"Danath is still alive—?!"
Thoras sprang up like a coiled spring, but then quickly denied his own possibility.
"No… impossible. More than ten years have passed. If Danath were still alive, he would have, he would have returned by now…"
Thoras slumped back onto his throne. He had once placed infinite hopes on his nephew, but after Danath resolutely joined the Alliance Expeditionary Force and ventured deep into enemy territory, there had been no news of him since.
Everyone revered and commemorated the members of the Alliance Expeditionary Force as heroes, and they also knew that in the enemy's world, lacking supplies and isolated, the Alliance Expeditionary Force was undoubtedly in grave danger.
In the first year, Thoras still hoped his nephew would return victorious, but when the Dark Portal suddenly and inexplicably closed, all hope turned into despair.
The Alliance lost countless brave warriors and heroes, and Thoras also lost a loved one.
When Danath embarked on the expedition to Draenor, Galen was still a youth. Unexpectedly, more than ten years later, Galen had fallen so far as to want to take this old man's life…
Thoras looked at the unconscious Galen, his heart filled with mixed emotions. He didn't know why his son was so eager for the throne of Stromgarde, leading to such a grave mistake.
He also knew that Galen could no longer be the heir to Stromgarde. Otherwise, after Thoras's death, Arthas would certainly not tolerate such a rebellious presence.
The current Arthas respected Thoras's status, still calling him uncle, treating Thoras as a peer and friend of his own father. But if Thoras still wanted Galen as Crown Prince, he might no longer be worthy of that title of uncle.
"The Dark Portal suddenly closed for some reason, which is a well-known fact. But this does not mean that all members of the Alliance Expeditionary Force perished in Draenor.
It should be said that we have indeed failed them, because we made them endure and wait for over a decade in that shattered, wild world. They have watched over us for so long. Now, it's our turn to bring them home."
Arthas sincerely spoke of the situation on the other side of the Dark Portal. "Uncle Thoras, I implore you to join the Alliance again. This is not about ambition or power, but because we need to unite every ounce of strength to face future crises and difficulties.
You must have heard of the great war in Kalimdor. The Alliance and the ancient Night Elves paid a considerable price to resist the Burning Legion, but our enemies will not cease their schemes because of our weakness."
"Is your information definitely accurate?"
Thoras was silent for a long time, ultimately unable to let go of Danath, who had ventured to Draenor. "Have you thought this through? If the Dark Portal opens and the enemy invades our world again, not only will all of Danath's efforts be in vain, but you will also bear the infamy."
"Uncle Thoras, what if I told you that even if we don't open the Dark Portal, one day in the future, the Burning Legion will reopen this astral portal anyway? Their true purpose is to destroy Azeroth, and the orcs are merely pawns and pitiful creatures misled by demons."
Arthas paused for half a second, then solemnly said to Thoras, "Moreover, as long as there is hope, we must never give up."
"Hope…"
Thoras repeated the word, like a child learning it for the first time, trying to grasp its meaning.
The elderly King shook his head, smiling bitterly, "Can people like us actually believe in hope?"
"It has never left. Otherwise, you wouldn't have led your army on a thousand-mile surprise attack on the Orc forces in Alterac, and there would be no Alliance today. Human civilization would have been reduced to ashes more than ten years ago, leaving only ruins.
At that time, what role did you play?"
Arthas's words made Thoras recall how, more than a decade ago, he led the Stromgarde army to complete a seemingly impossible mission… What was it that drove him then?
Was it responsibility, dignity, or honor?
No, it seemed to be none of those. What united the Alliance and made them fight to the death against the orcs in Alterac and Lordaeron was the instinct for survival.
And the role Thoras played was the hope that pulled the Alliance members out of despair.
The old King took a deep breath. He had long since stopped believing in hope. He didn't know when, perhaps during those days when Stromgarde seemed to decline day by day?
"Arthas… I am no longer the King Thoras Trollbane of fifteen years ago. What stands before you now is merely an old man who has lost his dearest loved ones and is all alone."
Thoras held up his ancestral holy sword, tocaral. This longsword, which had drunk the blood of countless Trolls and enemies, seemed unaffected by time. Its gleaming blade clearly reflected Thoras's aged face.
The wrinkles carved by time were unerasable scars. His pale hair made Thoras realize that he was no longer the King Thoras Trollbane who struck fear into his enemies.
How many more years could he wield a sword? How much more could he do for Stromgarde?
He was indeed old, so old that his eyes were dim, unable even to discern the darkness and evil buried deep within his own son, so old that he was weary of ridiculous power games, neglecting the tribulations his kingdom was enduring.
—Ancestors, please heed my question, does Stromgarde still have a future?
The souls of human ancestors, of course, could not answer Thoras's question. Much of their heritage was severed during the cataclysm. After thousands of years, human civilization and customs had become vastly different from the Vrykul.
Silence and emptiness were the only answers Thoras could receive.
Arthas did not rush to speak. He knew that Thoras was facing his greatest inner demon. If he denied this doubt, it would mean that Thoras had wasted the past decade or more, and clearly, the proud King of Stromgarde could not accept this.
Except for Lordaeron and Gilneas further north, the human kingdoms had suffered far more blows and traumas in these past decades than in the thousands of years after the Troll Wars. If Thoras could not confront his own actions, Arthas could not help him either.
"Clang—!"
Thoras suddenly plunged tocaral into the solid steps of the throne. He gripped the hilt, leaning forward. "Three thousand years ago, our first Emperor united the human tribes, wresting the land we depend on for survival from the hands of the Trolls.
Three thousand years have passed. Humans abandoned their former capital, Stromgarde, and established more prosperous kingdoms in the north. But Trollbane did not abandon Stromgarde, because we have always firmly believed that Stromgarde will always be where the first flame of human civilization burned.
We have no reason, nor should we, abandon the ancestral home of our forefathers. Therefore, after the bloodline of Emperor Thoradin completely died out, my ancestor took on the heavy burden of Stromgarde.
Arathi is not as prosperous as Lordaeron, nor does Kul Tiras have advanced navigation and commercial trade, but the spirit of Stromgarde has never been extinguished, nor should it lose its meaning in my hands."
Thoras sat up straight, his aged face filled with solemn dignity. "Galen is no longer a member of Trollbane. He will be forever banished from our sacred capital. The holy land of humanity should not be inherited by those with ill intent.
And I will use the remainder of my life to atone for the sins of my former son, until Danath returns to take over this heavy throne."
Thoras stared at Arthas. This time, there was no longer any hesitation or doubt in his eyes. "Glory belongs to humanity, Arthas. Stromgarde will be with you."
…
Galen was driven out of Stromgarde. His injuries had been mostly healed by the priests, but the facial trauma was too severe, and the bandages wrapped around his face could not yet be removed.
The sudden blow and the capriciousness of fate caused mental and psychological issues for this once ambitious prince. After the priest stated that he was not faking it, Thoras still impartially drove him out of Stromgarde.
As a father, Thoras's final grace to Galen was a horse, a sword, and ten days' rations. He was too disappointed in his son. The Trollbane surname would not tolerate being sullied by Galen's degenerate actions.
Not beheading him for treason in public was already the greatest dignity Thoras could afford him.
After regaining consciousness, the deranged Galen had lost all memory of his identity and the attempt to murder Thoras. From the moment he was expelled from the royal palace, he was no longer a prince of Stromgarde, but a man burdened by sin.
Galen did not know where his fate would lead. He simply rode out of Stromgarde, bewildered, and wandered into the Arathi Highlands.
In fact, given his physique, even if he found a farm and settled down as a farmer or lumberjack, he could live out the rest of his life without worrying about food and drink. But Galen didn't know why he was so resistant to these tasks. He consistently refused to find work, instead continuously wandering the Arathi Highlands.
The bandages on his face remained, and he bore no Trollbane insignia. Travelers and pedestrians in Arathi avoided this bandaged "stranger," fearing he might harm them.
Galen continued to wander the highlands until the last of the food Thoras had given him was eaten.
Even so, Galen still refused to seek work to make a living. Instead, guided by vague memories, he headed northeast towards the Troll-infested areas.
No one knew why Galen would do this, but a human entering Troll territory alone was no different from seeking death.
Soon, Troll scouts discovered this aimless wanderer. They naturally regarded Galen and his mount as their dinner for the day.
Spears and stone axes flew from all directions. Galen's lifelong combat instincts saved his life. He clumsily tumbled off his warhorse, using the horse's large body as cover, dodging the first wave of attacks.
However, this was merely a temporary reprieve. Without his mount, Galen had no chance of escaping the Trolls' pursuit on foot.
But even with his impaired mind, Galen did not flee. He wiped the horse's blood from his face and calmly drew the longsword slung across the horse's body.
—He was insane, having suffered too great a blow and lost part of his memory, but his combat skills and abilities had not been forgotten.
Perhaps this prince, in his subconscious, sought a "glorious death" rather than living out his life as a vagrant or a lifelong laborer in Arathi.
This subconscious drive led him to Troll territory, seeking to die in battle against the Trolls.
If Galen still had a clear mind, he would certainly be shocked by his actions, but everything proved that even though he had committed unforgivable sins, deep down, he still yearned for an honor befitting "Trollbane."
Unfortunately, he had taken the wrong path.
Galen was not weak. What had defeated him earlier was Arthas, the strongest paladin of the Silver Hand, the Lich King with demigod status, and also someone who had touched upon the path to becoming a "Creator."
Forget Galen, even Thoras or Danath would never be a match for Arthas.
Among humans, there weren't too many who could qualify as Arthas's opponent. And if Arthas fought with his full power, then he was indeed one of the most powerful entities in Azeroth's history.
The Trolls, however, mistakenly believed Galen was a lost traveler. After shooting Galen's mount, they leaped out from various places in the hills and bushes, vying to be the first Troll to cut off Galen's head.
The Trolls who misjudged Galen's strength quickly paid a heavy price. The first Troll who charged forward hadn't even swung his axe before Galen decapitated him.
Immediately after, in the half-second the Trolls stood stunned, Galen's longsword once again transformed into the Grim Reaper's scythe, effortlessly taking the heads of two more Trolls.
His entire life, like his father's, had been a constant struggle against the Trolls. No one understood better than Trollbane how to quickly kill a Troll.
The torso, limbs, and even the heart might not end a Troll's life, instead giving them a chance to drag you down before they met Bwonsamdi. Only by severing their heads or blasting them into dust would Trolls instantly lose their lives.
Galen advanced instead of retreating. He did not fear this Troll hunting party of a dozen or so, but roared and wielded his sword, continuously killing the Trolls in his sight.
The Trolls, too, were enraged by Galen's actions. The deaths of their comrades made them frantically attack Galen.
The battle lasted only a few minutes before it ended. Galen, at the cost of severe injuries, left all dozen or so Trolls dead in the lowlands.
After dealing with these mortal enemies, Galen's legs gave out, and he knelt on the ground.
He was already injured, and after more than ten days of wandering and running out of rations, he hadn't had a single full meal.
Even under such circumstances, Galen still managed to kill the Trolls who sought to make him their prey. However, severe injuries and a weakened body meant he was also nearing the end of his life.
Taking a long breath, Galen leaned back, resting against the long-dead warhorse. The blood seeping from the horse's corpse offered him a hint of warmth.
His damaged longsword rested casually on his thigh. Blood continued to seep from Galen's wounds.
Gradually, excessive blood loss made his body grow colder and colder, but in this dying moment, he heard two voices conversing.
"Such an end… it's a fitting death, I suppose."
"To think that after losing his memory, he became more worthy of his surname."
"Should his body be brought back to Stromgarde… or should he rest forever in the place where he fought his last desperate battle?"
"No… neither. The path of atonement is still long. Death is merely an escape—it's not time yet. Confront your inner self, face your sins. Perhaps after losing everything, it will be a new beginning…"
Galen closed his eyes. He was too weak to remain conscious. The conversation of the two had turned into wind, fading away from his ears.