CHAPTER 1: Reincarnation is a Bitch, But the View's Nice
The official court chronicles marked it as the fourth year since the opening of the Dark Portal. The capital of Lordaeron, in all its gleaming white splendor, was a masterclass in willful denial.
Down in the south, the savage, green-skinned orcs had boiled out of that magical tear in reality. They hadn't just invaded; they'd erased the Kingdom of Stormwind, burning, killing, and looting their way across the continent. Now, without even pausing for breath, they were preparing for a new war, their sights set firmly on the six human kingdoms of the north. Rumors, delivered by soot-stained and terrified refugees, claimed the endless orc army was close to a million strong.
And this, right here, was my first "Wait… what the hell?" moment.
According to the game lore I'd obsessively memorized, the Second Orc War kicks off when Arthas Menethil is ten years old. A kid. A bratty, idealistic, horse-loving kid.
But I wasn't ten. I was nineteen.
I'd spent nineteen years in this body, and the math was glaringly wrong. Was the game wrong? Or was this some kind of bizarro-world alternate timeline?
Either way, this world's problems were very real. These weren't just men painted green; the orcs were behemoths, almost twice as strong as a fully grown adult man. It took three well-trained human soldiers to kill a single orc soldier—and that was assuming the men were professionals and, presumably, very, very lucky.
Unfortunately, humanity had been at peace for far too long. The army had become corrupt and lax, more skilled at parade-ground drills and polishing armor than actual, you-know, surviving. It was a particularly difficult, almost impossible, moment to be suddenly thrust into a war for survival.
And yet, at this precise moment of life and death, the nobles in the kingdom still had the mind and the time to hold a grand banquet. The air, thick with the smell of roasted capon and expensive wine, was pierced by the braying laughter of some minor lord complaining about his tailor. It was as if those green-skinned orcs were not a genocidal threat, but perhaps just an inconveniently loud group of tourists. I truly don't know if they were too big-hearted or just really, profoundly ignorant and arrogant.
In Arthas's eyes—my eyes—they were nothing more than a swarm of termites scurrying around in fine clothes, nibbling at the foundations of the kingdom while admiring their own antennae. To me, the so-called lord of lords is just another man flashing a fancy title. A king's power is really just borrowed from his nobles—he just happens to borrow the most. In truth, my "father" King Terenas was merely a grand noble who happened to win the crown lottery.
I, Arthas, slumped on that ridiculously plush sofa in the great hall, looking every bit the poised 19-year-old noble in my starched tunic—like I was auditioning for "Future King of Awkward Family Dinners.". My eyes? Cool as a cucumber on the outside. But inside? Man, my head was spinning like I'd chugged a potion of pure chaos.
Yeah, that's right—my head. Because from the second I got yeeted into this world, kicking and screaming as a helpless little meatloaf of a baby, I've been the one calling the shots in this skull. Reincarnation's real, folks. I mean, who knew?. But swords clashing, dragons hoarding gold, elves strutting around like they invented skinny jeans?. And me, starting from scratch as some wide-eyed infant who couldn't even roll over without a team of nursemaids?. It's like the universe looked at my Earth life and said, "Hold my beer.".
God, I still replay that night in my brain like a bad highlight reel, the one that flipped the script on everything. Picture this: me, your average dude from Earth, on a bender of epic proportions. My quest? To smash the world record for, uh, let's call it "extended personal cardio.". My focus? A high-definition, 4K loop of Sylvanas Windrunner, the Banshee Queen. Don't judge. You know the one.
I'd set my sights on 47 rounds, no breaks. By round 20, my arm was screaming for mercy. At 35, I was seeing stars that weren't even in the game. And by the big 47? Boom—lights out. My heart, bless its over-ambitious spirit, gave out. I collapsed face-first into my keyboard, fingers twitching out a final, delirious "GG" to nobody, heart pounding like I'd just soloed the Lich King himself. A glorious, sticky, and utterly pathetic end.
Next thing I know? Not the ER with a medal and a fruit basket. Nah. I'm him again—Arthas, the tiny prince—blubbering in silk swaddling while some doting servant frets over my "royal complexion.".
He (that's me, in third-person drag) stares out at this fantasy buffet of magic and mayhem, wondering if the gods up there are just cackling. Reincarnation? More like a divine prank call. "Congrats on peaking at 47, champ—now here's your quest log: Nap. Poop. Repeat.".
Total, unfiltered bullshit. But hey, at least the view's got potential.
World of Warcraft, he remembered this world. He had played this game before. It was very addictive and a grinding war, a total pain in the ass. What made it crazy was that he actually became Arthas!. The prince of Lordaeron, the most powerful kingdom of mankind, the only legitimate prince. Since birth, I've been carrying the hope and attention of an entire nation, and also carrying huge pressure and responsibility. It is not so easy to be a king!.
And at nineteen, the "puppet" strings felt less like guidance and more like a choke chain. My day was a suffocating loop. During the day, he learned martial arts from Muradin, the younger brother of the dwarf king. In the afternoon, he learned the way of the holy light from the priest bishop. In the evening, he also had to learn the etiquette of the nobility. Every day's schedule was arranged properly. It is better to say that he is a puppet than a prince. Whether he wants to or not, he has to learn. Born in an imperial family, sometimes it is not so happy and joyful. Arthas thought this sentence was just a show, but now he can relate to it.
It's not that there is no welfare at all. At least Arthas enjoys the massage of the young maid's hands when he takes a bath. He has fine clothes and delicious food. Food comes to his mouth and clothes come to his hand. His material life is ten thousand times better than before his rebirth.
These are not problems. The real problem is that Arthas's fate is not very good. At nineteen, these weren't distant boogeymen; they were just around the corner. A lot of people are thinking about him. The nobles in the kingdom are thinking about dividing his power and undermining his power as the crown prince. The future first generation of Lich King wants to turn him into a death knight who can't have sex. The very thought sent a shiver of pure terror down my spine. The ladies in the nobles, meanwhile, seem to want to reverse him. He feels a lot of pressure, and in a world where strength is respected, the bigger the fist, the truth.
I was a 19-year-old prince in what should have been a 10-year-old's war, armed with a libido I couldn't (publicly) use and a fate I couldn't dodge. It was the ultimate cosmic screw-job.
And as that wave of pure, unadulterated frustration peaked, something pinged in my skull.
[System UI] The system has been corrected and is starting to reactivate.
A voice that Arthas has never felt so beautiful came in his mind, which made his calm eyes flash with a hint of excitement. Finally. As a reincarnator, he is embarrassed to go out and say hello to people without a system. Having a cheat code and not having one are two completely different things. With a cheat code, you can give someone a big money bag and slap anyone without worrying about retaliation, but without a cheat code, you can only accept other people's big money bags on your face without resistance.
[System UI] Activation completed. Scanning host information. Starting to generate templates. Template application. Ding, application successful.
[System UI] Initial task released: Liberated Scion.
A quest window shimmered into existence, visible only to me.
[Task: Liberated Scion] What separates a prince's unfreedom from a caged prisoner?. Strive for enough freedom for yourself. Participate in the orc war, command a team, and make contributions.
[Task Reward] Language Proficiency.
The system was right. I wasn't a prince; I was a prize pig being fattened for slaughter. This task wasn't just a suggestion; it was an escape route. "Language Proficiency?" A bit underwhelming, but fine. Orcish, probably. A key is a key, even a small one.
Arthas clicked on the panel in his system, which not only contained his detailed information, but also a task panel.
> Name: Arthas
> Race: Human
> Age: 19 years old
> Identity: Crown Prince of the Kingdom of Lordaeron (can mobilize troops of less than 500 people)
> Class: Warrior/Paladin
> Spouse: None
> Reputation: 100
>
Touching my chin, I looked at the reputation column, and a detailed explanation appeared. "Reputation represents the popularity of a character... It's always right to improve your reputation.".
Looking at his profession, Arthas still chose the Paladin specialization. Warriors are indeed fierce, but Paladins can better promote themselves and are easier to fool others. As a prince, it's not too much to use holy light to improve your status, right?.
Since you want to participate in the battle, you must choose a suitable profession and professional specialization. Each profession has three different specializations: output, defense and treatment. Arthas just hesitated for a moment and chose the safest profession, Paladin-Guardian.
I'm not here to top the damage meters. I'm here to survive. The original Arthas was a DPS-junky, and look where it got him. No, I'm building a tank. An unkillable, obnoxious, self-healing wall of 'nope'.
[System UI] Confirm to choose the Guardian specialization. The specialization cannot be changed after selection. Please confirm.
"Still can't change the specialization? It's a bit tricky!".
Arthas was a little dumbfounded. This is different from the game. Well, it's really different. In the game, you can only drool at women, but in reality, you can play with all kinds of women.
When Arthas thought of women, he became energetic. If there was any nonsense about protecting world peace and crushing all evil, he had no interest at all. But if the war is launched to conquer more females, then he is not sleepy when talking about this topic, and he is very energetic!.
And this world was stocked. The realism was breathtaking. The elves... the draenei... even the female orcs, he mused.... He pictured it: "huge waists, six abdominal muscles, a fit body, strong thighs and slender calves.". My kind of woman.. What could be more interesting than capturing the enemy's females? Female elves? Female dragons? Female dwarves? Female gnomes?. Children know that taking all of them will cause kidney deficiency, but adults don't care, of course they want all of them!.
"Confirmed!".
Buzz!
A powerful holy light burst out from Arthas. This wasn't the gentle, flickering glow of his afternoon lessons. This was a supernova. A pillar of golden energy erupted from his body, shattering the polite hum of the banquet. The dazzling light covered the entire banquet hall, and even the castle could not cover it. Wine glasses vibrated, and dust rained from the rafters.
All the guests, nobles and guards present looked at their prince Arthas in surprise!.
Across the room, he saw her. The white and tender skin, the girl with pink cheeks, a pair of standard almond eyes, light eyebrows, and small red lips. At eighteen, Jaina Proudmoore was already a stunning beauty. She looked at him with wide, surprised eyes.
Ah, he thought, the light still bathing him. Isn't this the filial daughter Jaina who sold her father?.
He smirked internally. She is a perfect match with the original Arthas. The man killed his father and the woman sold her father. They are a perfect match!.
But it is undeniable that she is really beautiful!.