"Where is this place?"
Sassarian led his warhorse, walking through the ruins of the necropolis, the scattered armor and weapons around indicating that a great battle had once taken place here.
The green glow he saw last night came from the necropolis crystals scattered in the snow, but now, apart from rubble and snow, there was nothing here.
Other than signs of Undead activity, Sassarian found nothing useful.
But he did not give up immediately; instead, he chose to continue searching through this pile of rubble for a while longer, hoping to find useful clues.
Just as Sassarian was searching through the ruins, his warhorse suddenly began to pace restlessly, snorting repeatedly.
Noticing his warhorse's unusual behavior, Sassarian immediately stood up from the rubble, drew the longsword from his waist, glanced around, and picked up a relatively intact shield from the ground.
"Hey—hey! Quiet down!"
Sassarian tried to calm his warhorse; although he did not know why it was acting so strangely as if it had sensed danger, whether it was a wild beast or the Undead, its restlessness would eventually attract danger.
But no matter how Sassarian tried, the warhorse became more and more agitated, its tail twitching rapidly, and its front hooves pawing incessantly at the snow.
This made Sassarian realize that the crisis might not be underestimated; this was a warhorse specifically bred by the Lordaeron First Legion, and ordinary beasts would not make it so afraid.
Moreover, there were signs of Undead activity at this camp, and Sassarian felt that there should not be any wild beasts nearby… which meant…
"Are you looking for me, worm?"
A huge shadow enveloped Sassarian, and a profoundly ominous and familiar feeling immediately arose in his heart—this seemed to be the shadow cast by the wings of some creature.
"!"
Without the slightest hesitation, Sassarian had no intention of staying; he quickly swung onto his horse and, without looking, pulled out a Dwarf pistol from his waist and fired a shot behind him.
"Bang—ding!"
First, there was a muffled gunshot, followed by the sound of the projectile striking runic armor.
The Dreadlords stood among the ruins of the Undead camp, watching Sassarian gallop away on his horse, with no intention of pursuing him.
"This human is too weak… not the one who destroyed this base."
The Dreadlords flexed his claw-like fingers, raised his arms, and intended to summon the surrounding spirits with magic to see what exactly had happened here.
But this spell did not summon any souls, and the Dreadlords's expression showed a hint of confusion—he was not a demon as skilled in necromancy as Mal'Ganis.
However, he still knew that his magic had failed to find any usable souls, and he could not understand what had happened here through this method.
"Mal'Ganis's soul is also gone… did he feign death and escape, or was he banished from Azeroth?"
The Dreadlords pondered Mal'Ganis's whereabouts, but he did not feel sad about his companion's fate; instead, he was somewhat gloating.
It would be fine if Mal'Ganis had feigned death, but if his body was destroyed and his soul banished back to the Twisting Nether, his fate would definitely not be pleasant; the Legion Lord would not tolerate repeated failures.
This Dreadlords, named Detheroc, who came to find Mal'Ganis's whereabouts, was originally responsible for monitoring the Undead Scourge's activities in Northrend, but Mal'Ganis suddenly lost contact with them yesterday.
Their leader, Tichondrius, the Dreadlords's leader, was currently in the Eastern Kingdoms plotting something that could summon the Legion, so he was too busy to deal with Mal'Ganis and sent Detheroc to investigate.
Tichondrius did not care whether Mal'Ganis was alive or dead; he merely told Detheroc to find out what had happened, and if it was a powerful enemy, to temporarily avoid their strength.
Their primary mission was to help the Burning Legion invade Azeroth; if they failed, even if their souls could escape back to the Twisting Nether, the Legion would not show mercy to failures.
Detheroc found Mal'Ganis's disappearance extremely strange, and the last place he appeared did not even leave a remnant soul, which made the suspicious Dreadlords frown.
Although he still did not know exactly what had happened, Detheroc believed that it was highly likely that Mal'Ganis, that fool, had gotten himself killed—he relied too much on his useless necromantic spells.
'I need to go back and warn them… Mal'Ganis's death might be related to the powerful individuals still remaining in this world.'
Detheroc then thought of the human investigating here: a mortal appearing on the Northrend ice plains was strange in itself.
'Perhaps I can get some information from him…'
With a flap of his wings, Detheroc soared into the sky, the strong wind pressure scattering the surrounding snow, revealing a fragment of runic armor stuck beneath a large piece of rubble, unnoticed by both Sassarian and Detheroc.
The magic runes on it had long been completely destroyed by the Holy Light, and the armor itself was smashed to pieces, which prevented Detheroc from noticing anything unusual.
Sassarian galloped wildly on his warhorse, his heart filled with doubt and alarm: Mal'Ganis was still alive? Prince Arthas might be in danger?!
The young warrior, in his haste, failed to distinguish between the Dreadlords; he mistook Detheroc for the deceased Mal'Ganis.
Knowing that he was no match for the Dreadlords, he was puzzled as to why he had been let go again, but what Sassarian had to consider now was whether he should return to inform Brann and the First Legion, or continue to follow Arthas's footsteps.
After an intense internal struggle, Sassarian clenched his fist, the leather side of his gauntlet rubbing and making a sound.
'I can't do it alone… I must inform everyone of the situation here.'
Finally, he made his decision; now that he had a clue, if he could not relay the message to everyone, his life or death would be meaningless.
He was not here to play the hero but to repay Arthas; if he had the chance to fight alongside the Prince Arthas, even if he died on the battlefield, he would be willing.
But now, if he continued deeper, it would most likely be a futile death; only by mobilizing the First Legion's garrison could he possibly find Arthas's exact whereabouts and provide useful assistance.
After clarifying this issue, Sassarian immediately spurred his horse towards the edge of the snowfield; he had to return to Howling Fjord to inform the troops there and tell them that the Prince Arthas was now very likely in danger.
However, what Sassarian did not know was that in the sky above him, a pair of evil eyes were watching his every move.