"Time has made the Vrykul forget what honor and bloodlust are," the tall golden Guardian said, seated on his throne, his voice echoing like thunder throughout the hall.
However, the golden Guardian's words were filled with anger, and the magnificent hall trembled under his wrath.
The surrounding Valarjar warriors remained silent, for they knew not what to say or do to appease Odin's fury.
That's right, the mighty Guardian seated high on the throne was Odin, the master of the Halls of Valor, one of the oldest and most powerful beings in Azeroth, and the chief administrator appointed by the Titans.
However, this Guardian could only sit idly in the Halls of Valor, unable to interfere with mortal affairs.
He had witnessed the Burning Legion's invasion and destruction, yet he could not personally step forward to stop the Legion's atrocities because, tens of thousands of years ago, a single mistake led to the Halls of Valor and himself being sealed within another dimension in the sky above Stormheim.
Aside from dispatching the Valarjar as his eyes and ears, Odin could not personally descend to the mortal realm. Thus, when he witnessed the Vrykul being misled by the Legion, doing things that shamed their ancestors, Odin's anger made the entire Halls of Valor tremble.
He was no benevolent deity; he was a Guardian created by the Titans. A mere glimpse of his power and authority was enough for mortals to worship and recount as myth.
To compensate for the Titan-forged corrupted by the Flesh Curse, Odin used his power to forge this magnificent hall beneath his feet, bringing the brave warriors who died in battle into the Halls of Valor to enjoy fine wine and food together, their glory celebrated as great deeds.
And now, there was a Vrykul clan in Stormheim that had abandoned the oaths left by their ancestors, bowing to the Burning Legion, begging for greater fel power, and even attempting to challenge Odin's position.
How could this Guardian not be enraged?
But for now, he had no other recourse than to stew in his anger within the Halls of Valor. Although he could send a small number of Valarjar warriors to the mortal realm, doing so would merely send them to their deaths at the hands of the Burning Legion.
Just as Odin was raging, his two ravens flew to his throne. They chattered for a while in the ears of the proud administrator as if speaking, and Odin's anger consequently subsided.
He waved his large hand, and his sole remaining eye seemed to pierce through the clouds of the sky, landing directly on the ground. A clear image slowly materialized before him.
Upon seeing the face in the image, a face polluted by disgusting fel, Odin felt an unprovoked rage ignite within him. "Skovald! That coward! Look what he has done!"
After receiving the power of fel, Skovald was not foolish enough to directly confront Odin. To enter the Halls of Valor and seize the aegis of aggramar from Odin's grasp, he chose to undergo Odin's trial.
This was Odin's past promise, and a vow he could not break. As a Guardian possessing the power of a Titan, Odin was indistinguishable from a true god on Azeroth, but the promises he made using his authority could not be easily violated. Moreover, the prideful Odin would not do something that would make him lose face.
Therefore, he could only watch as this fallen one, who had gained the power of fel, continuously completed the trials he had set, earning the right to enter the Halls of Valor.
What he was seeing now was Skovald entering the Guardian's crypt to complete the first trial. To say he was completing the trial, he was actually using fel to directly destroy the Guardian of the trial.
As Odin watched Skovald brazenly complete the first trial and swagger out of the crypt, his metallic face almost twisted into a knot.
However, Odin's anger did not last long. In the scene before him, a figure much smaller than Skovald appeared, standing in front of Skovald, blocking his path.
A human?
Odin was momentarily stunned. Although he was exiled beyond the sky, it did not mean he was unaware of events in the mortal realm; he certainly knew of the human race.
However, compared to their Vrykul ancestors, while humans were not without brave warriors possessing a martial spirit, their largely cunning nature made Odin dislike this nascent race.
Thus, there were almost no souls other than Vrykul in the Halls of Valor. But the recent Battle of the Broken Shore made Odin realize that, besides the Vrykul, there were many warriors with noble beliefs in this world, and he was considering whether to incorporate these individuals into the ranks of the Valarjar.
However, the human he saw gave him a very strange illusion, as if he were seeing an iron Vrykul warrior, or perhaps... one of his colleagues?
As soon as this thought arose, Odin dismissed it, for he knew that his colleagues in Ulduar were still dealing with the aftermath of Yogg-Saron's death, and simply didn't have the energy or time to deal with a character like Skovald.
Here, Odin was disturbed by his own confusion, while in the image, Skovald looked down at the 'small' human before him with great disdain. "Mortal, if you move aside now, I will spare your insignificant life. I'm not interested in playing games with you right now."
The power Skovald gained was not without cost. He had to quickly help the Burning Legion acquire the aegis of aggramar so he could begin his endless journey of conquest.
He didn't want to waste time on a human. In his eyes, these weak creatures didn't even evoke a desire for conquest.
However, the human before him seemed not to have heard his words. He merely silently drew a greatsword glowing with Holy Light, the crystal on its blade humming softly.
When Skovald saw this sword, his previously contemptuous expression vanished instantly, replaced by extreme solemnity. "Ashbringer?"
After he joined the Burning Legion, the Orc Warlock named Gul'dan had mentioned the name of this sword more than once, his tone filled with unconcealed hatred and loathing.
Thinking of this, Skovald slowly revealed a bloodthirsty and joyful smile. This sword and the knight who wielded it had caused the Burning Legion considerable trouble, and this fellow now appeared before him. This was truly an excellent opportunity.
He knew that to elevate his status within the Burning Legion, he needed more leverage. And if he could obtain the Ashbringer and the head of this fellow today, his status would quickly rise; at least he wouldn't have to obey the orders of that Warlock who had been defeated by the Ashbringer.
Skovald casually tossed the Guardian's head he held in his hand onto the ground beside him. He had already extracted what he wanted; that stone Guardian was of no value to him anymore.
"Human, I will grant you a swift and sweet death," Skovald said, gripping his greatsword, which blazed with roaring fel flames. A mere sweep of the high-temperature fel flames left scorch marks on the ground.
Arthas, gripping the Ashbringer, remained motionless, merely staring at Skovald, as if waiting for something.
At this moment, a low horn sound echoed from the mountains behind Skovald. The Drek'thar clan, who were scavenging for treasures left by the Guardians in the Guardian ruins, surged out of the rubble, surrounding Skovald and Arthas.
"You defeated that Orc Warlock I disliked very much, so I'll give you a chance: duel me, how about it?"
Skovald, gripping his fel-blazing greatsword, took two steps forward, exuding an extremely dangerous aura. Even the most ferocious beast, when targeted by his gaze, would tuck its tail and flee.
However, Arthas slowly raised his head, his hood sliding back, his golden hair blown by the breeze of Stormheim. His arm slowly lifted, and the light of the Ashbringer gradually intensified.
Skovald felt both the anger of being ignored and a sensation as if a thousand swords were pointed at every part of his body. That sharp threat of death caused the "God-King's" body to involuntarily react.
The greatsword, larger than Arthas himself, descended with terrifying force. This sword strike was much faster than Arthas's movement, and the diagonally cleaving blade seemed destined to effortlessly split Arthas apart.
However, when the blade landed on Arthas, Skovald was momentarily stunned. He felt as if he had struck not a human body, but an iron pillar in the Halls of Valor.
The fel flames easily burned away Arthas's cloak and clothing on his right shoulder, but neither the sharp blade nor the burning fel flames left even a trace on Arthas's body.
Skovald's heart pounded, and he immediately tried to pull back his greatsword, but Arthas's other hand firmly pressed down on Skovald's weapon, and a struggle of strength began.
Arthas, much smaller than Skovald, should have had no advantage, yet the scene presented to everyone was Skovald seemingly trying to pull his weapon from a dragon's claw, creating a strange sense of eeriness.
With one hand restraining Skovald, Arthas effortlessly raised the Ashbringer and swung a seemingly casual strike towards Skovald. Feeling the danger, Skovald immediately relinquished control of his greatsword and instead pushed forward forcefully, using the recoil to quickly disengage.
At the same time, the blade of the Ashbringer descended precisely, Holy Light tracing a perfect arc in the air. That line of light hovered in the air until it suddenly exploded, golden flames erupting along the curved golden line.
Skovald's left abdomen simultaneously burst with golden Holy Light. He clutched his abdomen, his fel-enhanced flesh frantically resisting the Holy Light. The agony of his flesh constantly burning and regenerating made his face extremely distorted.
"Charge, kill this human!"
At this moment, he also understood that this was no longer a time for fair duels. The human before him possessed strength far exceeding his own, which filled him with immense jealousy and resentment: he had paid a huge price to join the Burning Legion and acquire unimaginable power, and now this dream was shattered by a human!
Arthas's left hand squeezed, his fingers directly piercing Skovald's greatsword. The burning fel flames seemed to have no effect on him whatsoever. He simply held the greatsword upside down, and a massive amount of Holy Light surged forth, continuously pouring into this fel weapon.
As the Drek'thar Vrykul brandished their weapons and closed in on Arthas, the Holy Light and fel within the fel weapon reacted violently. The weapon could no longer withstand such abuse and exploded in Arthas's hand like a bomb.
The flying metal fragments unleashed an indiscriminate shower of shrapnel on the surrounding Vrykul. The metal shards, imbued with Holy Light and fel, carried by immense kinetic energy, effortlessly pierced through the Vrykul's skin, muscles, and internal organs. Some unlucky ones closer to Arthas were struck by several fragments directly in the face, falling backward to the ground, screaming in agony.
This encounter caused the Vrykul's movements to hesitate. They stood in place, looking at each other, gripping their weapons but not daring to take another step forward.
The golden light in Arthas's left hand gradually faded. He lowered his left arm, gripping the hilt of the Ashbringer with both hands. After a brief calm, scorching Holy Light instantly erupted, causing the Vrykul to involuntarily cover their eyes. Some who looked directly at Arthas were blinded.
Blinding and burning plunged a large number of Vrykul into chaos. They shoved each other, many falling to the ground, mercilessly trampled by their comrades, and even injured or stabbed by fallen weapons.
Skovald's fel allowed him to avoid the Holy Light's blinding effect. In this chaos, he disregarded his injuries and immediately wanted to leave, to get away from this ridiculously powerful human. But before he could take a step, a merciless iron hand grabbed his cloak.
The God-King picked up an iron hammer lying on the ground and swung it at Arthas's face. Arthas ducked, lowering his center of gravity, and with a swift pull, his enhanced strength made it impossible for Skovald to resist, and he was easily flung to the ground.
And then, what appeared in his vision was a greatsword shining with Holy Light.
And then there was no then. The scene Odin could see ended there. After his power dissipated, he sat somewhat blankly on his throne, gazing absently at the void before him.
"Great Odin?"
It was not until the call of a Valarjar that the chief administrator recovered from his shock. Having personally witnessed Skovald's defeat, he felt immense satisfaction, followed by curiosity and admiration for the warrior wielding the Holy Light greatsword.
"Astonishing power. Such a hero, I should invite him to the Halls of Valor as a guest." Odin looked at the Valarjar warrior beside him. "You few, find this warrior and bring him before me!"
Arthas tore off Skovald's cloak and wiped the demonic blood from the Ashbringer, which was instantly purified by the Holy Light.
Around him lay layers upon layers of dead Vrykul from the fel-Touched Clan; of course, not all fel-Touched Vrykul were here. Some, terrified by Arthas's ruthless slaughter, abandoned their kin and Skovald and fled.
Casually thrusting the Ashbringer into the ground, Arthas sat down where he was, a massive head placed before him—it was the head of the God-King Skovald.
The God-King's face showed clear astonishment and disbelief; he had never anticipated such an end before achieving his goals.
fel did not save his life; instead, it accelerated his demise.
As for the God-King's other thoughts before his death, no one would ever know them. Perhaps Arthas could have found answers by enslaving his soul, but he had no interest or energy for such a tedious task.
Ymiron, the Crypt Guardian, who had been defeated by Skovald and was reduced to just a head, looked at Arthas with some trepidation, not because of Arthas's ruthless attacks and cruel methods against his enemies, but because he felt an oppressive aura of a superior being emanating from Arthas.
Ymiron cautiously asked Arthas, "Stranger, are you also here to complete the trial?"
Trial?
Arthas pondered for a moment before remembering that Skovald had come here solely to complete the trial left by Odin, intending to acquire the aegis of aggramar through "legitimate" means.
However, his methods were far from "legitimate"; he had deceived the Vrykul elders, destroyed the Guardian responsible for the trial, and even planned to enslave the souls of ancient kings to force them to agree to his completion of the trial.
Although every step followed the rules set by Odin, every step also undeniably used means outside of those rules.
But Arthas had no interest in this trial; he wasn't here to obtain the aegis of aggramar. Such trials could be left to the champions dispatched by Dalaran. He was merely here to complete his hunt.
Indeed, the corrupted Skovald was no different from a great demon of the Burning Legion. Since soul power was needed anyway, these Vrykul and Skovald were excellent bait.
The reason he sat there was also to wait for Frostmourne to finish devouring the souls of these fel-Touched Vrykul, not because he had some morbid taste.
As for the Guardian's ruined body beside him… Arthas waved his hand, and several Vrykul corpses, long dead, shakily stood up. However, their hollow, murky eyes and stiff movements indicated they were no longer alive.
At Arthas's command, they retrieved Ymiron's various body parts and helped him reassemble himself. After completing all this, the Vrykul returned to their corpse-like state, collapsing to the ground.
After all that was done, Frostmourne's devouring work was also nearly complete. It had to be said that Vrykul souls were excellent nourishment; these souls, gathered together, were even more potent than the souls of Balnazzar and Detheroc previously absorbed.
Having finished his work, Arthas pulled out the Ashbringer and was about to leave, carrying Skovald's head, when Ymiron said, "Stranger, you can wait here for a moment."
"Hmm?" Arthas stopped, turning to look at Ymiron. "You know what I'm going to do?"
"Since you are not here for the aegis of aggramar, and you took Skovald's head and killed these corrupted ones, then your purpose can only be one."
Ymiron's tone was quite respectful, "Please wait here for a moment. The Administrator's messenger should arrive very soon."
No sooner had the stone Guardian finished speaking than several golden pillars of light descended from the sky. The intense impact caused the ground to tremble uncontrollably, and several Vrykul in golden armor emerged from the light pillars.
They gestured for Arthas to follow, and Arthas, carrying Skovald's head, walked into the pillar of light. After his figure was enveloped by the light, the Valarjar also returned to the light pillar, and as the light pillar retracted into the sky, their figures vanished.
Ymiron gazed at the blue sky, as if nothing had happened. After a long while, he commanded the other constructs in the crypt to dispose of the nearly mountainous pile of Vrykul corpses at the entrance.
The golden light brought Arthas to the Halls of Valor beyond the firmament, Odin's palace, and the eternal paradise of the Valarjar.
As he stepped out of the pillar of light, Arthas saw the towering giant standing before him.
He welcomed Arthas's arrival with a voice like thunder, "Welcome, Arthas."
"It is a pleasure to meet the Chief Administrator of Azeroth, the great Odin." Arthas threw Skovald's head to the ground. "It's our first meeting, and I haven't brought anything proper, so I can only offer the head of this corrupted one as a gift."
Odin looked at Skovald's head, his heart filled with an unstoppable joy. His remaining single eye gleamed, "Hahaha, though I have but one eye, I can still distinguish between heroes and cowards! Go! Decorate Skovald's head on the wall!"
Several Valarjar departed with Skovald's head, while Odin personally led Arthas towards the central hall of the Halls of Valor. "You brought me the head of a traitor and, incidentally, dealt with those cowardly corrupted ones. I will do my best to fulfill your requests."
"Respected Great Administrator, you don't seem surprised by my arrival."
Odin laughed a few times, then shook his head, "I once warned my brothers and colleagues that entrusting the power of the Titans to the native creatures on Azeroth was unreliable, and indeed, it has proven true. Although they accepted the power of the Guardians, they always create huge messes."
Although Odin no longer interfered with mortal affairs after the Guardian Dragons took over the duty of guarding Azeroth, he still witnessed firsthand how those Guardian Dragons caused all sorts of problems.
Odin's philosophy and actions might be rigid, but he still strongly disagreed with his brothers' methods. "Look at those five Guardian Dragons; Azeroth's suffering is, to some extent, linked to them. Their possession of power has, ironically, brought great trouble to Azeroth."
Odin's words indeed held some truth: a corrupted Earth Guardian, a confused Timelord, a mad Spellweaver, a captured Life-Binder of hot weapons, and... a Sleeper who was perpetually half-asleep and frequently messed with by Savis and the Old Gods.
The five Guardian Dragons certainly couldn't satisfy Odin in fulfilling their duties, which made the Guardian feel that even if his actions were somewhat extreme and prejudiced, he still found these dragons unreliable.
"The Guardian power granted to them back then dissipated after Neltharion was dealt with," Odin returned to his seat in the hall, having someone bring a chair for Arthas. "But, that merely solved the mess they themselves created."
"And Loken, that fool, he clearly knew what kind of dark existence he was guarding, yet he was still so careless."
Odin shook his head, sighing uncontrollably when he spoke of his colleagues in Ulduar.
He had witnessed Tyr's escape and death in battle but was unable to do anything to save the life of that Guardian of order, because he himself had been banished by the schemes of Loken and Helya, making him unable to interfere with matters on Azeroth.
When he mentioned Tyr, he seemed a bit forlorn: the brave warrior who had once defeated Ragnaros the Firelord with him had ultimately died due to the treachery of his most trusted colleague.
"Seeing you and your Light reminds me of an old friend," Odin looked at Arthas. "The Silver Hand no longer exists in this world, but I hope you can make it flourish in your world.
Alright, I've said so much, now tell me what reward you desire. Skovald is not an easy opponent—though it seems he was no match for you at all."
"I want to find a way to strengthen my weapon."
Arthas took out Ashbringer, and with Odin's guidance, the divine sword was pulled by an invisible force to stand before Odin.
"This familiar technique, it must be the descendants of the Earthen who forged this weapon," Odin examined Ashbringer. With his vast knowledge, he naturally recognized this weapon, but he still needed to observe it carefully to research more detailed aspects. "The skill of the forge master is superb, almost fully utilizing the potential of these metals, but it's still far from reaching the limit of this crystal."
Odin returned Ashbringer to Arthas's hand. "To further strengthen this sword, it is both difficult and simple. As long as you find suitable metal and reforge this sword, the power of that crystal will be re-ignited.
Reforging is not difficult; I can even reinforce it with my Titan runic knowledge. But finding suitable metal is a troublesome matter.
Quenching, Titansteel, these most precious and powerful metals on Azeroth, are not very suitable for the power of the Naru core. If these metals were used, the effect might not even be better than the current Light-infused metal that has been soaked in Light for more than ten years."
The Great Guardian shook his head. "I'm truly sorry, there's almost no way to further improve this weapon on Azeroth—however, if you can find a Naru, perhaps they can provide you with the right idea."
Arthas retrieved Ashbringer. This outcome was not far from what he had expected, as Ashbringer's advancement indeed relied on the accumulation of Light. However, the metal used at the time had now become a limitation.
However, Ashbringer was only borrowed, and if he really couldn't find a method, he would simply return it to Fording. When the Lightforged, where Turalyon and Alleria were, reunited with the Azeroth Allied Forces, they might be able to find a way to strengthen this sword.
Thinking of this, Arthas pondered for a moment. "I have another weapon."
Odin nodded slightly. He hadn't been able to help Arthas much just now. "Go ahead and bring it out. I will answer your doubts."
With a wave of Arthas's hand, Frostmourne, located in the gap between the Shadowlands and the real plane, suddenly appeared in the hall. The appearance of the runeblade changed the expressions of the surrounding Valarjar spirits somewhat; they all stared at the runeblade with wary eyes.
Odin, however, was not surprised. He rested his chin, looking at the runeblade floating in the center of the hall, exhaling soul power as if breathing. "Frostmourne... very well, telling you a few things about this sword is no big deal."
At this point, Odin stood up and sealed the hall with the Guardian's power. A strange note entered his voice. "This sword... if you want to strengthen it, you might have to go to Icecrown Citadel. That is the first step to strengthening this sword."
"Icecrown Citadel? You mean, the fragments of Frostmourne?" Arthas asked. Besides the remaining Scourge forces, the only valuable things in Icecrown Citadel now were probably the fragments of Frostmourne scattered throughout Icecrown Citadel.
When Tirion shattered Frostmourne with Ashbringer, the violent collision of Light and death energy caused the fragments of Frostmourne to scatter. Aside from a portion that shattered at the top of the Frozen Throne, many fragments fell into the lower levels of the citadel.
"Your comprehension is very high, and it seems you are indeed very suitable for this path," Odin raised a hand and stroked his hollow eye socket. "But young man, I must warn you, this path is very perilous. My current predicament, and the future mist of the world, are all inextricably linked to death."
As he spoke these words, Odin's voice clearly carried doubt and unease, as if he recalled something terrifying—it was unknown what kind of dreadful sight could make even this Titan Guardian, who had faced Ragnaros's flames, feel lingering fear.
Odin seemed to be lost in thought. "I once traded an eye with the existence that governs death for the truth of the Shadowlands, and that was the first time in my long life that I felt what fear was—everything in the world has an end, there is no truly immortal existence, and even the universe itself will die."
It seemed that Odin's encounter when acquiring the power of death left a very deep impression on him; this Guardian had seen terrifying scenes he had never imagined.
He shook his head and walked around to one side of Frostmourne. "The Shadowlands is a very peculiar and strange place. It is not where the souls of Azeroth go, but the final destination for all life in the entire universe. Countless planets, countless galaxies, perhaps even our Father God will go there after death."
"And this sword was also born in that realm, that realm of death—Arthas, do you know that this sword was actually not forged by the Dreadlords at all? They merely played a small trick on Frostmourne.
The true forge master of this sword is in the Shadowlands. He is a master of runes and forging, who crafts weapons from the undead that make the living tremble."