The route to the Quel'Thalas border followed the main road through the Eastweald region, a path that was entirely safe. Along the way, curious farmers and local residents often came out to observe this elite force as it passed. As the more than seven hundred men, led by Arthas, marched, the only sounds were the rhythmic clatter of their armor and weapons. Their polished armor and the gleaming cold light reflecting from their spears and blades powerfully demonstrated to the people of Lordaeron the might of this army.
Especially noticeable were the twenty royal knights at the very front. Their attire starkly differed from the usual gold and silver armor and blue and gold cloaks of regular Lordaeron soldiers. These twenty knights wore black armor with silver trim, complemented by striking blood-red cloaks. For some inexplicable reason, even from a distance, an undeniable pressure seemed to emanate from them. In fact, the ten Paladins accompanying the contingent also sensed this; each was astonished by the sheer power of these royal knights, believing that in all of Lordaeron, perhaps only the Silver Hand itself could rival them.
The twenty royal knights Arthas brought were far more than just for show. Every single one had been rigorously selected from the most elite of the Lordaeron Royal Guards. Any royal knight was an extraordinary powerhouse, a master of the warrior's path, with individual combat capabilities no less than a Paladin of the Silver Hand. On the battlefield, their efficiency in eliminating threats was arguably even higher than that of the Silver Hand.
After their initial screening, royal knights underwent highly specialized training, and only those who endured and were not eliminated truly earned their place in this unique knightly order. Their loyalty was exclusively to Arthas alone.
Logically, this kind of personal military force was completely inconsistent with how a monarch typically operated. However, Terenas trusted Arthas implicitly. Arthas was his only son, and the king knew his own years were limited. In fact, all of this had been tacitly approved and even secretly promoted by him. King Terenas hoped that before his death, his son could mature into a wise monarch, a rarity in Lordaeron for a thousand years.
With an exceptionally swift march, by the afternoon of the second day, Arthas and his forces finally reached the elven fortress situated at a mountain pass in Eastweald. This was the only land route into the elven kingdom of Quel'Thalas, a place humans simply called the "Elven Gate." The two Archmages accompanying the army displayed the pre-arranged magical runes to the elves on the city walls. Only after their identities were thoroughly confirmed did the elves open the city gate.
An elven general, noticeably taller and more robust than typical elves, walked forward to greet them. After bowing respectfully to Arthas and Uther, he spoke in fluent Common Tongue, "Greetings, Prince and Uther. I hadn't anticipated that you would lead this contingent yourselves. Quel'Thalas and the Farstriders thank you for your invaluable assistance. I am Lor'themar Theron, the Ranger-General's deputy, and she sent me here to welcome you."
This was an old acquaintance; Lor'themar had participated in the elven reinforcements that aided Lordaeron during the Second Orcish Wars. Uther also held a good impression of him, primarily because Lor'themar did not possess the arrogant demeanor common among many elves.
"Greetings, Lor'themar," Arthas returned the bow. "I hope we arrived in time."
"Very timely, Prince. We have repelled several attacks from those barbarians, but many Farstriders are wounded." Lor'themar's expression remained grim. The elven population was sparse, and every Farstrider was a precious asset to Quel'Thalas.
"I have brought thirty priests, led by a High Priest from Stratholme Cathedral; they can treat the Farstriders' injuries," Arthas offered.
Lor'themar breathed a visible sigh of relief. "Praise the Sunwell! This is truly wonderful. Our manpower is severely insufficient, and healers are even scarcer. Many wounded are not receiving timely treatment." As Arthas had entered the fortress earlier, he had noticed the guards were few and far between. He frowned and asked, "Lord Lor'themar, is your manpower already this scarce?"
Lor'themar replied with a bitter expression, "Please, just call me Lor'themar. We have mobilized most of the available forces from the southern forest to the eastern front to resist the Troll barbarians' invasion. However, support from Silvermoon City has not arrived, and how many priests could there possibly be in the southern forest anyway?" Arthas roughly understood. Although the elven Farstriders were fully committed to fighting the trolls, the support from Silvermoon City to the north seemed to be nothing more than empty promises.
For better cooperation in the upcoming battle, Lor'themar spoke openly, "We still have fifteen hundred Farstriders fighting on the front lines, but currently over a hundred have been wounded to varying degrees. Fortunately, there are very few fatalities; the Trolls haven't truly broken through our lines."
"I have brought five hundred elite infantry, one hundred elite knights, one hundred dwarven riflemen, and ten Paladins, two Archmages," Arthas also clarified his forces' composition, "and then there are those thirty priests."
"This will further solidify our battle lines. Thank you again, Prince Arthas." Lor'themar nodded affirmatively upon hearing this number; the support sent by Lordaeron was even more substantial than he had imagined. However, Lor'themar also noticed that Arthas seemed to have omitted some personnel. He observed that there were twenty black-armored knights in the formation, and their numbers didn't quite match the types of personnel Arthas had mentioned. But he didn't ask further, believing these knights were likely part of the Prince's personal guard, and though they differed somewhat from the Lordaeron Royal Guards he had seen, this was not the primary concern.
"Arthas, let us set off for the front line immediately," Uther had no intention of lingering. "Words alone cannot truly convey the situation on the battlefield."
"I was thinking the same thing." Arthas nodded. "Lor'themar, how long will it take to get to the front line from here?"
"A little over two hours. If we move a bit faster, we can reach our position before sunset."
"Good," Arthas swung onto his horse and issued the command, "Warriors of Lordaeron, advance!" The Prince was answered by the dull thud of weapons striking shields and the ground, a resounding affirmation.