Dagran looked up at Arthas, who wore a thought-provoking expression, and for a moment, he forgot to retort.
His raging anger, however, dissipated somewhat, feeling stifled by Arthas's expression—Arthas simply didn't care about Dagran's anger, because what he said was correct.
Upon realizing this, Dagran's previously straight back suddenly hunched over, a wound seemingly more painful than the physical harm Magni had inflicted upon him.
Arthas raised his hands to his chest, palms facing upwards, "It seems I've hit a sore spot. My apologies."
"Your Human mouth... is truly venomous," Dagran slowly shuffled back to his bed, tugging at the shackles that bound him. "What if I am childish and weak? I am still the King of the Dark Iron Dwarves, a descendant of Thaurissan."
"Can a groveling servant be called a king? Or rather, can a defeated prisoner be called a king?
If the capital of the Human Kingdom had changed hands multiple times due to external forces, then the Kingdom itself would have long since perished, because that would indicate it wasn't due to external causes, but rather internal problems.
You should know about Alterac. Although the Dark Iron Dwarves hide themselves in the mountains, news shouldn't be so slow to reach them, should it?
Perenolde's foolishness and those corrupt nobles were the root causes of the Kingdom's downfall."
Every word Arthas spoke pierced Dagran's heart. Although he used Alterac as an example, the Black Iron King felt as if he was speaking about the future of the Dark Iron Dwarves.
"I think your expulsion from Kaz Modan, your expulsion from Ironforge, and the double blow you suffered from the Wildhammer Clan and the Bronzebeard Clan, were more due to your own reasons.
Remember in one second >
Otherwise, why do they all have their own homes now, living carefree lives, while you can only hide underground, living like forced laborers, miners, and slave traders?"
Arthas leisurely sat on a nearby chair, crossing his legs.
Dagran looked at the composed Prince and said in a voice that seemed to be scraped from his throat, "You don't understand anything at all! We, we are the true victims! It was the Bronzebeard Clan! They usurped everything from the other Dwarves! Ironforge, Dun Morogh, Kaz Modan!"
"'Victims'? Are the Dark Iron Dwarves?"
Arthas ignored him, instead asking a new question. He stood up, looked at Dagran, and spoke the last words he wanted to say at that moment.
"You are indeed very childish, Dagran. It seems you don't understand that in our dictionary, there is no such word as victim, only victor and loser, and the consequence of failure is destruction."
"Bang!"
This was the sound of the door crashing down again after Arthas finished speaking, and it jolted Dagran from his stupor.
"Only... losers and victors..."
Dagran murmured to himself. He stretched out his hands, looking at the heavy runic shackles on his wrists, still immersed in Arthas's last words.
An hour later, the medical team responsible for checking Dagran's condition walked down the prison corridor. An elderly Dwarf priest followed behind a female Dwarf, constantly trying to persuade the female Dwarf in front.
"Your Highness... Your Highness, oh dear, you really don't need to go. Just leave these matters to us. He's just a prisoner."
The female Dwarf, referred to as "Your Highness," suddenly stopped, saying somewhat unhappily, "Enough. Just as you said, he is merely my father's prisoner. If I don't even dare to inspect a prisoner, what do you think others will think of me, Moira?"
"This—" The old Dwarf was stunned for a moment. While he was in a daze, the female Dwarf stepped forward, walked to the entrance of Dagran's cell, and had the guards open the door.
Watching Moira enter the cell with the priest and guards, the old Dwarf finally reacted. He sighed and quickly followed them in.
The commotion outside brought Dagran out of his dazed state somewhat. He struggled to open his eyes; the long period without food had taken a toll on his strength.
"Don't move. The Alliance medical team will ensure the health of the prisoner." Moira's clear, cold voice reached Dagran's ears.
Moira used the power of the Holy Light to roughly examine Dagran's body, then frowned, "Has the prisoner Dagran not eaten since his capture?"
The prison guard nodded, "Yes, he hasn't touched any of the food we've offered him."
"Your Highness Moira, I've told you, his body has no major problems; it's just due to lack of food intake." The old Dwarf really didn't want Moira and Dagran, this Black Iron Dwarf, to be together. If Magni found out, he would surely be scolded.
"Is that not a major problem?" Moira retorted, "The Holy Light can heal wounds, but it cannot make a person not need to eat. In his current state, if he doesn't eat something soon, hunger alone will kill him."
The other physicians and priests could only offer bitter smiles at this point. Of course, they knew this, but if Dagran wouldn't eat, there was nothing they could do.
Moira lowered her head in thought for a moment, then decisively pointed at the guards outside and ordered, "He won't eat... You few, go get some food and force it down his throat."
"Yes!"
The rest of the medical personnel were stunned upon hearing this. They hadn't expected this seemingly gentle princess to be so decisive and forceful in her actions. But the problem was, even if they forced it, if Dagran truly didn't want to live, he could just throw it up—
But before the physicians could voice their concerns, Dagran spoke first, "Bring the food. I will eat it myself."
After saying this, he ignored the gazes of the other physicians and lay on the bed, saying nothing more.
"Ah, this..." Everyone exchanged bewildered glances. Dagran's hunger strike wasn't a matter of one or two days, and no one had been able to make him eat anything. Yet, Moira's single sentence made Dagran compromise so easily?
Did that mean their previous methods were too gentle? That when dealing with a Black Iron Dwarf like Dagran, they needed to force-feed him?
Moira herself narrowed her eyes, staring at the Black Iron Dwarf lying on the bed. Her intuition told her that this guy was definitely not preparing to eat just because of her words, or rather, her words were merely a catalyst.
"You're sensible, prisoner. Otherwise, I would make you understand that eating is more unbearable than not eating."
After another routine check, the guards placed the food on the floor beside the bed, and the others left the room. Dagran sat up and looked at the oats and bread in the wooden bowl on the floor.
"Moira... Magni Bronzebeard's daughter? I didn't expect her to be among the Alliance forces." Dagran, of course, knew the name Moira. As the King of the Dark Iron Dwarves, it was impossible for him not to know the name of the princess of an enemy nation.
But this had no bearing on his willingness to eat. Arthas's words had made him understand some things, and his body was indeed not yet fully recovered. The hunger strike these past days had made him very weak, and if he didn't eat something soon, problems would eventually arise.
His fate had not yet reached its end, nor had that of the Dark Iron Dwarves.