The port on the coast of Tirisfal was bustling, with a hundred elites ready to follow Arthas to Northrend. Sassarian stood beside Arthas, his injuries completely healed with the combined treatment of Holy Light and potions.
"Prince Arthas, may I be so bold as to ask... where have you arranged for Doctor Myatt's daughter to go?" Sassarian was a little worried about the little girl's life; both her parents had passed away, and she had no other relatives.
"My sister, Calia, is very fond of this child. She said she would look after little Sally for a while."
Arthas also felt a pang of sympathy for this future Grand Inquisitor; her childhood could be described as blood-soaked. Fortunately, she had no direct memory of her father's death. Arthas only told her that her father had bravely sacrificed himself while fighting the plague in the southern camp.
"However, little Sally's body is still a bit weak. I suggested to Calia that she take Sally to the Abbey of Northshire to recuperate."
"It's Sally's good fortune to have met you." Sassarian bowed deeply to Arthas, which somewhat compensated for his guilt and regret towards Myatt.
Arthas waved his hand, "No need for such formality. Rather, are your injuries healed? Can you fight now?"
"I've never felt so good," Sassarian said, patting his chest, "I will personally cut off that demon's head and present it to you."
"It's good that you say that," Arthas smiled, but immediately said seriously, "But without my command, you must not act rashly. That demon is not something you can contend with right now."
Sassarian was a bit disappointed. He knew he was no match for Mal'Ganis, and the Prince Arthas was thinking of his life, but he was still eager to personally kill the demon and offer its head as a sacrifice to his deceased comrades.
"Don't be so disheartened. Train yourself well, and one day, you can personally kill even stronger demons." Arthas patted Sassarian's shoulder, encouraging him, "Major, now call our soldiers to board the ship. We're ready to depart."
"Yes, my Prince."
After Sassarian turned and left, Arthas stood on the bridge, observing the weather at sea, until a strange yet magnetic voice sounded behind him.
"Prince Arthas, do you really intend to go to that frozen continent?"
"I thought you wouldn't come," Arthas turned around, unsurprised, looking at the middle-aged man wrapped in a wide cloak.
He leaned on an unassuming wooden staff, the end of which was a raven with folded wings, and the raven's eyes gleamed with Arcane light.
"Atiesh, shouldn't it be in Dalaran's hands?" Arthas raised an eyebrow, asking about the staff's origin.
"I was also its original owner. Although it no longer belongs to me, it's not troublesome for me to use it for a while," the mysterious man said calmly, "You and your father are completely different."
"Then you must have also sought out Thrall and Antonidas. I guess Antonidas, like my father, thinks you're a crazy liar."
"Perhaps you are more suited to be this prophet than I am," the mysterious man said noncommittally. He gently tapped his staff, "And you are also the one among these people who is most aware of the Burning Legion's danger."
"Alright, Medivh, I'm not here to listen to your prophecies that fool the Bronze Dragon. What exactly did you come to find me for?" Arthas interrupted the mysterious man—Medivh.
"You're really not surprised that I'm still alive." Medivh, the former Guardian believed to be dead, now looked like an unremarkable middle-aged man, standing alive before Arthas.
"Of course I'm not surprised, but I'm only surprised why you, as the Guardian, only offer kind reminders instead of personally joining the fight against the Burning Legion." Arthas' questions became sharp.
Medivh did not get angry upon hearing the Prince Arthas's questioning; his tone was merely a little helpless.
"The Guardian is dead, perishing with a part of the Fallen Titan's evil soul. What stands here now is merely a mage named Medivh. And I owe my mother too much, so I dare not risk the life she painstakingly saved to fight the Burning Legion. But I indeed made mistakes; I must do something to save my beloved world—I wanted to inform you all, to prepare you. However, even with the combined strength of all life, it is so insignificant when facing the Burning Legion. Arthas, you will be a legendary hero, but will you be our hope against the Burning Legion?"
Medivh's voice faded further and further away. When Arthas looked at him again, the Guardian had disappeared. He had transformed into a black raven, standing on the flagship's mast.
"The Burning Legion will still return, very soon. Go to Kalimdor; that will be their target of attack," the raven spoke in human tongue.
With that, the raven flapped its wings and flew into the sky. Arthas did not try to stop him, but merely watched him fly away.
Arthas was not surprised by Medivh's appearance; he was only curious why Medivh, with his prophetic abilities, did not tell the kings the specific disasters that would occur, but instead used vague statements to persuade the high-ranking officials of the Eastern Kingdoms.
This led most people to regard him as a liar, including the mages of Dalaran, though the people of Dalaran probably weren't willing to believe that the dead Medivh had resurrected.
After much thought, he could only come to one conclusion: the Bronze Dragon—these prejudiced Guardians insisted on following the so-called "history," and Medivh also had reservations about them, so he could only proceed according to "history" out of helplessness.
The time-keepers, high above, coldly watched the world, guarding the river of time; but what Arthas was unsure of was whether Medivh had already discovered that the Bronze Dragon seemed unable to influence this timeline.
As for other wrongdoings to blame Medivh for, Arthas did not say much, because it was not Medivh's original intention. The "good" of the Guardian and the "evil" of the Fallen Titan's soul had been clashing since Medivh's birth.
Ultimately, evil gained the upper hand, using the power of good to bring disaster to Azeroth. Medivh could only helplessly watch as the Fallen Titan used the Guardian's power to stir up trouble.
As Medivh said, the struggle between good and evil had vanished when he died atop the tower of Karazhan. He was now merely an ordinary mage named Medivh.
However, Arthas did not agree with Medivh's actions, but he would not criticize them further. Medivh's affairs were not the most pressing matter at hand.
"Notify everyone, prepare to set sail."
...
A few days later, in Daggercap Bay, Northrend, a forward fortress of Lordaeron, Arthas landed with his soldiers.
This was a strategic bay in Howling Fjord, with sufficient depth to build a port for seagoing vessels, and being at the bottom of the fjord, the Lich King's forces would generally not detect it.
Inside the fortress at Daggercap Bay, Arthas met another familiar face—Brann Bronzebeard.
"Brann? What are you doing here?" Arthas suddenly had an ominous premonition upon seeing this adventurous dwarf.
"Ah ha! A while ago, my expedition team and I tried to delve into Storm Peaks, but we hadn't gone far before we were driven out by the harsh weather and fierce proto-dragons."
"Then we encountered trolls, so many trolls! They chased us all the way, and we fled all the way..."
Brann vividly described his exciting adventures, and Arthas, exasperated, asked him to pause for a moment, "So why are you in Howling Fjord?"
The dwarven adventurer's tone faltered, and he chuckled awkwardly, "Your soldiers rescued us from those trolls, and we've been here ever since."
"You're incredibly lucky. The Frost Trolls of the north are a dominant force in Northrend. It's already good fortune that you provoked them and still made it out alive." Arthas tried to educate Brann, telling him not to always do dangerous things.
The old dwarf, far from being ashamed, took pride in it, "Hehe, adventuring, without a bit of luck, I would have been eaten by some beast long ago."
Well, this guy's hopeless. If you're not the aggro magnet, who is?
"By the way, Arthas, what are you doing in Northrend?" Brann pointed to the entire fortress, "I was startled when I learned there was still a human fortress here."
"Hunting down a dangerous demon. He's one of the masterminds behind Lordaeron's plague."
"A demon?! Now you've got my attention!" Brann's eyes widened like brass bells. "What kind of demon? Imps, Voidwalkers, or Succubi? No, no, you said mastermind, so it definitely isn't one of these common types."
"It's a Nathrezim."
"Nathrezim? What's that—never mind, it must be some rare species, right? Can you take me with you? Don't worry, I won't cause trouble. Although I can't compare to my two brothers, my hunting rifle isn't just for show!"