Harry Potter: Journey to Godhood

Alaric's words left the officer speechless, and it also eased some of the prejudices the others held against Garona.

However, there were still some who voiced their discontent.

Another young officer, about Alaric's age, spoke up.

"But she is still dangerous," the officer said. "When we captured her, she was gathering intelligence for those orc armies!"

"Yes, and so what?" Alaric replied impatiently. "Her staying here is beneficial to us. In fact, she's the only orc willing to communicate with us. 

Do you think our only option for gathering intelligence is through torture? Do you doubt my ability to handle a half-orc?"

"Lord Sandor is a powerful mage, wielding formidable magic," Baron Glamon added timely to reassure his men. "With him vouching for Miss Garona, you can rest easy."

The word "mage" seemed to have a magical effect, immediately intimidating the others, making them hesitate to question further.

Even in the high-magic world of Azeroth, mages were a rare breed; most people viewed them as mysterious beings wielding powers that ordinary folk feared.

Unlike the approachable priests, to most people, mages represented sheer power, and most kept their distance from them.

Finally, the main course was served to everyone, and Alaric raised a toast before everyone eagerly dug into the feast.

Although many of the officers were of noble birth, most were high-ranking officers; the lower-ranking officers were more often commoners or fallen nobles. 

For these lower-born soldiers, the allure of food outweighed any ceremonial etiquette—what more could be asked of them?

Meanwhile, Garona was feeling troubled beside Alaric.

It was well-known that there were no such banquets with people gathered around a dining table among orcs; they preferred to roast and cook directly over a campfire. 

Thus, for Garona, using human utensils became quite a hassle.

As she looked at the plate and the various knives and forks before her, Garona's hands—capable of wielding daggers with precision—now felt clumsy. 

She wanted to imitate Alaric, elegantly cutting and serving the food on her plate, but she only managed to make a mess of it.

Seeing her awkward movements, Alaric nearly burst out laughing.

"In fact, you don't have to be like me," Alaric said. "You can be a bit freer; eat however you like. Dinner is meant to be enjoyable; there's no need to be bound by so-called etiquette."

As he spoke, he set down his knife, demonstrating by rudely skewering a large piece of meat with his fork and digging in.

Seeing Alaric's somewhat ridiculous actions, Garona didn't laugh but instead felt touched.

—He's doing this on purpose to spare me from embarrassment. His original movements were so graceful...

That was her inner thought.

After Alaric devoured a piece of meat, he suddenly realized that Garona hadn't eaten; she was just watching him.

He turned his head and met Garona's serious gaze.

"Teach me," Garona said to him, "teach me the human way… of eating."

"Alright, alright," Alaric shrugged, unable to resist Garona's earnestness. He left his seat and went to her side, guiding her hand by hand on how to use the knife and fork.

Looking at the impression of what should be a warlike and bloodthirsty female orc, now awkwardly learning the human way of eating, often dropping utensils and chopping into the plate, the soldiers and priests around them couldn't help but burst into laughter.

Unknowingly, their hostility toward Garona had lessened significantly.

…

Just as the banquet was joyfully underway, a faint howl of wolves suddenly echoed from outside the monastery.

Garona's long, pointed ears twitched slightly.

"It's the wolf cavalry!" Garona suddenly said seriously. "I can tell that's the sound of wolves; the wolf cavalry is approaching!"

In this urgent situation, Garona spoke in the orcish language, and Alaric quickly translated for Baron Glamon.

"Everyone back to the camp, immediately organize your troops!" Glamon commanded loudly. 

"Archers take defensive positions, cavalry ready their armor and mounts, infantry line up in the square, quickly! Quickly! Prepare for the wolf cavalry's ambush."

The officers put down their knives and forks and hurriedly left the monastery. Bishop Fidel also began organizing the priests and nuns, preparing soldiers for urgent medical aid and support.

Then Glamon turned to Alaric and his royal guards.

"My lord, should you and Miss Garona hide in the basement?" he suggested. "I know there's a secret passage here…"

"No need," Alaric interrupted him. "I want to see the orc wolf cavalry too. Don't worry, as a mage, my destructive power is greater than you can imagine."

"Then follow me," Glamon decisively led the way outside.

At the entrance of the monastery, the soldiers had already prepared horses for them. 

Everyone mounted their horses and rode to the valley's mouth, where simple wooden fences and arrow towers had been erected for the defense of the Northshire Monastery within the valley.

At that moment, the wolf cavalry had charged close to the fence, tossing ropes to ensnare it, then riding their wolves away in the opposite direction.

With the tension of the ropes, the makeshift wooden fence appeared precarious.

The human soldiers hurriedly formed their ranks behind the fence, knowing that against the cavalry's charge, only an orderly formation and cooperation could save them. 

They had to take their positions before the cavalry cleared the obstacles.

On the arrow tower, the archers had already drawn their arrows, ready to unleash their deadly projectiles at the enemy.

Glamon had already gone ahead to coordinate the formation, leaving Alaric with only Garona and a few guards he had been assigned.

"You can go help," Alaric observed the eagerness of the guards and kindly suggested, "You must have wanted to fight the orcs for a long time."

"Yes, but we should stay by your side," the guard captain declined Alaric's proposal. 

"Not only because it's our duty, but because you are a mage. You are the one who can inflict the most damage on the enemy, so we must protect you."

At that moment, Glamon had completed arranging the troops and returned to Alaric's side.

"How strange," he complained, puzzled. "How did these green-skinned beasts get here? Ah, sorry, I'm not talking about you. 

What I mean is that this is far from our front line, separated by many military strongholds, and there are many more important and easily assaultable targets. 

Why would they go through so much trouble to come here? Are they here to eliminate our priests?"

Alaric also found it odd, so he turned to Garona. "What do you think?"

However, at that moment, Garona was staring intently at the distant, fluttering orc flag, murmuring as if in a trance: "They... are here for me."

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