Mal'Ganis, flying, glanced at his left arm, scorched black, and felt a lingering fear from the Holy Light that Arthas had just unleashed.
He should have tormented the doctor and his daughter more, but when he raised his hand to block Arthas's hammer, intense pain wildly stimulated his nerves.
The Holy Light, which could be described as violent, reacted "wonderfully" with the fel and shadow energy in his body; if he hadn't escaped in time and avoided longer contact with Arthas's warhammer, his arm might have directly exploded.
Dreadlords all share a common trait: they are extremely contemptuous of weaker mortal races, their arrogance stemming from their powerful strength and almost immortal lives.
When fighting on physical planets, Dreadlords do not truly die. When their physical bodies are completely destroyed, their souls return directly to the Twisting Nether, the Dreadlords' lair.
Unless special magic or items are used to imprison a Dreadlord's soul beforehand, physical damage alone cannot truly kill a Dreadlord.
While Holy Light can cause considerable damage to Dreadlords, its destructive power on the soul level is limited; compared to Paladins, most Dreadlords might even fear mages more.
As for high-ranking Dreadlords like Mal'Ganis, rather than the Burning Legion's low-level cannon fodder, they would not care about ordinary human Paladins, but Arthas's Holy Light truly opened his eyes.
However, Mal'Ganis's immediate escape was not because he was afraid, but because he also had a deep understanding of the Holy Light—this energy is closely related to a living being's emotions, and a calm and composed person's Holy Light power would never be as violent as Arthas's.
Arthas's Holy Light had almost materialized into golden-red flames; Mal'Ganis had previously thought that Lordaeron's defenses were a bit too strict, wondering if Arthas had played a part in it.
But after encountering Arthas, Mal'Ganis was convinced that his plan had succeeded, which is why he immediately retreated without hesitation.
A person with such Holy Light must be a hothead, because energy itself cannot deceive.
...
When Jaina arrived at the Secret Intelligence Agency camp with ten royal knights and Sassarian, they saw Arthas sitting on a large rock outside the camp, holding a white-haired little girl in his arms.
His blue and gold cloak had several tears from blades, and his armor's bright lacquer was covered in scratches from various weapons. As for his weapon, The Power of Menethil, only half of the hammer handle remained, the hammerhead shattered into irregular iron pieces scattered on the ground, still emitting strong Holy Light from time to time.
Clearly, Arthas had been through an intense battle.
"Are you alright?!" Jaina quickly approached Arthas and breathed a sigh of relief when she found that, apart from looking a bit disheveled, he had no injuries whatsoever.
"I'm fine, it's just that Mal'Ganis got away."
"Who is this girl?"
"She is the only survivor of this disaster, besides Sassarian," Arthas said. "I was still too late; the other soldiers in the camp were all turned into Mal'Ganis's puppets, and even Myatt the doctor was sacrificed by him. I only managed to save this girl."
With their master's departure, the undead soldiers controlled by Mal'Ganis fell into a weakened state. While The Power of Menethil was not completely destroyed, Arthas freed them all.
Unfortunately, the souls of three hundred soldiers had already been devoured by Mal'Ganis; they were merely puppets controlled by Dreadlords, and their master's departure also drastically reduced their strength, almost turning them into the lowest form of mindless zombies.
Myatt's remains were also carried down from the altar by Arthas, now lying quietly in the open space in the middle of the camp.
"Is everything... over?" Sassarian limped to the camp gate, leaning on a makeshift crutch.
Most of the undead were purified by Arthas's Holy Light, but some broken armor, weapons, and corpses still seemed to tell the tragic story of the southern camp.
"They're all dead? Three hundred people?" Jaina was somewhat incredulous; a camp garrisoned by a regular Legion was so easily destroyed by a Dreadlord, without even a chance to resist.
"This is the terror of the Burning Legion; if we don't unite, they will pick us off one by one, sooner or later."
"Come, let's give them their final send-off—dust to dust, ashes to ashes."
After entrusting Sally to Falric, Arthas led the other royal knights into the camp, preparing to collect the fallen soldiers' insignias.
They fought to protect Lordaeron, but in the end, their bodies were corrupted by undead magic; even without the Holy Light, they would quickly turn to dust after death, leaving no complete corpses.
It took Arthas and the others over an hour to sort out the partially intact armor and insignias, piling them in the center of the camp. Jaina's eyes showed sadness as she sighed, "We sacrificed so many people..."
"Report, Prince Arthas, the First Legion, Thirteenth Battalion, three hundred and twelve men... all accounted for." Sassarian saluted Arthas with a Lordaeron military salute, his eyes a little red.
"Very good, Major Sassarian—from today, you are the new commander of the Thirteenth Battalion. Now, I want to ask you a question," Arthas said with a serious expression, "Are you willing to follow me and avenge your brothers?"
"I am willing! Prince Arthas!" Sassarian's voice was deafening; he even ignored his physical pain.
"Very good," Arthas nodded. "Go back and recover from your injuries first. One week from now, we depart—for Northrend, and then we will make Mal'Ganis pay in blood."
"Yes!"
...
With the help of the reinforcements who arrived later, Arthas brought all the officers and men of the Thirteenth Battalion back to Lordaeron for burial. After entrusting the matters of the pension to the Secret Intelligence Agency, he began to read the report on the southern orcs' war.
The orcs in the south had become rampant; they took advantage of Lordaeron's insufficient manpower and focus on plague prevention to break through almost all the internment camps. The high-spirited orcs began to feel that humans were as weak as before.
Until they encountered the elite troops led by Uther, after suffering heavy casualties, under the leadership of Grommash Hellscream, the chief of the Warsong Clan, and a young shaman named Thrall, they began to retreat back into the mountains.
In addition to striking at the orcs' power, the orcs' former Warchief, Ogrim Doomhammer, who had escaped during a transfer from an internment camp long ago, was confirmed dead, but his body mysteriously disappeared after the battle.
Uther believed this dealt a huge blow to the orcs, both mentally and physically; they should now be exhausted. Once their new leader takes power, they should not want any disputes with Lordaeron for at least the next few years.
Furthermore, there was a secret letter from Vancleef in Kalimdor.
They had found the Tauren tribe located south of Barrens. Although the Tauren's initial attitude towards them was not friendly, when Vancleef proposed that they were willing to help the Tauren resolve the Centaur's incursions, the Tauren were willing to send an envoy to Theramore for detailed discussions.
Arthas had already decided on the person to go to Kalimdor; originally, he should have represented Lordaeron, but he had to go to Northrend next, so he couldn't go in person.
But when Jaina heard that Arthas wanted her to go to Theramore, while he himself would go to complete the pursuit of Mal'Ganis, her initial reaction surprised even Arthas.
"You're hiding something from me." Jaina stared at Arthas; she always felt that the Prince Arthas's recent actions were a bit strange. "You've been acting strangely ever since this plague began."
Arthas touched his face, "Is it that obvious?"
"What do you think? According to your usual style, you would never charge alone to fight a dangerous Dreadlord and over three hundred undead single-handedly."
Jaina paused for half a second, then continued to express her feelings, "But I also feel that you haven't been blinded by anger or any other emotion; you always have your own plans, don't you?"
When Arthas was about to say something, Jaina raised a slender finger to his lips and said seriously, "You don't have to tell me. If you truly feel you must do it, I will support you."
"Jaina... thank you," Arthas's emotions were complex, half relieved, half emotion; Jaina was no longer the naive little girl; she had become more perceptive and intelligent.
"If you really want to thank me, then come back safely from Northrend, hmph!" Jaina hummed softly; she wasn't entirely without dissatisfaction. "When I get back, I'll settle accounts with you."
Jaina finally agreed to go as a representative of the Alliance with Muradin Bronzebeard and Varian to negotiate with the Tauren. After Jaina and the others departed from the Eastern Kingdoms, Arthas led the fleet north to Northrend.
At this moment, the trajectory of fate seemed to have returned to its original position, yet everything was completely different.