The voice Duke used was spot-on—a dead ringer for Tristan's tone, upper-crust pomp, and that infuriatingly smug drawl. Every syllable oozed pretentious aristocracy. Lothar and Garona stared at Duke like he'd just sprouted a second head. If Lothar's enchanted sword hadn't remained stubbornly un-demonic, he might've lopped Duke in half right then and there, just to be sure he hadn't been possessed by something infernal.
Sargeras, thank the stars, was not interested in micromanaging low-tier office drama. The grand demon overlord didn't give a fel-flavored fig about mid-tier demons roughing up their underlings. Imps? Infernal cannon fodder? Not even worth a sneeze.
"Hmph," came Sargeras's dismissive snort, a sound so powerful it could curdle milk at fifty paces. Then, like a fleeting migraine, his will receded from the room.
Duke, Lothar, and Garona exchanged glances.
"Whew..." Duke wiped his brow with exaggerated relief. "Good thing you didn't go full hero mode, Lothar."
Lothar rolled his eyes. "Excuse me, I should be saying that to you! I've been playing this game for over forty years. I know when to charge and when to keep my sword in its sheath. Heroics don't mean jack if you're dead. Llane needs me alive, and so does the kingdom."
Garona, meanwhile, cocked her head. "Okay, what in the name of the Burning Legion was that voice trick? How did you do that?"
Duke puffed up. "Trade secret. If you could do it, you'd be a wizard."
No way he was going to tell them the truth—that his game system wizard hand-delivered him a perfect vocal impersonation module. That's classified tech-level nonsense. Mystery it is!
With the immediate threat passed, the team reformed. Garona scouted ahead like a ghost, Lothar shielded Duke like a human wall, and together they delved deeper into the madness that was Karazhan.
The deeper they went, the less reality made sense. Doors opened into walls. Stairs led back to themselves. Portals blinked into existence with all the reliability of a drunk goblin. Most were one-way only, lit by eerie light and bad decisions.
Good thing Duke had System Wizard GPS. Even Lothar raised an eyebrow.
"We're going higher... but how do you know where to go?"
Duke waved his hand vaguely. "Oh, I judge by humidity, dust patterns, mana density. Real arcane feng shui stuff."
Karazhan was about as consistent as a soup sandwich. The only reason Duke wasn't leading them into a lava pit was because of his hazy memory from the game and his cheating AI system cross-referencing every inch.
Thanks to Duke, deathtraps became mildly annoying inconveniences. Take, for example, the adorable death-orb known as the Astral Spark.
If Duke hadn't immediately recalled it from the game, they would've had party members decorating the walls. He slapped it away with an arcane hand like it was an overzealous pigeon.
"That won't attract Medivh?" Lothar asked, shielding his face.
"Nah," Duke replied cheerfully. "Astral rift in this zone. Explosions are background noise. You could throw a rave in here and Medivh wouldn't even blink."
Then came the Ethereal Thief.
Melee fighters hated this thing. Picture a floating humanoid burrito wrapped in cosmic gauze that could warp space and make you feel like you hadn't slept in days. Lothar got caught in the distortion for ten seconds and looked like he'd aged a decade.
Duke responded with a pyroblast to the thief's face, and boom—Lothar's legs remembered how to function.
Eventually, they reached a colossal library.
Duke paused, frowning. He knew this boss.
"Okay, listen. Everyone stays out here. I'll try diplomacy. But if I shout for help, Lothar and Garona only. Everyone else—stay put."
Lothar squinted. "You know who's in there?"
Duke nodded. "Yeah. Big shot in the kingdom's history."
He walked into the library alone. Ten tension-filled minutes passed. No booms. No screams. Then Duke re-emerged, calm as a cucumber.
"Did you... recruit them?" Lothar asked.
Duke shrugged. "Possibly. Let's call them a tentative ally."
Then came the marble hall.
Onyx-and-ivory tiles stretched ahead. Marble columns soared like tree trunks in a petrified forest. And on the far end...
Figures appeared in the light. Familiar ones. Too familiar.
Lothar froze. It was Llane. Or... something that looked like Llane. And dozens more. An entire scene frozen in time, king versus orcs, mid-battle.
The soldiers behind Lothar stirred. Gasps. Curses.
"The Karazhan Chess event," Duke finished grimly. "It's happening."
A giant, faceless statue beckoned. Duke approached.
"Are you and your allies prepared to become pawns?" the statue's voice echoed directly into their souls.
Duke blinked. This wasn't like the game. The stakes felt... real.
Lothar stepped forward. "We're ready."
Each soul jerked from its body, sucked into glowing chess pieces. They could still think, still see, but now... they were the pieces.
The statue's voice boomed again:
"FIGHT. KILL. LOSER'S SOULS WILL BE DESTROYED. WINNERS SHALL BE REWARDED."
Duke, Lothar, and Garona all winced.
Because not only were their souls on the line... their side had fewer pieces.
Checkmate was suddenly looking a lot closer than they liked.