"Why has the offensive against the Hall of Lightning and the Halls of Stone slowed down?" Ogrim asked Lothar, holding a warhammer with several new dents, somewhat puzzled.
At this moment, the Scourge's commander did not directly answer Ogrim's question, but instead retorted, "My old opponent, what are our losses in this war?"
Ogrim frowned slightly. As a meticulous Orc, he understood Lothar's unspoken meaning, but he still answered directly, "The elite Scourge warriors haven't suffered too many losses. Those constructs lack the ability to kill us completely; most have only temporarily lost their combat capability. But those mindless low-level undead... do you still care about that?"
"The Lich King is different from us. Although he controls the terrifying power of death, he is not one of the undead, and he is not here to cause chaos for Azeroth. This means he cannot, like the previous Lich King, wantonly slaughter the living beings of our world."
Lothar watched the endless undead army devour the constructs' positions and slowly said, "And this also restricts an important channel for the Scourge's development. Perhaps we can slowly collect those deceased heroes over time, but right now, what we lack most is precisely time."
"So? What does he want to do?" Ogrim asked, puzzled. "Some of those low-level cannon fodder don't even have souls; they're just bodies forcibly driven by necromancy. As long as they're not too damaged, we won't be lacking them anytime soon."
"Not lacking now doesn't mean not lacking later." Lothar shook his head helplessly. "Our enemies, coincidentally, are all endless, like locusts. Look, if it weren't for those dragons holding the line this time, these fallen constructs would have been enough to give us a headache."
Ogrim remained silent for a moment, not wanting to listen to Lothar's riddles, and asked directly, "What does this have to do with us slowing our offensive? The constructs are already at the end of their rope. If we apply more pressure, the scales of victory will quickly tip in our favor."
"You should also be aware that the outcome of our battle here cannot dictate the true situation. If that Dragon King and the Lich King lose, we will be powerless to stop the awakened Old Gods and his minions."
The soul fire in Lothar's eyes flickered uncertainly. He seemed to have made some decision before he spoke.
"So, he made a somewhat crazy decision."
Ogrim suddenly felt a chill run through him—a tremor and unease from his soul. This wise former Warchief seemed to have a premonition that something ominous was about to happen.
"Are all you Humans mad?" Ogrim bared his teeth, almost squeezing the words from his throat. "I don't know what schemes you're plotting, but I'm very clear that if 'Our King' fails, this world will probably be doomed."
"To put it in the worst-case scenario, yes, that's true. So, before he left, he set up a safeguard." Lothar looked at the Halls of Stone, half of its pillars already collapsed by the war. "If he and Malygos fail, then Archaedas will erase everything with the Creation Engine."
Ogrim suddenly turned his head to look into the depths of Ulduar. Within that unchanging Titan city, a fuse that could detonate the entire world lay buried.
"Boom!"
Emerald lightning streaked across the sky above Hellfire Peninsula. Jaina sat on the top floor of Honor Hold's Mage Tower, engrossed in the documents in her hand, with many similar scrolls and documents piled beside her.
The allied forces had expended considerable effort and finally gained a foothold in Hellfire Peninsula. With supplies and manpower from Azeroth, Honor Hold could finally escape its previous awkward situation and had begun to gradually launch an offensive towards Hellfire Citadel.
At the top of the Mage Tower, many Mages from Dalaran were busy. They were either sorting through decades of unattended documents and information or arranging various matters to assist the war effort.
Although the Fel Orcs had lost to the allied forces in previous battles, their power remained deeply entrenched. As the allied forces gradually took over the area from the Dark Portal to Honor Hold, some of the fel Orc forces were forced to relocate to the rear of Hellfire Citadel.
This also meant that the road connecting to Terokkar Forest was monitored by more enemies, even though that path was already full of thorns and corrupted monsters.
According to Danath, some expeditionary forces were stationed in other areas of Outland, with most of them in Shattrath City. Now, that small path leading to Terokkar Forest was heavily guarded by the enemy, leaving only flying units as the last means of contact with Shattrath City.
However, this cursed place, Outland, was gradually being devoured by the Twisting Nether after the great explosion. Although it still retained some atmosphere capable of sustaining life, above the clouds lay extreme Netherstorm, which could swallow any unfortunate soul flying through the air at any moment.
Only the most elite Gryphon Riders could fly in this cursed sky, and even for them, death and injury were commonplace.
Therefore, communication between Honor Hold and Shattrath City was often intermittent, with no fixed schedule. Danath had already sent scouts through the cloud sea to deliver messages to Shattrath, but he did not know when a reply would come.
The allied forces naturally would not wait idly in Honor Hold. Thus, besides clearing Hellfire Citadel, opening a path to Shattrath City became an important agenda.
Now, two Mages by Jaina's side were arguing over this very topic.
"Damn it, you idiotic Gnome, you have no idea how dangerous it is to open a portal in this kind of space with only one coordinate—let alone a coordinate from twenty years ago, before Draenor exploded!" The Elven Mage pointed at the Gnome Mage's nose, who barely reached his thigh, and cursed loudly.
"Idiotic?! No one dares to call the great Milhouse Manastorm an idiotic Gnome! Even Prince Arthas praised my exquisite spellcasting skills!" Milhouse retorted without mercy. "You pointy-eared Elves don't understand what innovation is. Even the engineers back in my hometown dare to try a spatial teleporter, but you just want to wait for the right time!"
"You're simply a madman! If you really want to try, please open that portal to death at least twenty kilometers away from Honor Hold. I don't want our fortress to be occupied by a bunch of strange Void creatures, or simply explode into the sky with this shattered world!"
The Elven Mage could no longer tolerate Milhouse's rudeness and bothered to argue no further. After a couple of huffs, he left. Milhouse, with the smug look of a victor, proudly raised his head, seemingly seeking the approval of his other colleagues.
However, those around him merely glanced at him before returning their attention to their work—in recent days, similar arguments occurred almost constantly, and Milhouse was always involved.
Seeing that no one was paying attention to him, Milhouse turned his gaze to Jaina. He chuckled twice, rubbed his hands, and walked to Jaina's desk, fawningly saying, "Miss Proudmoore, you see, my idea is definitely feasible. I wonder if you could support me with some Mana Crystals? I will do my best to try and construct a stable portal... Oh, not too many, just..."
"Mr. Manastorm, you should go to the logistics supervisor for this matter. I can't help you either," Jaina said, with a headache.
This was not the first time Manastorm had come to her. At first, Jaina had been half-believing and sent people to assist him, but a day later, when she learned that a small cliff north of Honor Hold had been directly torn to shreds by a spatial storm, she no longer dared to let Milhouse mess around.
After sending off the dejected Milhouse, the air behind Jaina gradually distorted. Slowly, a graceful figure emerged from the shadows.
Jaina put down the official document in her hand and turned to the newcomer. "Valeera, is there something?"
"Our scouts have confirmed that fel Orc soldiers are continuously pouring out of a place called the Blood Furnace within Hellfire Citadel. The accompanying Mages believe there is a large fel factory inside."
Valeera handed a report to Jaina. "Although we haven't been able to fully infiltrate, those orcs don't seem to be too concerned with secrecy. We found the source of the fel blood—an Pit Lord imprisoned in the underground dungeon."
"Pit Lord?" Jaina's beautiful brows furrowed. Those Fel Orcs were actually treating an Pit Lord like a pig, endlessly extracting fel blood. But how did they manage it? Logically, orcs who drank fel blood should be easily controlled by the Pit Lord.
"If the information from Honor Hold is correct, that imprisoned Pit Lord should be Magtheridon, the former overlord of Outland who was stationed here," Valeera softly reported the intelligence they had gathered. "Although we don't know how the Fel Orcs captured him, as long as this Pit Lord is killed, the Fel Orcs will no longer have the ability to create new soldiers, and those orcs who have already been infused with fel blood will become incredibly weak."
"I understand... but this matter needs to be planned in more detail," Jaina knew how troublesome an Pit Lord could be, let alone a demon entrusted with a heavy responsibility by the Burning Legion to monitor a world. Solving him was no simple matter, especially with the heavy resistance of the fel Orc army.
Valeera continued, "There's one more thing: we found a strange mark on some deceased high-ranking Fel Orcs."
With that, Valeera took out an evil emblem, magically contained, and handed it to Jaina.
Jaina cautiously observed the mark. Aside from the fel energy emanating from it, the mark didn't seem to have anything special... Wait!
"This looks like... some kind of pattern commonly used by the ancient Kaldorei?" Jaina was a little uncertain. Kaldorei civilization was too ancient and too independent. Only after the Night Elves joined the Alliance did Humans have the opportunity to learn more detailed knowledge of this ancient civilization.
Jaina had been busy with the Alliance's expeditionary war recently and had fallen behind in her research in this area, but she still felt that the patterns on the mark gave her a sense of déjà vu.
"Give this emblem to the Night Elves' priests. Let them see if they can get any information from it."
"This is indeed a kind of pattern we commonly used in ancient times, but…"
"But what?" Valeera looked at the Warden before her.
Maiev held the mark in her hand, seemingly sensing something. A moment later, she released her grip and picked up the mark with her fingers.
"There's a nauseating demonic aura on it, but that's not the problem. The problem is that this pattern, more than a general decorative motif, resembles the noble patterns used by the Highborne."
Maiev held the mark up, examining it repeatedly in the light. "And besides a few elders who survived the War of the Ancients, very few people still know these patterns."
"So… the person who designed this mark is someone who survived the War of the Ancients?" Valeera understood Maiev's meaning, but she also sensed that Maiev seemed to have a more precise answer.
"Yes… and I probably already know who the blasphemer is who carved the Kaldorei pattern onto this…"
Maiev's voice gradually grew low and sinister, and points of chilling sight and coldness emanated from the eyeholes of her almost never-removed Blade Crown Helmet.
"Illidan…"
Valeera, a master of manipulating shadows, possessed extremely keen senses. She easily felt the turbulent rage, like a volcano before eruption, emanating from Maiev, who was now completely unmasked.
It seems to be someone with a personal vendetta against this Warden…
A thought flickered in Valeera's mind. She committed the name Illidan to memory, exchanged a few perfunctory words, and then turned to leave, not wanting to stay there for another second. The hatred and rage emanating from the Warden made her incredibly uncomfortable, like pinpricks.
Maiev, however, was indifferent to Valeera's departure. She was only focused on devising methods and plans to capture Illidan.
"You should rein in your hatred, Warden." A weathered yet profound warning sounded from the doorway, where a tall figure stood.
His deep green hair was casually draped, and his robust body was clad in a very simple robe, like an ascetic monk.
"Staghelm, I don't need your reminders. Hatred is merely the source of my strength, a tool for me to hunt down criminals." Maiev paid no mind to the newcomer's warning.
"If only that were truly the case." Fandral Staghelm observed the Warden, his thoughts unknown, and after finding what he wanted in the room, he left.
Only then did Maiev look up. She stared at Staghelm's retreating back, her eyes slightly narrowed—she had felt some unusual fluctuations just now, but could that really be from an old stick-in-the-mud like Staghelm?
Meanwhile, Valeera had returned to Jaina's side and reported everything she had learned from Maiev.
"You're saying that the current power in Outland is very likely led by Illidan Stormrage?"
Jaina certainly knew that name; even Arthas had personally educated her on many of this Demon Hunter's deeds. However, how could such a person, who hated demons above all else, pledge allegiance to the Burning Legion?
Valeera hesitated for a moment. "He is a Demon Hunter; it's not entirely impossible for him to fall."
Jaina nodded affirmatively. "But I always feel there's more to it than that. And Honor Hold's scouts said that before we entered Draenor, the Dark Portal had been briefly opened, and at that time, they discovered a large number of Naga. If that Demon Hunter is truly behind this, then he has probably reached some kind of agreement with those evil undersea monsters."
Having grown up in Kul Tiras, she naturally understood the Naga. These dangerous creatures constantly threatened Kul Tiras's ships and also made most of Azeroth's coastlines unsafe.
Those Murlocs were troublesome and annoying enough, but if there was also a group of Naga commanding the Murlocs, that would absolutely be a Hellish scene no captain or sailor would ever want to see.
However, after the Alliance army entered Hellfire Peninsula, they had not found any more traces of Naga there. It was likely that the climate of Hellfire Peninsula was simply too difficult for those half-human, half-snake monsters to adapt to.
"We still can't fully understand the situation in Outland. Let's record this matter for now and discuss it after we establish a connection with Shattrath." Jaina magically sealed the evil mark and stored it in a specially designated hazardous materials warehouse.
After completing all this, the female mage let out a soft sigh. Dealing with the Outland war put no small amount of pressure on her, and the busy work left her with almost no time to rest. Fortunately, after receiving that precious "legacy," she had surpassed most mages in the world, and her powerful magic allowed her to remain energetic with only a short period of rest.
However, for some unknown reason, Jaina always carried a faint sense of unease in her heart—as a mage, she trusted this feeling, but unfortunately, she did not specialize in prophetic magic and could not make an accurate judgment.
But premonitions were always too faint, and Jaina merely remained a little more vigilant, so that if any trouble truly arose, she would be able to react.
However, Jaina did not know that her uneasy premonition did not signify something bad was about to happen in the future, but rather that something that, if not handled carefully, would overturn the entire world, was currently unfolding.
…
The wails of beasts echoed from the deepest part of the hall. Arthas, covered in blood, casually tossed the limp corpse in his hand, knocking over several Iron Dwarves who were still struggling to get up.
He used the Holy Light to cleanse the filthy blood from his body, his calm and profound gaze fixed on the path ahead.
"This place is filled with all sorts of dangers; we can't teleport anymore." Malygos's eyes, shimmering with magical light, scanned the surroundings, arriving at a conclusion that was not very favorable to them.
Indeed, Loken had anticipated the arrival of uninvited guests. Apart from the forces guarding the main entrance of Ulduar, all other remaining, deployable personnel were almost entirely gathered in the deepest part of Ulduar.
And the beast-like monster Arthas had just killed was a ferocious beast captured and corrupted by Loken's minions from Guardian Freya's Conservatory.
It seemed that Ulduar's current chief administrator had reached a dead end and was resorting to desperate measures to obstruct Arthas and Malygos's advance.
It was just a pity that the Weaver, with his sanity and fighting spirit restored, was already one of the most powerful beings on Azeroth. Those ordinary constructs could hardly stop him.
However, this unstoppable advance was about to end here, because the circular hall they were currently in was precisely the sacred center created by the original Guardians, and also Ulduar's most core defense.
It was just that this originally impregnable defense had been dismantled from within by the enemy. Now, standing before Arthas and Malygos were those Guardians who were once noble, but had now fallen!
"Are we still too late?" Malygos's expression was somewhat grim. "If we retreat now, I still have an eighty percent chance of success."
"No, we're just in time." Arthas looked at the platforms around them, where the majestic Guardians seemed to be sleeping. "I can feel that the Old Gods' corruption of them has not reached an irreversible point. We still have hope."
"Heh, even if that's the case, I doubt there's anyone left with normal sanity who can talk to us." Malygos observed the silent giants, his tone not greatly changed, but the faint dragon scales appearing on his face indicated that he was almost ready to fight to the death.
The Dragon King looked around and continued, "Moreover, I haven't found any trace of Loken. This might be another one of his traps, you never know."
Arthas, however, did not respond to Malygos's words. He took a deep breath, as if preparing for something. "Malygos, if you fight four Guardians simultaneously, can you win?"
Malygos turned to look at his companion. "If they can all exert their full power, I can only hold out for a while."
"What if they can only exert half their power?"
"What are you going to do, Arthas?" Malygos didn't answer this time, but asked in return.
"The Holy Light tells me that Loken is at the bottom of the staircase, performing the final ritual in the Old Gods' true prison," Arthas revealed his plan. "These four Guardians have been temporarily brainwashed by Loken using Yogg-Saron's power, but he can't completely alter their will. They are still fighting against the Ancient God's power. If you can just hold them off for a while, the power forcibly controlling them will be expelled."
"Do you intend to face Loken alone? That's not a wise choice, Arthas. Even if you defeated Nefarian, his power is still far from that of a Guardian," Malygos shook his head. "Perhaps we should first work together to awaken these four Guardians. That way, our chances of winning would greatly increase."
"No, that's when we truly won't have a chance—that's Loken's plan." Arthas firmly countered. "Even if the two of us fight together, Loken, undistracted, would release Yogg-Saron even faster. Someone must hold him back."
"He might not be faster than us." Malygos looked at Arthas, but he saw no emotion in the paladin's eyes other than determination. "Alright, you must survive, Arthas. Hold out for a while, disrupt that damned traitor. I and the others will be there soon."
At this moment, time was the most precious commodity. Arthas said no more. After nodding to Malygos in acknowledgment, he resolutely stepped towards the staircase that led straight into madness.
Malygos also focused his attention on the four Guardians. He had already sensed that the Guardians, who had been dormant, were awakening.
Arthas did not look back, only silently apologized in his heart.
"Sorry, Malygos, but this is a necessary action."
He was now going to challenge that insane darkness before a single lamp was lit.