Early the next morning, before the sky brightened, Jess went to the magicians' district to dust the study. Amy Marin mentioned that the situation around Redridge Mountains was somewhat complicated, and her father might not be able to return in the next few days. Therefore, when Jess planned to go out to run errands, she took it upon herself to agree.

After finishing the chores, he hurried to the Old Town.

This journey was almost a complete run from the west to the east end of Stormwind City, and by the time he reached "The Pig and Whistle" tavern, it was already jam-packed.

The crowd rhythmically chanted, "Banetroll, Banetroll!" Jess felt the name sounded familiar but wasn't certain.

Pushing through the crowd to the front corner of the tavern, he saw, in the midst of the crowd, one tall and one short bare-chested man standing face to face.

The taller man with light brown shoulder-length hair held a stick in his hand. With a firm face and strikingly handsome features typical of Northern people, his facial structure was quite three-dimensional.

Though he sported a small mustache, it was clear he was still young, probably around thirty, exhibiting stable movements and footsteps.

In contrast, Grit looked much more battered, his face and body covered in bruises from the battle that had been going on for a while. The man, however, seemed unscathed except for being drenched in sweat, as if he'd just started fighting.

"Finish off that dwarf, Banetroll!"

"Hit him!"

"Stab! Use a jab! Dwarves have short arms!"

To Jess, the roaring crowd sounded somewhat irritating. Despite being a human himself, cheering for Grit might have gotten him mobbed.

Banetroll, taller than Jess, stood in the small space under the tavern's basement stairs, nearly hitting his head on the beam above.

From his hair and beard, skin, muscular body, and slightly bulging belly, he likely was a noble, not a common middle-aged soldier.

A noble of Stormwind capable of fighting... Could this be King Varian Wrynn?

Impossible, Varian would only be about fifteen or sixteen years old now, still a youngster, and besides, he had dark brown hair.

Grit suddenly let out a roar and launched an aggressive attack with his sticks. The opposite man effortlessly deflected Grit's blow with his stick, sidestepping gracefully, missing the hit perfectly.

Despite his large and muscular build, his movements were fluid, his leg muscles taut, driving his whole body sideways, like a well-coordinated machine, a sight to behold.

It must be said, Grit was in danger. He had heard that Grit would fight with someone from the middle-aged club today and thought it would be a mere brawl with an old man, but he hadn't expected it to be this intense and exciting.

Wait... Banetroll, Trollbane? Could it be a deliberately reversed name?

If it's Trollbane, then Jess was familiar.

Could this man be one of the Sons of Lothar, a leader among the expeditionary force, the strongest warrior of his time among humans, Danath Trollbane?

Trollbane belonged to the Stormgarde royal family, Danath being the nephew of King Thoras Trollbane.

But during this time, the Alliance expeditionary force was facing off against the Horde at the Dark Portal in Outland. Perhaps the war had even spread to Draenor.

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Danath should be battling the orcs, unlikely to be here fighting an unknown Wildhammer dwarf while his comrades were engaged in battle.

"Take that pansy down, lad from Eagle's Nest, don't let us down!"

"This guy... I'd be ten times stronger if I went up there!"

Jess glanced in the direction of the shouting, realizing it came from two dwarves, likely from Ironforge. The number of Ironforge dwarves in Stormwind had been increasing over the years, with a specific district designated for their residence.

Just as Jess worried Grit might lose and get hurt, Grit, after a missed stab, suddenly turned around with a sweep. The man obviously hadn't expected this move, dodged it very reluctantly, and even seemed to lose his balance.

Seizing the moment of disarray, the dwarf launched a fierce attack. Leveraging his incredible upper body strength, he struck from various angles, slashing and chopping, turning the tide in a flash. The man started retreating in panic, backed into a corner!

This man seemed unaccustomed to the dwarf's strength, lacking experience in fighting dwarves.

If it was Danath Trollbane, such a situation seemed unlikely.

Danath was recognized by the entire world, from Quel'Thalas, through the Three Hammers, to the Seven Human Kingdoms, as a master of combat, not only for his skill and martial prowess but also for his rich experience in fighting against elves, dwarves, and trolls during his lifetime of over fifty years.

Yes, Danath Trollbane was already over fifty, and the man before him was clearly much younger.

Despite being cornered, the man still had no intention of conceding. With a longer reach than the dwarf, Grit dared not aim for the man's neck or chest, knowing he'd likely be hit first.

Hesitating for a moment, the man suddenly grabbed Grit's stick, and with a kick to the dwarf's chest, he landed a solid blow, sending Grit flying backward onto the ground, eliciting gasps from the surrounding dwarves and humans.

"What is this?!"

"A total disgrace!"

"Banetroll!"

Apparently spurred by the crowd's jeers, Grit bit his lip, got up, and charged wildly. The man prepared to repeat his move, but Grit caught his leg in a flash!

"To death with you!"

The man's face turned pale as Grit threw him upward, smashing him into the ceiling!

Grit followed with his knee against the man's back to his neck, pulled his arm tight, and roared, "Do you concede?!"

An explosive cheer erupted from the audience, beer and milk flying everywhere. Even those who had been chanting for Banetroll felt it was thoroughly exhilarating.

"I concede!"

Hearing the submission, Grit's eyelids drooped as he released his grip and slowly stood up.

The man rubbed his arm as he stood, leaning against the wall and looking at Grit. His face shifted between wanting to laugh and grimacing from the pain of the fall, ending up with an expression that was both crying and laughing.

"They'll have you join the Warriors' Guild, Mr. Grit," the man said.

"It is inevitable," Grit replied, sitting down on a nearby step. "You fought well, Banetroll."

Limping slightly, the man went over to pick up a medium-length straight sword and said, "That was a great fight. Here, the sword is yours now, I concede to the wager."

Grit accepted the sword with a beaming smile, "You're a man of your word."

After the crowd dispersed, Jess approached, and Grit's expression immediately darkened upon seeing him.

"I told you to come early in the morning to watch. Why did you only show up halfway through?"

"I had chores to do in the Magi Quarter, Grit. Besides, you said 'morning.' Who knew you meant that early? The sun had just risen when you started? To watch your match, I got up while it was still dark and went to the Magi Quarter first."

"Fine, I suppose the outcome was good in the end, and you didn't miss the best part," Grit said, waving the sword in his hand. "The main thing is this sword. That Banetroll had a new blade, far superior to the worn swords and axes we pick up after battles. If we're venturing out, we'll need decent weapons by our side."

Jess hadn't expected Grit to be thinking about procuring weapons for both of them.

He took the sword, inspecting it back and forth, and ultimately noticed a clenched fist insignia on the dark red hilt's pommel.

"The crest of the Kingdom of Stromgarde, this is a Stromgarde sword."

"Probably a mercenary hired by Arathor," Grit suggested. "Seems he didn't get a chance to fight, so the sword looks barely used. I figured out early this was the weapon of the royal guards of Stromgarde, not a common soldier's sword."

"How much could we sell it for?" Jess queried.

"Probably not too much, maybe up to a dozen or twenty silver coins, depending on the cachet of it being a guard's weapon. The high status of its users doesn't imply the sword itself is of great quality. Stromgarde isn't what it used to be, they can't craft weapons of such fine quality anymore. Sure, this sword isn't bad, but it can't compare to our stuff, not even as good as those from Lordaeron."

"Didn't you notice anything odd about this man's name?" Jess inquired.

"What oddity?"

"What's the royal surname of Stromgarde?"

"Isn't it Arathor? No, that's not right, Arathor is the family name of their ancestors. The King of Stromgarde is Thoras Trollbane... It's Trollbane! Was that guy Danath's cousin, Galen Trollbane? No wonder he fought so well. This man was likely here in Stormwind City by the order of his father to see off Danath Trollbane, hence his stay here. He actually came to start a fight at the Warriors' Guild during his short stay?"

"It's quite possible," Jess agreed. "After all, the Trollbanes are born fighters. If that's the case, you've just defeated the brother of the strongest man in the world."

Grit shook his head with a smile, "Whether he's truly a Trollbane is up for debate. Galen isn't nearly as strong as Danath; defeating him isn't much to boast about, though he's a celebrity in his own right. If one day I could defeat Danath in a duel, that would be an accomplishment to talk about for a lifetime. I hope he doesn't fall in Draenor and comes back soon."

At that, Grit seemed to suddenly remember something, and his excited expression quickly faded.

"Let's talk about our plan for this afternoon instead."

"Aren't you going to rest for a while?"

"What's there to rest from? I just gave a pampered rich boy a good thrashing."

The reputation of Prince Galen Trollbane was indeed not the best. As a remarkable warrior, he had shown little in the previous Orc Wars. This was a stark contrast to Danath Trollbane, who led the Stromgarde forces in Kaz Modan against the orc legions and served as a tactical advisor in Turalyon.

Many suspected Galen of being cowardly, hiding behind his father and brother, unwilling to lead from the front.

As the sole heir to the throne, Thoras too doted on him, not wanting him to join the expeditionary forces, even reluctant to let him go to Nethergarde Keep to engage with the Horde troops defending the Dark Portal.

Such a controversial successor harbored ambitions far beyond his capabilities and kingdom's power. He fantasized about reviving the ancient kingdom of Arathor, unifying the seven human kingdoms to establish a human empire.

This laid the groundwork for the later tragedies of him and the entire Kingdom of Stromgarde.