The same royal hall, the same luxurious throne, only today its master was no longer the elderly Terenas, but the young and handsome Arthas.
Arthas was not seated on the throne, nor was he wearing a crown; he had buried his father's crown with his father, and the royal jewelers were still crafting a brand new crown for him. Arthas stood facing the throne, his posture erect and tall. Although he had not yet reached the topmost step, he appeared nobler and grander than the supreme seat of power itself.
His power had long transcended the limits of mortals, and he no longer valued worldly power and wealth, but how could a throne be summarized by power and wealth alone?
If one only regarded the throne as a symbol of power and wealth, that would undoubtedly be the thought of an incompetent ruler, just like the now-fallen Alterac. Perenolde even sold his kingdom and people to the orcs, intending to preserve his money and life, and even deluded himself into thinking he could sit on the king's throne again in the future. The result was obvious: his foolish decision even cost him his own life.
When Arthas ascended the throne of Lordaeron, it meant that the vast majority of land on the continent of Lordaeron was now under his governance, and even more precious than land and resources were the loyal people who resided there.
Without them, Lordaeron would not have the ability to defend itself, nor the ability to repel orcs and demons and protect its homeland.
During his contemplation, the clanging sound of armor boots against the marble floor echoed through the hall, and a tall figure, exuding a chilling aura, entered the hall.
"This time, it is I who offer my condolences to you, Arthas."
Lothar removed his helmet, tucking it under his arm. "Terenas was my friend. He did much for me and my people. It's a pity I never had the chance to repay him."
"You have already repaid him," Arthas turned around. "Without your efforts and sacrifices, the Alliance might have been crushed by the Old Horde more than twenty years ago, and Lordaeron would no longer exist."
Lothar looked up at the figure on the throne steps, and in a daze, he seemed to return to more than twenty years ago when he was appointed Grand Marshal in Lordaeron, under the gaze of many.
That time, Terenas had offered his most profound condolences to his king and country, and it was precisely in that state of national ruin and family destruction that Lothar took on the heavy burden of the Alliance, leading the Alliance army in a desperate battle against the orcs.
Then his memory froze at the battle below Blackrock Mountain. At that time, after days of continuous fighting and being besieged, he was forced to a decisive battle with Ogrim. The Warchief's warhammer's heavy blow struck him down, and then darkness descended. Grand Marshal Lothar fell in the last major battle of the Second War.
When he woke up again, he was already at the Frozen Throne.
Snapping out of his past memories, Lothar solemnly asked Arthas, "Are you ready?"
"The battle of Silithus has already brought the Scourge onto the stage. You should also have a legitimate identity in the world, instead of always being like death itself, inseparable from this world."
This was a decision Arthas had made long ago. The Scourge, under his control, was destined to become a force protecting Azeroth, and in years of continuous fighting, someone would sooner or later notice the existence of the Scourge. Rather than letting the Scourge be misunderstood, it was better to stand up and reveal their identity directly.
Lothar shook his head. "I am not worried about how others will look at me; I stopped caring long ago. But I am worried about you, Arthas. Do you know what people will think of you once they discover that you are the Lich King?"
As the Lich King, as the source of all these undead beings that defy the natural order of the world, who could guarantee that Arthas would be accepted by the world? He was the new King of Lordaeron, one of the leaders of the Alliance. If everyone knew that Arthas wielded such power, there would inevitably be ignorant or ill-intentioned people who would attack and slander Arthas.
However, did Arthas care about these things?
"I no longer need the endorsement of false fame; resolutely executing the correct decisions is what is most important," Arthas's voice was as firm as ever. "Lothar, you should know better than anyone that excessive benevolence and compromise do not signify enlightenment. The existence of authority is necessary, because it is the foundation for quickly uniting all forces at critical moments."
After a brief silence, Lothar solemnly knelt on one knee, performing a very solemn and formal knightly salute to Arthas. It was not the simple one-handed fist-to-chest salute used when in military attire, but the ceremony of a monarch knighting a knight. Lothar knew well that Arthas made this decision hoping to compensate Lothar and others who had been resurrected for various reasons to fight for Azeroth.
"I am no longer among the living, and my only concern, Varian and the Stormwind Kingdom, are already flourishing. Today, I, Anduin Lothar, in the name of the Arathi bloodline, pledge my fealty to you, Great Lich King, His Majesty, King of Lordaeron."
Arthas nodded slightly. He drew Frostmourne from his waist, walked to Lothar, and lightly touched his shoulder and back three times with the sword, completing Lothar's final knighting.
After this ceremony, which lacked other cumbersome rituals, appearing simple yet immensely solemn, Arthas presented Lothar with three maxims:
"May your sword always be sharp,"
"May your heart always be resilient,"
"May our friendship last forever."
After the ceremony, Lothar stood up and said to Arthas, "Your Majesty—"
"Just call me Arthas. Didn't I just say, 'May our friendship last forever'?" Arthas smiled and shook his head, interrupting Lothar. "Then go prepare. Bring your Death Knight and Necromancer… but don't call upon those liches who deeply study necromancy yet. Acceptance also needs a gradual process."
Lothar agreed wholeheartedly. The Scourge contained all sorts of undead creatures, among which the Death Knight and Necromancer were probably the most acceptable to the world. Although they were colder than ordinary people due to their constant exposure to undead and dark magic, and Death Knight were not alive at all, they were still much better than liches, who were thoroughly transformed into undead creatures and mastered necromancy.
If they encountered a timid person, they might faint from the terrifying bony bodies of the liches, not to mention that most liches' necromancy skills gave them a strong suppressive force over the living. Weak lives might be drained of their life force and turned into their puppets just by approaching them.
Although the Scourge needed to appear before the world, they indeed could not be too hasty. After all, they were a force using dark power to fight against darkness, and the shock they would bring to the various races of Azeroth would certainly be considerable.
-----------------
A week later, Lordaeron Royal City, compared to the gloom of the day Terenas passed away, was filled with joy and excitement. For though they had lost an old king, they had welcomed a younger new king.
Arthas stood on the royal balcony, overlooking the joyous scene in the city. Compared to the silent Lordaeron Royal City in his memory, he felt a certain sense of relief. At least he had accomplished something; he had prevented tragedy and saved countless lives from dying in disaster.
"Arthas, why are you here? The private banquet is about to begin."
Jaina and Calia walked together and found Arthas, who was relaxing on the balcony. Jaina today wore traditional Kul Tiras blue and white royal trousers and a skirt. Her tight corset accentuated her perfect waistline. The white trousers embroidered with gilded patterns and blue boots further highlighted her long legs. To avoid her upper body appearing too top-heavy, she had also specifically used shoulder ornaments to fasten a beautiful blue-backed, gold-edged cloak. This blue and white color scheme, accented with gold patterns, was very striking.
"I know, Jaina, but dealing with those politicians is really annoying. I just came here for some peace and quiet."
Calia covered her mouth with a hand gloved in a white formal glove, chuckling and teasing, "You probably scared them all away. On my way here, I just heard a noble timidly whisper that he wondered if he had somehow displeased His Majesty, Arthas."
"Alright, actually, I don't want to deal with those guys either, but there's no helping it." Jaina deeply empathized. Maintaining complete etiquette at such official banquets was an incredibly exhausting task. Although Arthas had long been renowned throughout the kingdom, and no one would question his succession, those nobles would certainly still come to go through the motions, if for nothing else, at least to make themselves known to Arthas.
Jaina immediately continued, "But I know you definitely have a lot to say at the private banquet. Our old friends are also waiting for you."
Arthas had invited old and new friends from all sides of the Alliance to this grand feast, which was both a banquet and an opportunity to hold a meeting to discuss the future of the Alliance.
"Yes, Jaina, you are just as you always were, able to guess my thoughts," Arthas extended his hand to Jaina. "Now, beautiful lady, I, Arthas Menethil, invite you to be my companion at the royal banquet. Would you be pleased to accompany me?"
Jaina naturally took Arthas's hand, and after coming to his side, she linked her arm through his strong one. "Of course, handsome gentleman."
Calia, seeing their posture, continued to chuckle, though her smile became a bit more pronounced.
....
The true banquet was held in the open-air garden of the Lordaeron Royal Gardens, attended not by nobles, jesters, and politicians, but by the true friends who had fought alongside Arthas and the Alliance for many years.
The garden had been exquisitely decorated by the attendants, with many lights hung and placed, ensuring that even if the banquet continued into the night, the garden would remain brightly lit and not be troubled by darkness.
Arthas and Jaina's entrance immediately drew everyone's attention, and Muradin and Brann, who happened to be standing nearby, immediately gathered around them.
"Ho ho, His Majesty, Arthas, let us drink this cup for you!"
With that, Muradin and Brann directly raised their oak mugs, tilting their heads back to drain them. After the mellow wine went down, both of them burped and wiped a bit of beer foam from their beards. Arthas and Jaina were not in a hurry, quietly waiting for the two brothers to finish their beer first.
"Hmm, refreshing. Lordaeron's beer is as intoxicating as its scenery." Brann chuckled, holding his empty mug. "Although we lost an old friend, seeing you grow into the new King of Lordaeron is definitely a good reason to drink another cup!"
"Thank you, Brann. My father would be pleased as well." Arthas could feel the strong and direct emotions of the dwarf brothers. Despite also being of royal birth, most dwarves didn't have many ulterior motives, making them much more comfortable to be around than those posturing nobles.
"I need to drink another cup to make up for Magni not being able to come," Muradin mumbled, asking a passing attendant for another strong drink and also handing one to Arthas. "Let's toast to friendship!"
"What about mine, Muradin!" Brann's loud voice made Muradin's ears ache.
"Get it yourself!"
"Alright, alright!" Brann unhappily took the mug from the attendant and also grabbed a stemmed glass filled with crimson liquid, handing it to Jaina. "Here, lass, this is for you, wine from Dalaran—ooh-ha, this taste is truly enchanting, though I'm not really fond of this stuff myself."
Jaina smiled as she accepted the stemmed glass. "Thank you, Brann."
She and Arthas exchanged a smile, each drinking the wine in their cups and placing the glasses on the attendant's tray. Muradin and Brann echoed, "Alright, we've held you up long enough. Everyone else is waiting for you, go on."
Then the two dwarf brothers, mug in hand, walked off, singing loudly with their arms around each other's shoulders. It seemed they had drunk quite a bit before Arthas arrived.
Just as Jaina and Arthas were discussing which of Muradin and Brann would be carried back to their residence today, a deep and powerful voice rang out.
"Your Majesty."
Arthas looked over at the sound and saw Uther leading a large group of Silver Hand knights waiting for him not far away.
Uther's usually stern poker face uncharacteristically held a smile, and the large group of Silver Hand knights behind him were winking and nudging each other, each holding a wine glass.
Arthas couldn't help but chuckle twice at the sight. Jaina patted Arthas's arm and whispered, "I'll go find my father and mother first. You can come find me later."
"As you wish, My Lady."
After parting with Jaina, Arthas quickly joined the Silver Hand contingent. Uther, Dathrohan, Gavinrad, Tirion, Mograine—almost all the notable Paladins had joined this gathering today. Just as they had gathered to celebrate when Arthas first became a paladin, today they were celebrating Arthas becoming the new King, their new leader.
"Teacher, it's been a while." Arthas greeted each of the Paladins one by one, finally looking at his teacher, Uther.
"Heh heh, Your Majesty, you are already my King. Perhaps you should call me by my name directly, or address me as Sir." Uther slightly raised his wine glass. "This cup is my tribute to you."
"I'll still call you 'Teacher.' I've grown used to it over the years," Arthas didn't care about such titles. "Although I have become the King of Lordaeron, I still have much to learn."
Uther clenched his fist and thumped his sturdy chest. "No matter what, I will always support you—we all will."
The members of the knight order nodded in unison, making the same gesture as Uther. "His Majesty, Arthas, you are our eternal banner!"
"Thank you, everyone," Arthas responded. "We have been through a lot together, whether it was saving our kingdom or our world. We have overcome all difficulties and obstacles, but the crisis we face is still far beyond our imagination. Today, I have some things to announce. Please follow me."
The members of the Silver Hand unhesitatingly followed behind Arthas. Seeing everyone gathered, the other members of the Alliance also came over. They already knew that some important news would be announced today.
Walking at the back of the crowd, Maiev uncharacteristically took off her armor and changed into a robe that appeared simple but was actually exquisite and luxurious, adorned with many classical embroideries. Her white hair cascaded down like a waterfall, and beside her was the High Priestess of the Night Elves, Tyrande.
"I've been sensing several very chilling and evil auras… but strangely, I haven't felt any hostility." Maiev whispered into Tyrande's ear.
"There's nothing to worry about, Maiev. The guests here are not ordinary people," Tyrande was not as tense as Maiev. After the events in the Emerald Dream and Silithus, this was one of her rare opportunities to relax. She had wanted to attend with Malfurion, but the Arch Druid needed to finish the final clean-up work in Silithus, ensuring that the Cenarion Circle members and sentinels stationed in the desert were fully withdrawn to Darnassus.
Arthas led the crowd to Varian, who was by the fountain in the center of the garden. Varian was currently conversing with Naval Commander Daelin, while Jaina was nearby with her mother, Katherine.
Behind Varian was also a person, Bolvar, who had just returned from the Silithus battlefield. He noticed Arthas and immediately walked to Varian's side to alert him. Varian and Daelin also stopped their conversation and simultaneously turned to look at Arthas.
Arthas nodded to the two of them and approached. Varian and Daelin were both a bit puzzled because Arthas had specifically warned them not to be too surprised by what would happen today.
Finally, when the crowd had gathered, Arthas turned his gaze to a corner where a person, neither tall nor burly, stood. He wore a hood and a mask, covering himself very thoroughly, but the members of the Silver Hand all felt a very gentle and pure warmth of the Holy Light emanating from him.
Was he a priest, or an ascetic from some monastery?
Noticing Arthas's gaze, the person slowly walked to the center of the garden. When he removed his hood and mask, and his gaunt face was revealed to everyone, the Paladins were all greatly startled. Uther's wine glass even fell to the ground, the wine spilling onto his boots as if he were completely unaware.
This powerful paladin of the Silver Hand, a tough man who never changed his expression no matter the difficulty or danger, now looked utterly shocked, crying out in disbelief, "Tea… Teacher?!"
This person, who had been staying in the corner of the garden, not speaking to others, and even having a very low presence, yet dressed extremely thoroughly, was none other than Uther's teacher, Archbishop Alonsus Faol, who should have died long ago!
All the members of the Alliance were dumbfounded. Even Tyrande and Maiev frowned slightly. "Undead… No, that chilling aura isn't coming from him. There's only Holy Light on him—can the Holy Light allow someone to exist in this state?"
"Archbishop Faol, you… you aren't—"
Aside from Uther, the leaders of the Eastern Kingdoms were also utterly shocked at this moment, because they were well aware of Faol's indelible contributions to the nations, and a good number of them had even been present at Faol's funeral back then.
They had watched as the coffin containing Faol's body was lowered into the tomb, but today, a man who had been dead for many years stood before them once more.
"Oh, damn it, ever since those orcs appeared in our world, this world has started to go crazy."
The moment Muradin saw Faol, he was so startled that his hand holding the cup trembled, spilling most of the wine. Now he held the wine cup with both hands, afraid that even a drop more of the liquid inside would spill.
Demons, undead, ancient monsters, and gods—and now a Faol with Holy Light glowing in his eyes? Heaven knows what kind of creature Faol is now!
"I feel the same way." Brann also held his wine cup, the two brothers standing amidst the crowd. Although their height only reached others' waists, it didn't prevent them from clearly seeing Faol's appearance.
That was indeed the genuine Archbishop Faol, and coupled with the striking harmonious Holy Light emanating from him, even if you told Brann it wasn't Faol, he wouldn't believe it.
-----------------
"His Majesty, Arthas, Kings, and brave warriors, my abrupt appearance may have shocked you, but I still hope you can calm down and listen to my explanation."
Faol's unhurried tone did quiet the temporarily noisy crowd. When he noticed everyone's gaze had shifted to him, Faol continued, "His Majesty, Arthas, I think this is also a good time to introduce two other friends."
Arthas nodded, and as soon as he agreed to Faol's words, two other cloaked figures appeared beside him. This time, however, Varian and Daelin suddenly felt their hearts skip a beat, as if the identities of these two people were deeply connected to them.
Catherine and Jaina also shared the same feeling. The mother and daughter stared intently at one of the cloaked figures, especially Jaina. Her superb magical skill and intuition allowed her to guess the identity of the person before her. Combined with her understanding of Arthas's hidden power, Lady Proudmoore, who was usually unperturbed, now covered her mouth with both hands, repeatedly muttering in a low voice, "This is impossible…"
Arthas noticed Jaina's tension. He subtly wrapped his arm around Jaina's waist, attempting to offer some support to his beloved, but he did not speak.
"Archbishop Faol, long time no see. I never expected our next meeting to be… in such a scene." Lothar removed the cloak and mask that concealed his true face, filled with emotion.
"Grand Marshal Lothar, I also never imagined such a bizarre thing would happen." Faol still smiled, and even when he sensed the evil power constantly emanating from Lothar, which was as incompatible with the Holy Light energy within him as fire and water, the Archbishop showed no surprise.
He knew better than anyone that power itself had no distinction between good and evil.
Another familiar face made the people present no longer surprised; their expressions had gradually become numb, seemingly developing a resistance to such stimulation.
Only Varian's expression was moved. He had already heard Bolvar speak of what happened in Silithus, yet he still couldn't believe that he would one day see his Uncle Lothar, who had treated him like his own son, again.
Lothar also turned his gaze to Varian at this moment. Although strange soul flames flickered in his eyes, Varian could still feel Lothar's complex emotions. "You've grown up too, Varian. You've done very well, even better than your father and I imagined. We will always be proud of you—I know you have many questions, but please let us explain slowly."
An Archbishop shining with Holy Light power, a Grand Marshal shrouded in the oppressive aura of death, the people present fell into an eerie silence. Only the Proudmoore family stared intently at the other mysterious person still wearing a cloak.
"Derek…"
Jaina almost felt hot tears welling up in her eyes. She should have sensed it earlier, that deep connection from their bloodline, yet it had become incredibly awkward and strange. The undead radiating the same aura as Lothar before her was indeed Derek, there was no mistake.
Daelin's tall frame also stiffened at this moment. He naturally felt the same as Jaina, but when the mystery was revealed by his daughter's own words, his mountain-like sturdy body began to tremble slowly—was that his son? How much suffering and hardship had he endured?
"Arthas, I, we want to talk to him somewhere private, please." Jaina whispered to Arthas, pleading.
Arthas naturally agreed. In fact, this banquet was originally only meant for Lothar and Faol, but Derek was determined to come, so Arthas and Lothar didn't stop him. This was something he would have to face sooner or later, and it was a good thing that Derek himself could come to terms with it.
-----------------
After the Proudmoore family quietly left, the focus of the hall naturally shifted to Lothar and Faol, and Faol then introduced the cause of the events with his pre-prepared explanation.
Roughly, after the orc invasion, the opening of the Dark Portal deepened Azeroth's connection with the astral realm and various planes like the Twisting Nether, making Azeroth's already active energies even more so.
And why these previously deceased people reappeared in the world was also related to the orc invasion, but the true connection lay with an orc chieftain corrupted by the leader of the Burning Legion—Ner'zhul.
He was appointed by Kil'jaeden as the vanguard of the Burning Legion, and the evil ice containing his soul fell into the northernmost frozen lake of Northrend. Influenced and driven by this evil power, countless undead became Ner'zhul's slaves, establishing an empire of the dead in the North, intending to eliminate all living beings.
"It's just that this matter was resolved by His Majesty, Arthas."
Everyone's gaze instantly turned to Arthas. Although there were some among them, like Brann and Tirion, who already knew part of the inside story, the full scope of the entire matter was only truly revealed to the Alliance today.
Arthas no longer concealed it. With a wave of his hand, he summoned Frostmourne from the shadow rift. He held the sword by the connection between the hilt and the crossguard, and with a light toss, the runeblade deeply embedded itself into the stone wall of a nearby fountain. The chilling coldness emanating from the runeblade instantly froze the flowing spring water, and this aura continued to spread, causing everyone to instinctively shiver.
It wasn't until the paladins used their power to neutralize the ominous aura of the runeblade that the strange sensation gradually disappeared.
"I am now the master of Frostmourne. As Faol said, wielding this runeblade signifies becoming the Lich King." Arthas said without changing his expression, "And Lothar was precisely recalled by me using the power of death—not just him, countless warriors and heroes have also joined the Scourge to fight for this world."
The word "joined" was very euphemistic. Everyone knew that this matter was probably not entirely the will of those involved, yet no one stood up to scold Arthas's actions. The reason was simple: everyone present was Arthas's friend, subordinate, and comrade-in-arms. No one knew Arthas's character better than them.
Faol also mentioned that when Ner'zhul used the power of death to influence all of Azeroth, it meant that there must be a Lich King in this world. And no one present would object to Arthas taking over this dangerous power, because no one else could claim to control the runeblade and the Helm of Domination, resisting the endless whispers of death.
Even Uther, who was always the most rigid, only frowned deeply at this moment and said to Arthas, "My child, how many more dangers are there in this world that you would disregard your own safety to wield such terrifying power?"
At this time, he no longer spoke to Arthas as a teacher and subordinate, but merely as an elder expressing worry and concern for a junior. Over so many years, not only Arthas had grown; they too had constantly reflected on their own shortcomings and confronted their mistakes. Uther, after accepting the power of the Silver Hand, also gained a deeper understanding of his own soul.
"We have no choice, Master," Arthas sighed. He rarely did so, but Azeroth's situation was truly dire. Their world's allure to various forces in the infinite cosmos was astonishing; almost every ancient, magnificent existence representing cosmic primal forces coveted Azeroth. "You can understand our world as an ownerless gold ingot placed by the roadside, everyone covets her existence."
Death was naturally one of them, but as long as Arthas was present, The Jailer's hand could not cross the veil of death and reach reality. Therefore, excluding the forces of Life and Holy Light, whose intentions and stances were still unclear, their true enemies for now were only the Burning Legion and the Void Lords behind the Old Gods.
And at this point in time, with the Burning Legion temporarily retreated and only one Ancient God remaining, Arthas believed it would be best to immediately deal with N'Zoth and his minions. This way, the Void forces' tentacles reaching for Azeroth would be almost entirely severed, and the remaining weaklings would be hard-pressed to stir up any trouble.
"We will sooner or later have a final battle with the dark side of the universe, but before that, we need to arm Azeroth, not just with military might, but also with our hearts."
Arthas slowly and solemnly informed everyone, "Because our enemies will not only harm our bodies but also try every means to crush our minds, and often, invisible swords are more damaging.
"I hope to tell you all the truth at the right time, and today is that day. The Alliance has already weathered countless storms and difficulties together.
"If you still despise me for manipulating the power of death, then I accept your accusations and curses, but I still hope the world understands that power itself has no good or evil; only those who wield power have good and evil and a stance. And I will always be a part of Azeroth, I swear by my name as the King of Lordaeron, a descendant of the Menethil family!"