Brann was instantly dumbfounded. This news had been extracted from the Troll priest, and it hadn't been long since Muradin told him. So how could Arthas be so certain it was a trap?
"Did Muradin go look for that weapon himself and get attacked by the undead?"
"How do you know? Did Muradin tell you?" Brann felt like he was seeing a ghost. How did Arthas know everything?
Could it be that he had frozen to death in the wilderness long ago, and everything now was just a hallucination after his death?
As he thought this, a cold draft seeped through a gap in the tent flap, making Brann shiver. He carefully scrutinized Arthas, who was looking at a map, and found that his demeanor was still as steady and gentle, the perfect image of a paladin.
Damn it, could a ghost disguised as the Prince of Lordaeron also use the Holy Light?
Brann pressed down on his fishing hat and coughed, "Uh, what else do you know?"
"I also know that the weapon is a runeblade, guarded by ancient vengeful spirits, and hidden in a cold, desolate cave," Arthas's voice reached Brann's ears.
"Anything else?" At this point, Brann himself didn't realize that his voice was trembling slightly. This old Dwarf, who had been in graves, dug up tombs, and explored many ancient ruins, was actually a little spooked by ghosts.
He wondered if a musket could kill a ghost… Brann muttered to himself.
"Of course there is. The name of that weapon is Frostmourne—Brann, why are you trembling? Is it too cold in my tent?"
Arthas felt the temperature and didn't find it particularly cold. A Dwarf who lived in the harsh snowy mountains year-round shouldn't be afraid of this kind of cold.
"Are you really Arthas?" Brann stared at the Prince, "And not some demon or ghost pretending to be him?"
These two questions made Arthas chuckle. He conjured a ball of Holy Light and shined it on Brann, dispelling the coldness in his heart. "Of course, I am the Prince of Lordaeron, no impostor."
Brann shivered and slowly recovered from the cold. He looked somewhat dazed, "Uh—I think I was a bit disoriented just now."
"Disoriented?" Arthas only then realized the problem. "Brann, have you been to Elven ruins or similar places?"
"Before, I mean before your subordinates rescued me, we explored a relatively small Elven architectural ruin," Brann answered truthfully.
Arthas summoned another beam of Holy Light, this one even more dazzling than the last. Under the protection of the Holy Light, Brann felt his body temperature gradually warm up.
"You seem to have been entangled by an Elven vengeful spirit," Arthas frowned. "This causes you to have hallucinations and some jumbled fantasies."
"Elven vengeful spirit? So I really did see a ghost," Brann reverted to his Dwarf image. He rubbed his large nose, "Why didn't I feel it before?"
"That's because you were in Howling Fjord, where the undead energy is sparse, and you weren't heavily affected, so I didn't even notice. But this is Dragonblight, and it's in the northern region."
Brann was experienced and roughly understood what Arthas meant. The strength of the undead was closely related to their strength in life. For example, ordinary humans could barely form ghosts after death, but Elves, after death, were prone to forming ghosts entangled with necromantic energy.
Dragonblight, as its name suggests, is the "white desert" where most Dragons choose to be buried. Since ancient times, whether due to accidental falls or natural deaths, Dragon remains either flew back to Dragonblight themselves to choose their resting place before dying, or were brought back to this snowy plain by their kin.
Perhaps beneath the thick snow and soil where the two of them stood, lay the carcass of an ancient Dragon, and after their deaths, due to their inherent powerful energy, they would generate a considerable amount of necromantic energy.
Although this energy was unlikely to make a Dragon's corpse stand up again, it was not difficult to affect "weaker" creatures.
Brann must have attracted a ghost or spirit somewhere before, and his body was also entwined with necromantic energy. However, the necromantic energy, which was very weak at the time, could not affect Brann, but after arriving in Dragonblight, the situation was completely different.
Perhaps Brann only felt a little cold and liked to overthink things right now. If left untreated, after a while, Brann might become mentally deranged and even unable to distinguish between friend and foe.
"Damn it, I didn't even notice I was afflicted." Brann felt like he had completely lost face. An experienced explorer almost stumbled in a small Elven ruin?
"It's not your fault, Brann. For anyone who doesn't use Holy Light or… hmm, a Priest, it would be very difficult to detect this anomaly. And even if undetected, this level of curse would naturally dissipate after leaving the place where the vengeful spirits gathered for a period of time. If you hadn't come with us to Dragonblight, this wouldn't have happened."
"Forget it, no matter what, it's still because I underestimated the risks of Northrend… I was also confused just now, actually wanting you to look for that, what was that sword called?" Brann slapped his head. After he recovered, he couldn't quite remember what he had said before.
"Frostmourne."
"Right, that 'Snowysorrow,' oh, it's a mouthful. Whatever it's called, that name just sounds inauspicious." Brann said seriously.
"Your intuition is spot on, Brann. You're completely right, this runeblade is not some ancient artifact at all, but a thorough demon sword—it devours the souls of all its victims, and the more it devours, the stronger it becomes."
Arthas's tone remained calm, but this simple description sent shivers down Brann's spine: devouring the souls of all victims killed by the wielder? Who on earth created such a thing?
"However, Brann, do you know the characteristics of demons?"
Brann shook his head. Although he was a professional archaeologist, he didn't know much about demons, which were not native to Azeroth. Otherwise, he wouldn't even mispronounce the word Nathrezim.
"Demons are evil beings from the Twisting Nether. Their souls do not die directly on physical planets; these defiled souls are rejected by the world. So demons return to the Twisting Nether after death, and if not intercepted beforehand with special magic or items, they are almost impossible to kill."
As Brann listened, he felt that Arthas's words were off—he had previously emphasized that frostmourne was a demon sword that devoured souls, and now he was saying that demon souls were difficult to truly destroy.
The old Dwarf stared at Arthas with an incredulous look, "You, you don't mean to say…"
...
In Kalimdor, on the peninsula southeast of Dustwallow Marsh, a new Human city had been established. Edwin VanCleef was the chief designer of this city, and also its temporary leader.
He named the city Theramore, according to Arthas's wishes, and it would be the Alliance's bridgehead for landing on Kalimdor in the future.
Currently, Vancleef had temporarily put down his work and was receiving a special guest in the town hall. He was an envoy sent by the Tauren to negotiate with the Alliance, and his name was Hamuul Runetotem.
This wise Tauren Elder had petitioned their Chief, Cairne Bloodhoof, to meet with these outsiders who had arrived in Kalimdor and claimed they would provide aid to the Tauren.
To be honest, even though Vancleef was a high-ranking spy from SI:7, the first time he faced these giants, who were nearly three meters tall, he instinctively felt a little fear. But at this moment, he was not acting in a personal capacity, but representing Prince Arthas in receiving guests, which meant he absolutely could not show any fear.
On the day the Tauren arrived in Theramore, he arranged for the kitchen to provide a lavish meal for the arriving Tauren delegation. Vancleef only felt a little relieved when he saw the younger, smaller Tauren guards in the party with their eyes fixed on the feast.
These guys were much gentler than they looked—at least compared to those brutal orcs. And that mysterious old Tauren, Hamuul Runetotem, even learned the Human language in just half a day and could converse normally with Vancleef.
Although Vancleef, who had little research into magic, knew that this leading Tauren Elder was definitely not an ordinary tribal member.
"Thank you for your hospitality." Hamuul Runetotem's voice sounded a bit old, but it was full of vigor.
"It is all our duty, for we sincerely wish to forge an alliance with your esteemed party," Vancleef said very politely, showing the humility of a Human noble.
Acting was also one of a secret agent's essential courses.
Hamuul Runetotem quietly observed the Human man in front of him. Although this engineer, who looked like a clerk, was well-hidden, Hamuul could still sense an aura of danger from Vancleef, indicating that the other party possessed enough strength to threaten him.
All these unusual signs made him quite puzzled. Where did these Humans come from? If they came from across the sea, why would they know of the Tauren's existence and be aware of the threats they faced?
If it weren't for the voice of the Spirits of Nature, which made Hamuul Runetotem temporarily lower his guard, the Human squad that came to find them would never have been able to leave their tribe.
But he had to admit, the Humans' promise was very appealing to them, because the Tauren had been suffering from the Centaur threat for too long, even affecting their normal lives.
Therefore, Hamuul and Cairne decided to make initial contact with the Humans and try to hear them out, to understand why they suddenly appeared in Kalimdor.