Arishem had left, taking Margaret—still incomplete in her ascension—with him.
According to Arishem, Josh had already laid her foundation well. What remained was only the final step. Under normal circumstances, it would take no more than half an Earth month for her transformation to finish.
But once she completed it, Margaret's control over her new power would be very unstable. Even as a "false Celestial," she would still be able to cause catastrophic damage to Earth with the slightest misstep.
So Arishem would arrange for veteran Celestials to guide and train her until she reached a basic level of control. Only then would she be allowed to return to Earth—expected in about half an Earth year.
Josh didn't object. This arrangement was the best solution for both Earth and Margaret. He had no wish to see her accidentally wipe a city off the map with a careless gesture.
And besides, at Arishem's level, his word was absolute.
From Josh's past life knowledge and the Ancient One's explanations, Celestials, despite treating mortals as ants, were less like schemers and more like cosmic machines with will. They valued their own kind, rarely showed unnecessary emotions, and almost never lied.
With Tiamat's guarantee on top of it, Josh felt no need to worry about Margaret's safety.
But once Arishem departed, Josh threw himself into work again. He began sending his trusted agents to every trading partner he had, urging them to expand into the cosmos and begin systematically searching for planets that might harbor world-souls.
So far, he had confirmed only three: Marvel's own universe, Azeroth from the Warcraft cosmos, and Pandora from Avatar, which had just been drained.
But that didn't mean no others existed.
After all, Josh himself had once thought Pandora was just an ordinary world of resources, with little value beyond that. And yet, hidden within it had been a World-Soul all along.
If Pandora could hold one, then so could other "ordinary" universes.
And now, with five new Celestial Seeds from Arishem in his grasp, Josh couldn't afford to ignore even the faintest chance.
This wasn't just about fulfilling his promise to Arishem—it was also in his own interest, even if it meant paying enormous costs.
Arishem's condition was clear: the ownership of the five seeds belonged entirely to Josh. He could choose whoever he wished to ascend. The only requirement was that these new Celestials must acknowledge the creed of their kind and answer when summoned by the Celestial host.
Beyond that, Josh was free. He could even lead his "created" Celestials to conquer worlds across the stars—so long as he didn't direct that conquest against the Celestials themselves.
And for Josh, that price was trivial. Most of what it demanded was only routine expenditure of resources, hardly an obstacle for him now.
The cost of these resources wasn't a true loss—most of the time, the planes themselves would slowly replenish them.
But it was still a long-term task. A single universe was unimaginably vast. Even the Celestials couldn't claim to know every corner of it. So, even with faster-than-light engines, searching for a world that held a World-Soul was harder than finding a needle in a cosmic ocean. Success depended almost entirely on luck.
Compared to those unknown planes where discovery might never come, there was one world Josh could plan for with certainty.
Azeroth.
The world he had long set his eyes on.
It was now the end of 1960. Fifteen years had passed since Josh first connected to Azeroth's universe. The little Abbendis who had been only three years old back then was now a proud eighteen-year-old youth, already an adult by any standard.
In Azeroth's medieval-fantasy society, adulthood came even earlier—most noble heirs held their coming-of-age rites at fifteen.
By eighteen, Abbendis wasn't only a grown man, but his rise had been staggering. His rank had already surpassed that of his father, once just a count. King Terenas of Lordaeron had conferred upon him the title of marquis.
And that was only because of his youth.
In truth, with the power he commanded, even a dukedom—or outright kingship—would not have been out of reach.
For Abbendis' domain wasn't confined to Lordaeron or even the Seven Kingdoms. His true foundations lay far away, in lands that the kingdoms could scarcely reach: Northrend and Kalimdor.
With Josh's aid over the years, Abbendis had expanded through naval trade and diplomacy, gathering countless peoples on the fringes of survival and uniting them under his banner.
Tauren. Taurens of another branch. Vrykul. Tuskarr.
Even scattered human communities clinging to life on the edge of the world had come under his protection.
Across Northrend's Borean Tundra and Sholazar Basin, and Kalimdor's Dustwallow Marsh (A/N: future Theramore), Barrens (A/N: site of the northern fortress), and other regions, Abbendis had built cities and fortresses.
To rule such vast lands, he spent heavily to hire high mages to raise networks of teleportation portals. He even created what should not have appeared for decades yet—a fleet of airships, the invention that in the original timeline would only emerge after goblin, gnome, and dwarf technology matured.
For now, that fleet was a closely guarded secret.
And that wasn't even his greatest trump card—because with Josh at his back, how could Abbendis lack starships?
Through years of tireless work, the population under his banner had swelled to nearly a million souls.
In Azeroth's context, that number was staggering.
According to Abbendis himself, the official census of the Seven Kingdoms counted fewer than ten million humans across the Eastern Kingdoms.
The smallest of them, Alterac, barely reached a million people.
That meant Abbendis' holdings were already rivaling Alterac in sheer numbers.
The difference was that Alterac was entirely human, with only rare dwarves, gnomes, or high elves counted as citizens. Those three races each had their own nations and seldom integrated into human realms.
But Abbendis' realm was a true patchwork empire—humans, tauren, vrykul, tuskarr, even night elves, an incredibly reclusive race almost never seen in this era, all gathered beneath his rule.
With Josh's help, the one thing Abbendis never lacked was the very resource most scarce in Azeroth's medieval world—food.
And with food came power.
A youth of barely eighteen who already commanded such vast lands and armies—it was impossible for Abbendis not to feel pride swelling in his chest.
In truth, over the years, spurred by the whispers of his vassals, he had entertained thoughts of crowning himself king.
But in the end, Josh's counsel prevailed.
Not only because everything Abbendis had came from Josh—Josh's place in his heart outweighed even that of his own parents—but also because Josh had shown him a much larger stage.
Unlike the nobles of Azeroth, who cared only for a patch of land or a title, Abbendis' gaze had already been lifted far higher—toward the true enemy that would one day shake the cosmos itself: the Burning Legion.
For when Abbendis had first grown old enough to understand, when he began building his fleet of privateers, Josh had already revealed to him the deepest secrets of Azeroth.
The Titan-forged.
The War of the Ancients.
The lurking Old Gods.
The Tirisfal Guardians.
And the coming of the Dark Portal, only years away.
So for Abbendis now, whether he called himself count, marquis, duke, or even king—such titles mattered little.
Even Quel'Thalas, the greatest kingdom of the elves, could not claim more real power than he wielded already.
The true question was how to unite Azeroth's scattered strength in time for the storm that would come.
But he wasn't foolish enough to spread these secrets.
Guided by Josh and the "teachers" Josh had sent him, Abbendis followed a different path—store grain, bide time, and wait.
Far from arrogance, he bent his knee willingly to King Terenas, placing all his lands under Lordaeron's banner. He even ceded several of his most fertile territories, gifting them as crownlands to strengthen the royal household directly.
Such "loyalty" delighted Terenas.
His lifelong dream had been to restore the ancient glory of the Arathi Empire.
And while Lordaeron was powerful, it alone could never suppress the other six kingdoms—especially Kul Tiras, Stromgarde, and Stormwind, which carried the blood of Arathor itself.
But now, as Abbendis' influence swelled year by year, Terenas began to glimpse the possibility of his dream.
He did harbor caution—Abbendis' armies and subjects were formidable.
Yet compared to the other six realms, Terenas judged him a lesser threat.
Not because Abbendis was weak—but because he bore no ancient noble bloodline.
And bloodlines mattered.
In the Eastern Kingdoms, until the fall of Lordaeron itself, human states still clung to oaths and lineage. The proof lay plain in history: when Stormwind was destroyed, Varian was taken in and raised by Terenas himself. After the war, the other kingdoms poured out men, gold, and stone to rebuild Stormwind—not because it was wise, but because honor and vows bound them to do so.
Among the Seven Human Kingdoms, there existed an unwritten law: only those of ancient Arathi blood could claim the title of king.
This was why, throughout Azeroth's history, despite the presence of many great lords with unmatched military might, not one had ever dared to crown himself.
The sole exception was Dalaran. Its power came from magic, not monarchy, and being ruled by a council rather than a royal house, it avoided the jealousy of the other realms.
It was this rule that, after the fall and decline of the other royal lines, left the Stormwind Wrynn dynasty as the final inheritor of humanity's crowns.
Thus, had Abbendis in this era truly declared himself king, the outcome would have been inevitable: the six kingdoms would have united to destroy him.
And while Abbendis possessed the strength to sweep aside any single kingdom—even all but Dalaran combined—such a war would devastate his own human subjects, who were still a minority among his people. It would have been a pyrrhic victory, bleeding his realm dry.
But if an outside force shattered the royal monopoly of the Seven Kingdoms, the matter would be entirely different.
And those outside forces were already written in fate: the orcs of Draenor, unleashed by the Burning Legion… and later, the rise of the Scourge.
It was precisely this context—the unspoken rule of royal blood—that explained why Terenas not only refrained from suppressing Abbendis, but actively supported him. After all, Abbendis brought vast wealth and strength to Lordaeron.
Terenas even went so far as to tie him to the royal line: he betrothed his daughter, Calia, to Abbendis as his future bride. She was only eight years old now, so for the time being she was merely his fiancée. But once she reached fifteen, the age of adulthood among humans of Azeroth, Abbendis would become Lordaeron's royal son-in-law.
On Josh's advice, Abbendis accepted eagerly.
Imagine the scene: when the time came, and Arthas seized Frostmourne, slaying his father and leading the Scourge in the slaughter of Lordaeron—just as in the original timeline…
Then Abbendis, at the head of his forces, would ride to the rescue, his wife Calia at his side. He would defeat Arthas the betrayer, crush the Scourge, and even throw back the Burning Legion itself.
The savior of Azeroth, crowned not only in power but in legend.
A perfect image.
But this was Abbendis' goal—not Josh's.
Josh's gaze had shifted higher.
Once, all he wanted from Azeroth was its endless supply of magical resources.
Now, however, he had fixed his eyes on Azeroth itself.
Not just "Azeroth," the world-soul… but the Titans, the Keepers, the Eternal Ones.
Beings not unlike the Celestials of his own universe.
Potential fuel for Celestial Seeds.
And if he wanted to reach for that, then the careful plan he had once given Abbendis would no longer be enough.
Deeper moves were required. Much deeper.
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