Duke frowned, a slight furrow in his brow. It seemed that this was the only way for the time being. He couldn't exactly complain, though. He had just finished building the very foundation of his arcane empire by sheer, unadulterated luck, a dash of audacious thievery, and a very convenient elven backdoor. With the Arcane Fire Circuit inherited from the High Elf King (and slightly enhanced by Medivh's unwitting generosity), Duke was already happier, and significantly more powerful, than most mages in the entire kingdom. He was practically skipping with glee, internally, while outwardly maintaining a facade of profound wizardly contemplation.
Duke slowly, almost gingerly, opened his eyes, and what came into his sight was old man Norton, who was still in a state of profound, mind-numbing shock, hiding rather comically behind his shimmering magic shield, and even trembling a little, like a very old, very startled jelly that had just witnessed a small sun being born in a teacup. His face was a mixture of awe, terror, and a dawning realization that his life, and indeed his entire laboratory, was about to get a lot more complicated, and probably much, much hotter.
"Have you... have you actually completed your magic circuit, you utterly insane, fire-starting prodigy?" the old man asked tentatively, his voice a reedy whisper, as if speaking too loudly might cause Duke to spontaneously combust, or perhaps demand more mana gems.
"Well. I'm afraid I will have to call the Elf Prince Kael'thas my senior brother from now on," Duke said playfully, a mischievous glint in his eye, enjoying the old man's escalating panic far too much. He was practically humming a jaunty tune about arcane larceny.
The old man almost fainted from sheer, unadulterated fear, his face turning a shade of sickly green that perfectly matched the lingering magical residue in the air. "Please, for the love of all that is holy, don't scare me like that, you little rascal! If you steal the inheritance of the elves, no, the Elf King, without permission, you will get into big, big, TITANIC HUGE trouble! The kind of trouble that involves very angry, very pointy-eared elves, very sharp pointy arrows, and possibly a very uncomfortable, very public flaying!"
"It's okay, the Sun King will soon..." Duke began, about to blithely inform the old man that the Sun King would be very dead very soon, and thus unable to complain about stolen magical inheritances. But suddenly, he remembered that the secret of future historical events, especially those involving royal demises, could not be revealed, lest he accidentally unravel the very fabric of time and space, or at least spoil the plot for the old man. He clamped his mouth shut with an audible clack, like a very well-oiled trap.
"What about the Sun King?!" Norton demanded, his eyes wide with frantic curiosity, practically vibrating with impatience. "Is he going to send an army of very angry, very pointy-eared elves after you?! Are we all doomed?!"
"No, no," Duke waved a dismissive hand, trying to look nonchalant, as if discussing the weather. "If this matter gets really out of hand, the person who gave me the codex will be blamed." Duke didn't really want Alleria, his unwitting benefactor and source of incredibly useful, stolen magical secrets, to take the fall for his arcane larceny. What he was really thinking about was how to further transform his magic circuits so that in the future, even if the Sun King (or his very angry, very dead ghost) stood directly in front of him, he wouldn't be able to tell that Duke had essentially mugged his son's magical inheritance and then used it to set fire to a perfectly good laboratory.
"Yes, where did you go to collect the mana just now, you little thief?!" Norton suddenly shrieked, his eyes darting to the dull-colored, utterly drained mana gems at his feet, which now resembled very expensive, very useless pebbles. He looked like a man who had just realized his retirement fund had been replaced by a pile of very pretty, very inert rocks.
Duke looked at the sad, pathetic remnants of the mana gems, and suddenly felt a pang of genuine heartache. The old man had even given him the money for his coffin, his retirement fund, his last vestiges of magical savings, in order to let him build the arcane circuit. It was a sacrifice of epic proportions, a true act of selfless (and slightly misguided) generosity.
Not wanting to implicate old Norton in his grand scheme of magical robbery, Duke made a dramatic hushing gesture, putting a finger to his lips, as if sharing the most profound secret of the universe. "I borrowed some from Medivh," he whispered conspiratorially, as if this were a perfectly normal, neighborly exchange, like borrowing a cup of sugar, but with more arcane energy and less sugar.
Unexpectedly, the old man screamed, a high-pitched shriek that would have startled a banshee and probably caused several nearby gargoyles to spontaneously sprout wings and flee. "Impossible! The Guardian has been missing since last Wednesday! He's vanished like a wizard's sock in the laundry, or a particularly elusive spell component! He is neither in Stormwind City nor back to Karazhan without any notice! He's just... gone!"
Duke's heart suddenly skipped a beat, then began beating wildly, a frantic drum solo against his ribs. A cold, dread certainty washed over him, colder than any frost spell.
Medivh is missing!?!
Duke, who was intimately familiar with the convoluted, often tragic history of the world of Azeroth, certainly knew what this meant. This wasn't just a missed appointment; it was a cosmic alarm bell, a klaxon blaring the imminent arrival of doom.
Medivh's disappearance was a huge, cataclysmic event for Stormwind and the entire world. During Medivh's disappearance, Sargeras, the ultimate cosmic villain who was lurking in his body like a very unwelcome, very demonic tenant who refused to pay rent, was no longer satisfied with hiding in the dark and secretly influencing Medivh's decisions. Oh no. Sargeras began to actively devour Medivh's very soul, turning him into a puppet, a cosmic meat suit for a dark god.
When Medivh appeared in the eyes of the people of Stormwind Kingdom again, he would launch the most infamous, most devastating Dark Portal event in history, and introduce the orcs, a horde of green-skinned, axe-wielding, perpetually angry invaders, into the unsuspecting world of Azeroth. This was also the beginning of a series of unending turmoil, world-destroying crises, and very inconvenient invasions that would plague Azeroth for centuries, turning peaceful meadows into battlefields and quiet towns into smoldering ruins.
At this moment, Duke finally felt that the wheel of history, which seemed to have stagnated, allowing him to leisurely collect pearls and learn magic, was still turning in an irreversible, terrifying direction! He was no longer just a player; he was a character caught in the gears of fate, and those gears were grinding towards a very unpleasant future.
Duke was speechless, his mind reeling. "Okay," he finally admitted, throwing his hands up in surrender, a gesture of exasperated honesty. "I admit that I took the mana from the mana crystal that Medivh placed in the wizard tower. But it was not taken by me, per se. It was the back door of the Sun King! His secret, very convenient, very illegal, mana-siphoning back door!" Duke then, in a rapid-fire explanation, told Norton about the backdoor left by the Sun King's mental power on the notebook, complete with dramatic hand gestures and a few sound effects for emphasis. He made it sound like a perfectly legitimate, if slightly unorthodox, transaction.
The old man was truly happy and surprised, a mixture of profound relief and utter bewilderment. His face cleared, then clouded again, then cleared, then clouded, like a very confused weather system.
The good news was that neither Duke nor he would be in any immediate danger this time. No angry elves, no furious guardians, no cosmic retribution. The shocking thing, however, was that the elves were not kind enough to keep back some of the mana gems that were given to humans. They were basically booby-trapped mana batteries, just waiting for an unsuspecting wizard to plug in.
Seeing the old man's still-frightened look, Duke, ever the smooth talker, comforted him with a casual wave of his hand: "Don't worry, Teacher. I have the Pearl Road now. At worst, I can go back and buy some mana gems to compensate Medivh. Maybe a very large, very shiny, very apologetic golden pearl, perhaps with a little bow on it."
It would be utterly, spectacularly strange if there was any compensation! The next time Duke saw Medivh, he would be the terrifying, Sargeras-possessed boss of the Burning Legion! Instead of nerfing the boss, Duke would give him gifts? He must be crazy to do this. He'd probably just get incinerated for his troubles, and then Medivh would use the pearl as a very expensive, very ironic paperweight.
Of course, Duke's utterly insincere, yet perfectly delivered, offer of compensation actually comforted the old man immensely. When Duke offered to compensate the old man for his now-useless mana crystals, the old man, with a sniff, refused.
"No need, Duke. No need," Norton said, waving a dismissive hand, as if swatting away a pesky fly. "I don't have any children, and I have spent most of my life practicing the arcane, chasing after elusive spells and arguing with dusty books. Until recently, I suddenly realized that I was really too old, too tired, too utterly done with it all, so I remembered that I should take a disciple. Although you are not my true disciple, you little rascal, I regard you as my last disciple. Anya may be better, and she may have a chance to become an archmage. But Daniel will be lucky if he can become a master wizard in this lifetime, bless his strong, simple, mana-deficient heart."
The old man put his hand on Duke's shoulder, a surprisingly firm, yet gentle, grip. "My research, my life's work, my legacy... it all depends on your help to pass it on. You are my last hope, my final, magnificent experiment, and please, try not to explode too often."
"I..." Duke's eyes couldn't help but turn red and moist. A genuine, unexpected wave of emotion washed over him, a rare moment of vulnerability amidst the chaos. This wasn't just about magic; it was about legacy, about purpose, about a very old man's dreams being placed squarely on his very capable, very larcenous shoulders. It was a beautiful, terrifying, and utterly selfless act.
"Don't be surprised, young man. When you are old, and your beard is long and white, and you've accidentally set fire to half a dozen academies, you will think the same," Norton said, a faint smile touching his lips. "Well, since you now have a very solid foundation, a veritable arcane bedrock that can apparently siphon mana from unsuspecting wizard towers, you can formally learn my arcane skills starting tomorrow. Be prepared for a lot of headaches, more spontaneous combustion, and possibly a few very angry letters from Medivh."
"Understood, Teacher," Duke replied, his voice thick with emotion, already bracing himself for the next level of arcane torment.
At this time, there was a chaotic noise coming from outside the house. It should be the guards and mages on duty from the School of Magic who came, alerted by the rather spectacular fire show. They were probably not amused, and likely carried very large buckets of water.
"Hey! Abara Norton, you old ghost, are you dead?! If you are dead, just groan, you miserable old pile of dust and arcane residue!" A rude, booming shout came from outside the window, clearly from someone who had just had their afternoon nap interrupted and was now in a very bad mood.
"Philite, I'm not dead even if you die, you uncouth brute!" Old man Norton yelled back angrily, his voice surprisingly strong, a testament to his enduring grumpiness and impressive lung capacity.
"Great. What about that little Edmund Duke guy? Is he still in one piece, or did he finally turn himself into a magical ash pile? We're taking bets!"
"After a while, you will be able to sit with him in the archmage's seat, you jealous old fool!" Norton retorted, a note of fierce pride in his voice, as if Duke's fiery rampage was a personal triumph.
"Oh, damn, I've lived my life in vain!" Philite groaned. "So, where should I send the bill? You or Edmund? The loss this time is quite a lot, it will take at least a few thousand gold coins to settle it, plus hazard pay for the squirrels who had to evacuate!"
When he heard about several thousand gold coins, old man Norton's head shrank back into his robes, like a tortoise retreating into its shell. "Of course, Edmund boy will do it himself!" he declared, pointing a shaky finger at Duke. "He's the one with the Pearl Road, after all! He's practically swimming in gold!"
Duke was speechless. All the gratitude he had just felt because the old man didn't ask him to compensate for the crystal was gone, vanished like a puff of smoke. He felt utterly, spectacularly betrayed. The emotional whiplash was intense.
Hey! Didn't the instructor just take care of everything?! Didn't he just say he didn't need material things?! He's a master of misdirection!
Give me back my feelings, you manipulative old wizard! You owe me a new set of emotional stability!
Facing Duke's utterly resentful look, old man Norton decisively changed the subject, with the practiced ease of a master politician avoiding a difficult question. "Yes! Your arcane foundation has been well built. Now it's time to strengthen your understanding of the arcane. Starting tomorrow, you will come to me to learn arcane techniques. We'll start with how not to accidentally set fire to your own beard, and then move on to not setting fire to other people's beards."
Okay, Duke sighed internally. Just consider it as tuition fee. A very, very expensive, fire-damaged, emotionally manipulative tuition fee.
After that day, the entire academy knew that Duke had been promoted to the ninth-class earth wizard. The eyes of all the formal mages when they looked at Duke changed. They were no longer just curious; they were filled with a mixture of awe, fear, and a burning, jealous desire to know his secrets, and perhaps to steal his mana gems.
Duke didn't understand at first, but the old man later told him, with a weary sigh, that in the wizard's world, only wizards who truly formed a magic circuit and could continuously absorb the free mana in the atmosphere would be recognized as true wizards. The standard of being able to cast three first-level spells was purely for the convenience of determining the arbitrary boundary between wizards and apprentices, a bureaucratic formality, a mere formality for the truly powerful.
In the following days, Duke concentrated, with a grim determination, on learning arcane skills, which is the super magic specialty, from old man Norton. It was less learning and more having his brain repeatedly rewired with very painful, very sparkly wires, often accompanied by the faint scent of ozone and singed hair.
Unlike the special effects in the game that can be obtained by simply adding points, Duke could only use his raw senses to perceive, to struggle, to fail, like a real, utterly frustrated apprentice, when the System AI, in its infinite wisdom, could not interpret the arcane nuances. It was like trying to learn quantum physics by touch alone.
Over and over again, he repeated the agonizing process of failure and practice. He failed so many times that Duke couldn't even remember how many times he had failed. His mind felt like a bruised fruit, his soul a tangled mess of arcane spaghetti, and his patience was wearing thinner than a goblin's wallet.
Finally, Duke succeeded. With a triumphant mental roar, the new skills clicked into place, slotting into his mind with a satisfying thunk.
[Arcane Subtlety]: Reduces your target's resistance to all your spells. The specific effect depends on whether you can grasp the target's weaknesses in actual combat. (Or, as Duke preferred to think of it, "Makes them slightly more susceptible to my charming personality, and then my fireballs. It's all about softening them up first.")
[Arcane Focus]: Gives you a 10% chance to enter Energy Saving after casting any damaging spell. Energy Saving reduces the mana consumed by your next damaging spell by 100%. (Or, "Free magic! Woohoo! Now I can afford more snacks! And maybe a new, non-flammable chair!")
[Arcane Meditation]: Allows you to maintain 15% of your mana regeneration rate while casting. (Or, "Now I can cast spells and still have enough mana to think! What a concept! And perhaps even engage in a polite conversation without running out of breath!")
Just when Duke thought that his days of grueling, mind-bending training would last indefinitely, a spell mark on his hand, the very one that had been placed there by a very powerful, very evil entity, began to heat up. It wasn't a gentle warmth; it was a distinct, ominous, burning sensation, like a tiny, demonic brand. And Duke knew, with a sudden, chilling certainty, that his life was about to get a lot more complicated. Again. Because apparently, cosmic evil had a very bad sense of timing.