"Uncle Myatt, you must be under too much stress from all the work lately." Sassarian teased while chopping wood. "Colonel Erwin is clearly very normal."
Myatt, sitting on a nearby log, had a bitter expression. If only that were true. But lately, besides treating soldiers who complained of dizziness and headaches, he hadn't had any heavy work, and he got plenty of sleep every day.
As a physician, he was well aware that there was nothing wrong with his body. Coupled with the mysterious plague that had appeared in Lordaeron recently, Myatt couldn't shake off his unease.
If he were alone in the camp, it wouldn't matter if something happened, but his daughter, Sally, was with him. She was still so young; if anything unexpected happened to her, he wouldn't be able to forgive himself, nor would he have the face to see his wife.
So Myatt had no choice but to seek out this new recruit, who had only recently arrived at the garrison and showed no symptoms of headaches or mental confusion.
Myatt was a devout believer and could receive the Holy Light's blessing, but his spellcasting skills were truly rudimentary, not even comparable to an ordinary priest. While sufficient for auxiliary healing, he knew his own limits in combat. If even the other members of the First Legion fell, he would be completely useless.
"I might be a bit paranoid, but… please believe me, this camp really feels off compared to before." Myatt didn't know how he could convince Sassarian.
Sassarian saw Myatt's expression, stopped chopping wood, stuck the axe into the log, clapped his hands, and walked over to sit beside Myatt. He pulled two cigars from his pocket and offered one to Myatt.
"Want one? My instructor gave these to me before I left training camp. Only these two are left."
"Thanks…" Myatt took the cigar and put it in his mouth. Sassarian pulled out matches and lit them for both of them.
"Your daughter, is she that little girl who runs around the camp all day?" Sassarian exhaled a smoke ring.
"Yes, her name is Sally. After her mother passed away, she became my only beloved." Myatt's hand, holding the cigar, trembled slightly.
The new recruit patted Myatt's back, comforting him, "Uncle Myatt, I still think you're too nervous. Everyone here is a seasoned veteran. Even if we encounter orcs, we can handle them well."
Myatt shook his head, and the cigar ash fell onto his robe. "I'm not worried about orcs… Do you know about the plague in Lordaeron recently?"
"I've heard of it, but wasn't it said that the brave Prince Arthas has already led people to deal with it? Andorhal has also gained many Paladins recently. With them around, there's nothing to fear."
Myatt didn't speak again this time. He just stared blankly at the ground, wondering what he was thinking.
Sassarian wasn't very good at comforting people either. He sighed, stood up, and said, "Uncle Myatt, I am a soldier. Obeying orders is my top priority."
After speaking, Sassarian walked towards the camp, but after only a few steps, he stopped again, tilting his head slightly.
"But protecting the people of Lordaeron is also our mission."
...
In the evening, the royal knights set up a temporary camp. They were now on the border of Tirisfal and Westwealde. To reach Andorhal as quickly as possible, Arthas chose to take a shortcut, so they could only camp in the mountains.
Arthas sat by the campfire, holding a branch and poking at the firewood. Jaina sat beside him, holding a book about how to counter necromancy and reading it.
"The earliest necromancy was discovered during an encounter with demons, and the discoverer was… Merely Winterwind, a legendary Archmage from Emperor Thoradin's time?"
"Arthas, look here. The description in the book is similar to the plague we encountered this time—demons spread magical diseases to contaminate food and water, and even transmit it directly through human contact.
And if infected humans cannot receive timely treatment, their corpses will rise again after death and have a strong desire to attack the living…
Those demons who use this despicable evil magic are called Nathrezim, also known as Dreadlords, terrifying beings from the Twisting Nether. Besides their evil magic, they seem to have a unique racial talent
They can hypnotize and bewitch weaker opponents or those with unstable wills, or directly destroy others' souls and occupy their bodies."
Jaina read the text carefully. She found the events in Lordaeron coincidentally similar to the description. "Could the mastermind behind the plague be a demon? And because he occupied someone else's body and is hiding among us, we can't find him?"
"Excellent guess, perhaps that's the truth." Arthas didn't expect Jaina to infer Mal'Ganis's identity based on some information.
Jaina showed no joy despite the praise. "If that's truly the case, our investigation will certainly face significant obstacles… It would be fine if he chose an ordinary resident, but what if he's a noble or a military officer?"
Given the cunning of the Nathrezim, his choice would certainly make it difficult for Arthas and Jaina to find any trace of him.
Arthas was also unsure of Mal'Ganis's exact whereabouts. Under his arrangements and control, this undead plague was already vastly different from its original history, and he no longer had the advantage of foresight.
Fortunately, the extensive network laid out by the Secret Intelligence Agency in Lordaeron was slowly closing in. The Cult of the Damned and its followers and spies had been swiftly cleared out. As long as Stratholme and Andorhal were guaranteed not to be infiltrated by the plague, the entire Westwealde region would not be in great danger.
As for the capital of Lordaeron, the demon certainly wouldn't dare to hide there. The royal city not only had royal Archmages but also their Archmage towers.
An Archmage's pre-cast "True Sight" in his Archmage tower could very likely expose the Dreadlord's disguise. A cautious Dreadlord would never take such a risk.
Not to mention the Holy Light Church priests dispatched by Arthas who were searching the city for any suspicious signs. Mal'Ganis staying in any major city under Lordaeron's rule would be courting death.
When a kingdom begins to be vigilant in advance, even the Nathrezim, who are skilled at hiding and disguising, cannot avoid leaving any traces. Once he exposes his location, he will be caught and captured by the city guards and Archmages.
Therefore, Arthas was certain that this Dreadlord must now be hiding in some small town or military camp. Based on intelligence from the Secret Intelligence Agency, he had already narrowed the scope to south of Andorhal.
"Falric, what strongholds does the First Legion have south of Andorhal?"
Arthas felt that this Dreadlord would certainly not run too far, because his target was himself.
"Prince Arthas, there are many small outposts, but only three major strongholds: the southwestern camp overseen by Lieutenant Colonel Jojo Joestar, the southeastern camp overseen by Colonel Roy Mustang, and the southernmost camp overseen by Colonel Erwin Smith."
Ignoring the two somewhat strange surnames, Arthas continued to ask, "Has anything happened there recently?"
Falric shook his head, "Nothing, Prince Arthas. At least in the feedback from the last cycle, everything was normal in these three places."
"Everything normal?" Arthas immediately felt it was difficult to proceed. These were the closest camps to Andorhal. Would Mal'Ganis really go out of his way to another place?
Just then, a royal knight resting nearby suddenly spoke, "Prince Arthas, if you're talking about strange things, last week when I was on leave, I heard a friend from the Holy Light Church mention something."
"Tell me."
"He said that the Andorhal Holy Light Church received feedback about a strange illness, and it seems to have been first discovered by the physician at Colonel Erwin's camp. Their accompanying priest checked the food and water and found no problems, finally classifying it as an unknown disease and reporting it to the Holy Light Church for record-keeping."
Arthas pondered for a moment, then continued to ask, "Do you know what specific symptoms this illness has?"
The royal knight tried hard to recall his friend's words, "If I remember correctly, it should be headaches and mental confusion."
"Headaches, mental confusion? That's too common… But from a magical perspective, it sounds like the effect of some kind of mind spell." Jaina analyzed.
Arthas frowned. "Indeed, even a common cold can have such symptoms. This alone doesn't explain anything."
"But this is our only clue. Should we go check it out, Arthas?"
Jaina looked at the Prince Arthas, waiting for him to make a decision. Arthas rested his right hand on his chin, his expression grave as he weighed the potential gains and losses.
"Is Erwin's southern camp very close to Strahnbrad?" Arthas mused for a moment, then asked Falric.
"Yes, Prince Arthas. By horse, it only takes a little over two hours, and by Gryphon, it's even faster, only about thirty minutes."
The town his teacher Uther's troops went to support was precisely Strahnbrad, a town located on the main road between Westwealde and the Alterac Mountains.
"Jaina, help me send a magical letter to my Uther, telling him that we might need support. Tomorrow, we will set off to investigate the southern camp. If there are no problems there, we will gather the troops there and wait for reinforcements."
Mal'Ganis already knew that Kel'Thuzad had been killed by Arthas, and he also knew that the Prince Arthas would soon come to track his whereabouts.
No matter where he was now, he must have made thorough preparations. The worst-case scenario was that he had already kidnapped a large number of civilians or incited a group of troops. In that case, the dozen or so people Arthas had would undoubtedly be a drop in the bucket.
Compared to Kel'Thuzad, Mal'Ganis had more tricks up his sleeve. Arthas would not confront him unprepared; that would only lead to more sacrifices.