Chapter 126: Audience with the King

The king’s gaze shifted toward him, and Patrick met it without a trace of fear. “Earlier, I merely scoffed at Councilor Jenerini’s words because I found them disagreeable. It had little to do with disrespecting the Council,” he said plainly. As the victor, he could easily brush off any accusations with a convenient excuse, and the others in the Council would not dare disturb this unfortunate matter further.

“I recall reading in Quel’Thalas’s chronicles that humans once saved us thousands of years ago. In our darkest hour, the Arathi Empire extended a helping hand. We taught them the ways of magic, though in the face of near extinction, does sharing magic truly matter? At the very least, their aid ensured the survival of our race.”

“Humans have short lifespans. Those who helped us then have long since passed, and their descendants have faded into the annals of history. Yet these facts are beside the point. What matters is that we honor our original promise. Henceforth, we shall settle accounts with humanity and owe each other nothing. For all future dealings, we have cause to remain strictly professional.”

Having spoken, Patrick swept his eyes across the Council. Jenerini’s gaze burned with hatred, while the others wore expressions of detached indifference.

King Anasterian reached a conclusion within his mind: “The young one has been hiding his strength all along, patiently biding his time, waiting for other elves to stumble into the crossfire at the critical moment.”

The two councilors had already clashed fiercely once, and the surrounding members fell silent. Councilor Senior Sunwing proposed, “Let us dispatch the ranger units to aid Lordaeron. But on one condition: humans must be responsible for supplies and logistics. We will carry only some of our own weaponry. The ranger units will depart from Sunblade Port aboard the Unicorn Legion’s warships, rendezvous with the Alliance forces at Southshore, and fight together.”

Without doubt, most elves approved the Councilor’s plan. The vote concluded smoothly with the decision that Quel’Thalas would send fifteen ranger companies by ship to the human kingdom to support the Lordaeron coalition. The Windrunner family would handle the specific arrangements and submit the plan to the Council.

After adjournment, Patrick prepared to return to his family’s mage tower when a spellbreaker attendant approached. “Councilor Patrick Kabron, His Majesty the King awaits you.”

“Lead the way.”

Patrick followed the spellbreaker into the heart of the royal court. The palace gleamed with opulence—gold and jewels paved the floors, the dome was gilded, and even the paintings on the walls were embroidered with precious metallic threads. Potted plants infused with the Sunwell’s radiant energy stood in the corners, their leaves shimmering golden.

Passing through the connecting corridor between palace wings, Patrick glimpsed the view outside and suddenly realized the corridor possessed a spatial anomaly. Though he had started on the second floor, after crossing the passage, he found himself on the fifth.

After a short wait, King Anasterian appeared. His long golden hair flowed to his feet, though strands had begun to gray, signs of age creeping in. The king had grown older; in future times, when the Scourge invaded, the arcane energy sustaining his longevity would be depleted, and he would die on the battlefield.

Now he had shed his formal outer robes, though he still bore the Quel’Dorei royal scepter symbolizing the throne of Quel’Thalas. At his side hung a curved longsword known to all elves as the legendary Flamestrike, the heirloom of the Sunstrider family. It was precisely because this sword was a family treasure that Anasterian, Prince Kael’thas, and Dath’remar had devoted years to mastering swordsmanship.

The royal summons demanded proper etiquette, yet as a councilor, Patrick only offered a slight nod. “Your Majesty!”

The king, a legendary figure, immediately discerned that Patrick had achieved the ninth rank. “Since 6805 in Quel’Thalas, you are the first elf to ascend to the ninth rank at such a young age.”

Long-lived beings had this habit: recounting history first, establishing credentials, and reminding others that their words were distilled from vast life experience and carried unassailable truth.

King Anasterian, the most powerful caster of Quel’Thalas, had ruled over the kingdom and the Sunwell’s stewardship for millennia. When fighting backed by the Sunwell’s power, his attacks could surpass even those of the immortals.

His tone was calm, as if merely stating a fact, not seeking an answer: “Councilor Patrick, what are your thoughts on the Silvermoon Council?”

Patrick lifted his gaze to meet the king’s eyes unflinchingly. “The Council has done everything to marginalize me, so I chose to retreat.”

Without hesitation, the king asked, “Do you wish to return to Silvermoon City to develop?”

Patrick was first startled, then relieved. After all, the Sunstrider royal family had governed Quel’Thalas for millennia. Without some leverage, simply serving as a figurehead would allow the Council to seize full control of the kingdom, and the Sunstrider dynasty would not endure long.

“No,” Patrick answered decisively, not waiting for further questions. “Your Majesty, don’t you think the kingdom’s progress has slowed? No, it hasn’t slowed—it has come to a halt. Aside from the Saltheril Avenue linking directly to the Elven Gate, is there even a single decent road in Quel’Thalas?”

“The entire Ghostlands have seen no development for thousands of years. The Council, beyond distributing resources without charge, only spreads indulgence and comfort, monopolizing all power. Capable and talented people have no chance to realize their ambitions and are swallowed by the tide of decadence. Besides, I have never been part of Silvermoon’s internal power struggles—why would I jump into that whirlpool now?”

What Patrick said was well known to the king. Bound by the rules of Quel’Thalas, the royal family held no actual administrative power; all real authority rested with the Silvermoon Council. As a royalist faction, one naturally distanced themselves from the Council, which would not interfere in internal royal matters. Conversely, Council supporters could not join the royal faction. The king and the Council carefully maintained this delicate balance, allowing Quel’Thalas’s political theater to continue.

Sometimes, it was not that the high elves lacked ambition, but that their leaders were entirely consumed by infighting—vying for manpower, seizing power, monopolizing resources, and fighting to control discourse. As for genuine progress? That was merely an aftereffect of internal victory. Until a faction achieved overwhelming dominance, those in power would not concern themselves with such “trivial” matters.