More serious than differences in daily life is the conflict in military ideology.
Barton Bronzebeard, as the Alliance's chief engineer and commander of the "Anvil" Legion, believed in engaging the enemy in the most direct and head-on confrontation, using the fiercest artillery fire and the strongest shields. This was the war philosophy of the dwarves, passed down for thousands of years.
Prince Kael'thas, however, scoffed at him. After his Silvermoon Mage Order first turned an entire platoon of Imperial battle robots into charred remains with a single Chain Lightning spell, he publicly declared: "War is an art, not a barbaric brawl. A well-trained arcanist is worth far more than a hundred axe-wielding dwarves."
This sentence almost sent Barton rushing into the mage tower to engage in a "duel between men".
Duke Armand's "Golden Griffin" mercenary group displayed a completely different style. They were highly disciplined, tactically flexible, and particularly adept at small-scale infiltration and raids. But at the same time, they were also incredibly "calculating." They would forgo rescuing friendly forces to minimize casualties; and they would delay the best opportunity to pursue the enemy to maximize the spoils of war.
These three diametrically opposed military philosophies formed three distinct factions within the Alliance's command structure. Irelia, though nominally the supreme leader, was ultimately too young, and her military skills were virtually nonexistent. She primarily served as a moral compass, a "hero" capable of turning the tide of battle in crucial moments. However, in practical strategic deployments, she struggled to reconcile the contradictions among these three factions.
Meanwhile, the empire's "strategic contraction" continued.
Vast swathes of land were "liberated" by the "Revival Alliance" almost without bloodshed. The glory of victory temporarily concealed all the internal rifts. The alliance's power reached its zenith.
They conquered Lion's Harbor, the second largest city in the Old Land of Holy Light. This city, possessing the best deep-water port on the continent, was even more strategically important than Black Iron Fortress.
At the grand banquet celebrating the victory, the contradictions, for the first time, erupted in a nearly public manner.
The banquet was held at the former governor's residence in Port-Lion. The Duke of Armand spent a fortune decorating the place in a lavish and opulent manner, leaving many enslaved soldiers, who had spent their entire lives struggling in mines and factories, speechless with astonishment.
"Cheers to victory!" Duke Armand, holding a jewel-encrusted gold cup, stood triumphantly in the main seat. "Cheers to our great leader, Lady Irelia!"
Thunderous applause erupted.
Irelia, dressed in an ill-fitting dress, stood up somewhat awkwardly to respond to the cheers of the crowd. She disliked this kind of occasion; she would much rather be with the soldiers, munching on roasted meat by the campfire in the military camp.
“Cheers to the Alliance!” she said simply.
Everyone drank it all in one gulp.
After a few rounds of drinks, Prince Kael'thas gently swirled the ruby-like liquid in his glass and spoke in his characteristic, elegant, and slightly languid tone: "Lady Irelia, now that we have liberated nearly half of the Land of Light, I believe it is time to discuss the issue of the 'future'."
"The future?" Irelia frowned slightly.
“Yes, the future.” Kael’thas set down his glass. “We cannot remain just a ‘rebel army’ forever. We need to establish a new, orderly government that can be recognized by the civilized world. We need a formal national name, a complete set of laws, and a parliament that can speak for all of us.”
His words instantly silenced the previously noisy hall.
Barton, the straightforward dwarf, muttered, "Isn't it a bit too early to say all this? That false god hasn't even rolled off his throne yet!"
"Quite the opposite, my friend," Duke Armand said with a smile, taking over the conversation. "Prince Kael'thas is absolutely right. As the saying goes, 'If the name is not correct, the words will not be proper.' The more victories we achieve militarily, the more we need to establish a stable and unified political core. Otherwise, what difference is there between us and those bandits who rule the mountains?"
He looked around and continued, “Moreover, a formal government would be more conducive to our efforts to unite the other neutral forces on the continent who are still observing. For example, the ‘swamp tribes’ in the south and the ‘sea alliance’ in the east. They will not engage in formal diplomatic relations with a ‘rebel army’.”
Irelia fell silent. She had to admit they had a point. As the Alliance grew, all sorts of management problems she had never considered before began to emerge. Establishing a more efficient decision-making body was imperative.
“I agree.” She nodded. “We can establish a temporary ‘Alliance Council’ to handle daily military and administrative affairs. After we have completely overthrown the Empire, the entire people can then jointly decide on our future form of government.”
“Very good!” Kael'thas snapped his fingers. “Then, regarding the composition of this council… I believe it should naturally be composed of the leaders of the major powers in our alliance.”
“Of course,” Irelia replied without hesitation.
"Then, how should the seats in the council be allocated? We can't possibly allow a small group of only a few dozen people to have the same say as a force with tens of thousands of troops, can we?" Duke Armand calmly posed an even more pointed question.
The atmosphere in the hall became somewhat subtle.
Everyone understood that this was the real issue tonight—the distribution of power.
“I believe,” Kael’thas began bluntly, “that council seats should be linked to the ‘value’ each party provides to the Alliance. My Silvermoon Mage Order is the Alliance’s only organized spellcasting force. Our role on the battlefield is irreplaceable. Therefore, our High Elves should rightfully hold at least thirty percent of the seats in the council.”
"Thirty percent?" Barton's eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. "Just your few hundred sissy mages? Let me tell you, my 'Anvil' Legion has thirty thousand dwarf warriors who could twist your heads off and kick them around like balls! If we're talking about heads, we'd make up at least half!"
"A fool's courage," Kael'thas said with a scornful smile.
"What did you say?!"
"Alright, alright, let's all keep quiet." Duke Armand stepped in again, acting as peacemaker. "Everyone is doing this for the good of the alliance, so let's not hurt our harmony. In my opinion, simply dividing things by headcount or combat strength is too one-sided. We cannot ignore the importance of logistics, economy, and management capabilities in the entire alliance system."
He cleared his throat and continued, “I myself, and the many old nobles of the Holy Land whom I represent who are loyal to the Alliance, may have made limited contributions on the front lines. However, we can provide the Alliance with stable financial support and help manage these newly liberated cities, restoring production and trade. Aren't these important? Therefore, I propose that in addition to ‘military seats,’ ‘administrative seats’ and ‘financial seats’ should also be established. And we should rightfully occupy the leading position in these seats.”
These words were spoken in a grand and impeccable manner. But at their core, they were still about vying for power and profit for their own faction.
The once-unbreakable alliance was now clearly divided into three major factions: the "Revolutionary Faction," led by Irelia, Barton, and Lina, and composed of freed slaves and commoners; the "Elf Restoration Faction," led by Prince Kael'thas, who sought racial glory and ancient traditions; and the "Pragmatic Conservative Faction," led by Duke Armand, and composed of old nobles and merchants.
The three parties were arguing fiercely.
Irelia sat in the main seat, listening to the arguments about seats, power, and interests around her. She felt an unprecedented weariness and boredom wash over her.
Once upon a time, their goals were so pure: revenge, freedom, and the hope that all their suffering compatriots could live with dignity.
But now, the enemy has not yet fallen. They have already begun arguing heatedly about how to divide the spoils of victory.
The sword "Dawn" in her hand seemed to sense her mood, and its originally warm and gentle light seemed to dim a little.
Finally, after several days of intense bargaining, a “Supreme Council of the Revival Alliance” filled with compromises and checks and balances was barely cobbled together.
The parliament has thirteen seats.
Irelia, as the flag and symbol of the Alliance, possesses an indisputable vote, and, in crucial moments, the supreme power to veto.
The remaining twelve seats were divided among the three parties.
The "Revolutionaries," relying on their massive numbers and unparalleled prestige within the army, secured five seats. These seats were occupied by Patton the Dwarf, Lina the Catwoman, and three other highly respected commoner heroes who had risen through the ranks in battle.
The "Elven Restorationists," leveraging their monopolistic advantage in the realms of magic and knowledge, secured three seats, which were held by Prince Kael'thas and his two most trusted elven elders.
Meanwhile, the "pragmatic conservatives," leveraging their significant influence in terms of money and resources, also secured four seats. These seats were controlled by the Duke of Armand and three other powerful old noble lords.
On the surface, the "revolutionaries" held the upper hand. But in reality, Duke Armand's "conservatives" and Prince Kael'thas's "restorationists" shared a natural common interest in many issues involving the restoration of the old order and class privileges. They could easily unite to form a seven-to-six majority, enough to counter Irelia's faction.
The balance of power in the alliance had been dangerously tilted from the moment it was established.
All of this was quietly observed by the eyes atop the Heavenly Throne, eyes that held the very essence of the birth and death of stars.
"It's quite amusing, a farce, isn't it?"
Lin Feng leaned back on the throne, watching the ugly power struggle unfolding in Lion Harbor on the light screen. A cold smile curled at the corner of his lips.
Beside him, Alice Moonsong stood silently, like a beautiful, soulless statue. Her eyes were empty and numb. On the Celestial Throne, in the countless years that had passed, her will had long been utterly destroyed by the terrifying spectacle of the universe's birth and death that played out constantly.
She hasn't spoken in a long time.
Lin Feng reached out and gently lifted her chin.
“Look, my dear ‘Avengers’,” his voice carried a hint of cruel mockery, “this is the ‘rebellion’ of mortals that you have placed so much hope in. They don’t even need me to lift a finger. They will be consumed by their own greed, folly, and arrogance.”
"In a slightly larger ant colony, different worker ants have already begun to tear each other apart over who can get the most of the breadcrumbs that fall."
He released his grip, and his gaze returned to the light screen.
In the scene, Irelia stands alone atop the walls of Lion's Harbor, gazing into the distance at the land still shrouded in darkness, occupied by the Imperial army. Her silhouette appears somewhat lonely and lost.
"That little one named Irelia is somewhat pure," Lin Feng said, his tone like that of a chess player evaluating a slightly unusual piece on a chessboard. "Unfortunately, she's too naive. She thinks that as long as she raises the banner of 'hope' and 'freedom,' she can make all the filthy souls noble."
"She doesn't understand that hope itself is the most powerful desire. It can inspire the greatest courage, and it can also give rise to the ugliest ambition."
He slowly rose from the throne, and the nebula that had been slowly rotating above the vast palace dome instantly froze.
An indescribable, suffocatingly terrifying pressure began to gather within the palace.
"The first phase of the game is almost over."
His voice, though not loud, seemed to be the final judgment coming from the deepest hell.
"Pass on my order to Zhang Huanyu."
"Yes, Your Majesty." The old figure of the consul who had been standing outside the hall immediately appeared inside the hall like a ghost and prostrated himself on the ground.
“Let our army create some real trouble for those self-righteous ‘alliances’,” Lin Feng said calmly. “I need a defeat of sufficient magnitude to catalyze the changes that have been brewing within them for some time.”
“Let’s start with… the Iron River Valley defense line.”
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