, after witnessing the Burning Legion’s colossal fleet in the Twisting Nether, after seeing the billion-strong demon army that had devoured and annihilated countless worlds, a terrifying realization had taken root in Grom’s mind, one that made even a hero like him tremble:

If nothing is done, even if the demons descending upon Azeroth possess only 1% of their full strength, the Burning Legion could still extinguish all life on this planet, even if they had to sacrifice their own endless numbers to achieve it.

Grom spoke, each word a hammer blow of grim resolve: "I! Will! Not! Accept! This!"

"Then let’s play a grand game," Duke said, a mysterious, predatory smile spreading across his face.

"Good!"

Before long, the rapid, light footsteps of the Moon Guards echoed around the royal villa. The powerful, magically attuned warriors swiftly secured every strategic position within the estate.

After a gentle knock and Duke’s permission to enter, Xavius stepped inside, offering a deferential nod to both Duke and Grom. Xavius straightened his robes, then, with a theatrical flourish, announced: "Light of Eternal Night, the most beautiful and powerful being in the world—Her Majesty Azshara, Queen of the Kaldorei Empire—has arrived!"