While Mal'Ganis was deep in thought, Arthas had already struck down the last of the undead, and he took his warhammer from his back and threw it to the ground.
"It seems I underestimated your abilities." Mal'Ganis was curious at this moment, how did a mere human become so powerful?
Apart from a very few races, the upper limit of strength that most mortal races can reach is very limited; they might only achieve the strength of a common Legion demon even after a lifetime of effort.
Of course, among these mortals, there can also be exceptional individuals who can easily contend with the Legion's main combat demons.
But apart from their magic users, those who can suppress high-ranking Legion generals in close combat are few and far between.
Because demons' physical constitution is inherently much stronger than any mortal's, unless struck directly in a vital spot by powerful warriors or assassins, they are almost the highest combat power that an average physical planet can withstand.
For example, the Annihilan, commonly known as Abyssal Lord, these terrifying demons described as "engines of destruction," can even tear apart dragons with their bare hands, and each Abyssal Lord can defeat tens of thousands of mortal armies.
Facing the Burning Legion, whose strength far exceeds any mortal civilization, most of the time, the heroic deeds of mortal heroes are merely the last elegy of civilization.
However, Mal'Ganis did feel a slight threat from Arthas, but the arrogant Dreadlords only admitted to that much.
"Come, unleash your fury, face your inner self."
Mal'Ganis's whispers echoed in Arthas's ears, filled with dark magic, attempting to further tempt Arthas into the abyss of corruption.
Unfortunately, Arthas was not corrupted at all, and the Dreadlords' whispers could not affect him in the slightest. While Mal'Ganis was casting his magic, Arthas lowered his sword tip, and wisps of souls rose from the surrounding corpses.
The runes on the Frostmourne's blade lit up with soul power; only when souls served as fuel could this runeblade display its true, ferocious nature.
When the lingering souls of the surrounding undead were completely devoured by Frostmourne, Mal'Ganis gradually realized that something seemed... wrong?
'This kid already knows how to make Frostmourne devour souls?'
Mal'Ganis was only momentarily distracted by this question when Arthas, sword raised, had already rushed in front of him.
'So fast!'
The Dreadlords' enormous bat wings flapped violently, and he recoiled backward, but the blade of Frostmourne had already left a smooth sword mark on his runic breastplate.
If he had retreated even a little slower just now, that sword mark might have been a massive wound tearing through his breastplate.
Arthas, having missed his first strike, was not discouraged; everything seemed to be within his expectations. His battle boots clanked on the ground, and before the Dreadlords' figure had fully stabilized, the next sword strike followed immediately.
Mal'Ganis had no choice but to raise his right arm, attempting to reinforce it with magic to block Arthas's attack.
"Pfft!"
Demonic blood splattered as the sharp blade effortlessly cut through the fel magic and runic armor. However, these two layers of protection still allowed Mal'Ganis's hand to be preserved, leaving only a gushing wound.
The Dreadlords flew into a rage, just about to erupt, when a rune on Frostmourne suddenly extinguished.
At the same time, Mal'Ganis felt a soul-tearing pain erupt from within him. His eyes bulged, and he spat a large mouthful of blood onto the ground, forming a rune.
"This is... the power of death?"
Mal'Ganis looked at Arthas in disbelief. He finally understood: this guy was no longer a paladin!
Before Mal'Ganis could make any other move, the second rune also extinguished, causing his legs to sink. He looked down and saw two chains condensed from shadows firmly gripping his legs.
The Dreadlords' sharp claws swept out quickly, and the two chains appeared to be very fragile as they were severed. However, before Mal'Ganis could take a step, he stumbled and knelt on the ground.
The shadow chains he had torn apart rapidly reformed under a cloud of black mist, even extending new chains to wrap around his waist and arms.
Arthas sneered, raising Frostmourne high. All the newly gathered soul power erupted, and sharp chains flew like lightning from the surrounding undead corpses, effortlessly piercing the Dreadlords' wings.
"Roar!"
Mal'Ganis let out a painful roar. His eyes were bloodshot, and blood still stained the corners of his mouth. He simply couldn't believe that he, who was skilled in using necromancy, had been ambushed by Arthas using the corpses of these low-level cannon fodder!
The remnants of those undead were the eruption points for the shadow chains. Their tormented, restless souls, under Arthas's manipulation, surged forth to seek revenge on their tormentor!
"Did... Ner'zhul teach you this?!"
Mal'Ganis realized that he and the other Nathrezim had all been deceived by that prisoner-like Lich King!
"You can ponder that question slowly inside Frostmourne."
Arthas held Frostmourne diagonally, gripping the hilt in reverse, and thrust it forward. The blade pierced through Mal'Ganis's chest without any resistance.
Mal'Ganis showed a disdainful smile. Although the prince had defeated him, he didn't know that weapons forged by the Nathrezim could not harm... Wait!
The Dreadlords let out a pained shriek. He discovered with horror that his soul was being greedily torn and absorbed by the runeblade. His filthy soul was a prime delicacy in the eyes of Frostmourne!
Like the souls of saints, the wicked souls of the fallen were also a feast for Frostmourne.
Mal'Ganis's eyes were about to burst. If this continued, not only would he fail to feign death and escape, he wouldn't even have the chance to return to the Twisting Nether to resurrect; his soul would become nourishment for Frostmourne!
"No, impossible... It shouldn't be like this, this sword, no--!!!"
Accompanied by a shrill scream, Mal'Ganis's body went limp, his bat wings drooped powerlessly, and his already pale skin became even more ghastly, like a statue that had lost all life.
Without the support of his soul, his physical body became extremely fragile. Coupled with the physical planet's repulsion of demons, a part of Mal'Ganis's body began to rapidly turn to dust, dissipating into the Northrend winds.
Until his death, Mal'Ganis never understood why Arthas knew how to utilize the power of death, capable of unleashing all of Frostmourne's characteristics; why the demon blade, which couldn't harm the Nathrezim, could turn against its own creators.
His plan to use Arthas to feign death had fallen through. Mal'Ganis, the soul of the mastermind who tried to guide Arthas onto the path of corruption, would be forever imprisoned within Frostmourne, suffering torment and plunder.
Arthas used a trace of deathly aura to preserve Mal'Ganis's head, throwing it into his spatial pouch. He then walked to the warhammer, gripped its handle with one hand, and Holy Light shone forth, purifying everything around him.
Under the impact of the Holy Light, the tall ziggurat soon began to crumble, bits of rubble and crystal fragments peeling off. Arthas turned without the slightest hesitation, whistling as if summoning something.
A hollow neighing echoed across the ice plains, seemingly responding to Arthas's call, as a skeletal warhorse burning with blue soul flames galloped out from a mist.
Its body solidified from ethereal to solid, leaving behind long-burning blue flame imprints on the ground. Arthas caressed the skeletal horse's head that leaned against him, "Long time no see, Invincible."
Invincible snorted softly again, responding to its master's words.
"Your form is even more perfect. Let's go, let's retrieve something that rightfully belongs to us."
Arthas put Frostmourne back at his waist, swung onto Invincible, and took hold of its reins. Without needing further instruction, the warhorse reared its front hooves high and galloped with its master further north into Northrend.