In the bustling Menethil Harbor, a team of well-equipped adventurers gathered at the port.
"Ho ho, what a pretty girl! You must have spent a fortune, Barry!"
The dwarf stared intently, drool almost dripping from his mouth.
The human youth named Barry chuckled, slapping the back of the dwarf's head, "Idiot, I didn't hire you to gossip, hurry up and get on the ship to work."
"Oh, I thought we were friends, this really hurt my feelings," the dwarf muttered, holding the back of his head.
"You didn't say that last night when you were hugging that big barrel of Thunderbrew at the tavern and almost drank me into bankruptcy," Barry still smiled, but the stiff smile made the dwarf shiver.
"Boss, don't worry, I'll get to work right away."
The dwarf quickly straightened his attitude, picked up a pile of things, and walked towards the "Pretty Girl" – that's right, the "Pretty Girl" was a brand-new sailboat that Barry had bought for his sea voyage.
The Eastern Kingdoms recently issued a joint statement, strongly supporting maritime endeavors and offering significant rewards to adventurers who discovered new continents, even allowing them to be personally enfeoffed by the King in their home country. The bestowed noble title would be determined by their specific discoveries, with the highest being a direct promotion to Baron!
This was an almost unimaginable reward. One must know that even in the great battle against the Legion, warriors who personally slew Legion soldiers mostly only received the title of Knight. To truly become a knight with a fief, one would have to perform an immense amount of meritorious deeds.
More importantly, this was a personal enfeoffment from the King. As a citizen of Lordaeron, if Barry could achieve something in his exploration, he would have the opportunity to prove himself before the new King, which was a rare honor.
So he bought the sailboat "Goddess of Hope" and spent a fortune hiring several of the skilled partners he had worked with in the past, preparing to make a big splash on the high seas. For this, he didn't hesitate to empty his hard-earned savings from years of taking on adventurer quests and treasure hunting.
Just as Barry and his team were envisioning their future on the ship docked in the harbor, the bright sunlight was instantly covered by a shadow, and their medium-sized sailboat was quickly eclipsed by the massive shadow.
Several adventurers looked up dumbfounded, and the dwarven sailor also put down his work, exclaiming, "By Magni's beard, this is… the Sea King's Will?!"
The flagship of the Kul Tiras Invincible Fleet, Naval Commander Daelin Proudmoore's personal vessel!
At this moment, on the bridge of the Sea King's Will, which was as tall as a city wall, a father and son were conversing.
"Derek, have you truly decided?"
"Yes, father, I failed to save my compatriots, I failed to save my ship," Derek said, a hint of pain in his eyes as he recalled the past, "The searing pain of Red Dragon fire was far less agonizing than hearing their wails with my own ears. Perhaps this is why my soul returned to my body."
That's right, although Arthas cutting off the River of Souls made the undead in Azeroth more active, those who lacked great power or strong will and obsession could not achieve "rebirth."
Daelin fell silent. He had fought his entire life, seen all kinds of things, and overcome all kinds of difficulties, but only when the news of his son's death reached his ears did Daelin become inconsolably grief-stricken, wishing he could slaughter all the orcs to avenge Derek.
For many years, he had dreamt more than once of his child returning from the dead, their family reunited. However, when Derek reappeared before him in a way Daelin had never imagined, and recounted everything that had happened, Daelin wished his son wouldn't bear so many heavy burdens. A swift death versus a life of torment—Daelin had already experienced the latter, so he didn't want his son to endure the same pain he had.
But the decision to fight and survive as an undead was Derek's own. The confusion and timidity he felt when he first resurrected as an undead dissipated after reuniting with his family. Derek had once again become the warrior who commanded destroyers and fought alongside his father on the high seas.
"I once questioned my existence; Arthas helped me find myself again," Derek raised his right hand, removed his covering glove, and a chilling aura rapidly emerged. "Since I have a second 'life,' I want to do more for my family, friends, my country, and the world, to make up for past regrets."
"No matter what you decide, I will always support you, my son. You are the eternal pride of Kul Tiras, it's just that I... owe you too much."
Facing Daelin's promise, Derek merely smiled faintly. He put his glove back on, waved his hand to summon a Death Gate on the bridge, and bid farewell to his father, "No, father, it is I who owe you. In this state, I cannot inherit the Proudmoore legacy, but my sister and brother are both more excellent than me. They will be better heirs. Goodbye, father."
Watching his son's figure gradually disappear, Daelin sighed and didn't try to stop him. Since Derek had chosen this path himself, then, as he said, all he could do was support his son's actions. The Naval Commander walked to the ship's railing, leaned his arms on it, and looked down at the nearby sea, lost in thought.
A moment later, Derek's figure appeared in a war-torn ruin in the eastern Wetlands. He looked at the Scourge banner erected ahead and quickly walked forward.
"Derek, you're finally here. I thought you'd fallen into the sea again."
A rough voice sounded. Facing the mocking and teasing tone, Derek merely replied calmly.
"Ogrim, how is your plan going? Don't tell me your subordinates are still as disobedient as ever?"
"Heh, now this is more like it, Derek. I thought the Alliance hero was just a decadent wimp. It seems you're in good shape now?" Ogrim chuckled. This Derek was like a different person compared to the anxious one in Icecrown Citadel a while ago, even he couldn't help but marvel.
"Stop talking nonsense, I still have a score to settle with the Dragonmaw Clan. Isn't that why you're here too?"
Ogrim chuckled twice and tapped a thick finger on the table twice. The sound caught Derek's attention. He looked at where Ogrim was pointing and saw a large strategic map spread out on the table. Ogrim was pointing to an inconspicuous mountain on the map.
"This is the gate to Grim Batol. Those traitors are hiding very deep. This dwarven city has been abandoned for a long time due to a curse. The fact that those cowards dare to station themselves inside probably means they've latched onto something again."
Ogrim had a deep impression of the Dragonmaw Clan. If they hadn't insisted on supporting Blackhand back then, causing constant internal conflicts within the Old Horde, perhaps he would have led his army across the ocean and conquered the entire Eastern Kingdoms.
And after the war, most of the orcs were either killed or captured, but these cowards of the Dragonmaw Clan hid in the ruins of Grim Batol, barely surviving, and continued to practice their dark magic.
"A bunch of idiots, playing with powers they don't understand will sooner or later lead to them burning themselves."
Ogrim scoffed at the Dragonmaw Clan's actions. Zuluhed once thought that enslaving dragons would make him omnipotent, but after Deathwing was defeated by the Guardian Dragons, the enraged Red Dragons, freed from their bonds, almost devoured the entire Dragonmaw Clan alive. That outcome didn't teach the Dragonmaw Clan a lesson; they have now even allied with a more sinister force—the Twilight's Hammer.
Upon learning the whereabouts of the Dragonmaw Clan, Ogrim immediately volunteered to Arthas. Since these fools were in a hurry to die, why not let him reap a wave of new recruits along the way.
This suggestion was naturally adopted by Arthas, as Derek also had some "personal matters" to resolve.
Grim Batol, nestled in the mountains of the Wetlands, was once the ancient home of the Wildhammer dwarves; however, today, most Wildhammer dwarves are tight-lipped about the city, as it brought them a dark and unforgettable memory.
Years later, this city, which seemed to have turned into ruins, welcomed another wave of "guests"—the Scourge, led by Ogrim and Derek.
"Hmm… decay, death, and darkness. The ominous aura emanating from this city is truly nostalgic." Ogrim stood before the deeply embedded Grim Batol gate, taking a deep breath. Even though his undead body had long lost the function of breathing, occasionally acting like a living person made him feel the reality of his existence.
Derek glanced at Ogrim, "Don't be too careless. Lich King said that this city harbors hidden dangers even for us. If you don't want your soul to be devoured by some messy monsters, then be on high alert."
Ogrim did not pick up on Derek's words again. He just chuckled to himself in a low voice. In front of the empty Grim Batol gate, Ogrim's laughter sounded particularly eerie.
However, they were all dead men, and Derek didn't care. He took the lead and entered Grim Batol, beginning to survey the city, which had long suffered from war and trauma.
No one knew what kind of dark power was hidden in this city, abandoned by the Wildhammer dwarves for many years, but perhaps from the day it was built, it represented the terrible curse of fratricide.
The Three Hammers War was by no means a good memory for the dwarves. Once brothers, they fought each other for power and desire, and the blood of countless innocents was shed. Grim Batol was built against this backdrop, and perhaps because of this, the city was destined not to be the true home of the Wildhammer dwarves.
"The Dark Iron Dwarves' sorceress queen, Mordgud, cursed Grim Batol with some dark artifact, making the city no longer the habitable place it once was," Derek concentrated and easily heard many eerie whispers and wails. "I sense that there are other living beings in this city, but they are probably not very hospitable folks."
Grim Batol, deeply buried in the mountains, had been unsupervised for many years, and coupled with the devastation of several wars, most of the urban areas had now become ruins, with rocks and building fragments burying the original roads.
Derek and Ogrim, while ordering the lower undead servants to clear the obstacles, observed the structure of the dwarven city.
"This place is similar to Ironforge yet different," Derek had once visited the dwarven grand city. "But since it's built into the mountain, the roads here should still be similar to Ironforge, circling the city's center, the Wildhammer dwarves' former large forge, layer by layer. Although the exterior is abandoned, we might find people deep within the city."
"Then let's move forward." Ogrim looked around and shouted to a Necromancer who was driving skeletons, "You! Go quickly, bring up a few Obsidian Golems to speed things up!"
This new type of golem, developed based on a dual technological foundation of Old Gods and Titan, was a new creation of Ahn'Qiraj. Obsidian endowed these monsters with powerful magic resistance, allowing them to operate normally even in the high-temperature environment of Grim Batol's core.
For this operation, Ogrim specifically deployed some to ensure their efficiency. After all, he had once been to this city, which was once used as a stronghold by the orcs, and he had a rough understanding of the situation there. Now, more than a decade later, the situation in Grim Batol could certainly not be better than when they occupied it.
With the addition of the golems, the speed of clearing roadblocks increased exponentially. Soon, they threw the outer city debris into the magma of the lower city. The undead army passed through the shadowy city ruins and stopped before the ramp leading to the next level.
Ogrim, riding a tall Death Knight steed, raised his warhammer, signaling the team to stop. He looked at the mountain wall, which had collapsed by more than half directly in front of them, and the part of the city buried beneath it, and said to Derek, "Looks like we're in for some fun."
Derek's cold gaze swept over Ogrim, stopping at the collapsed mountain. In his soul vision, countless noisy souls were surging towards them, and soon, the trembling of the ground indicated that they were indeed about to receive their first "welcome ceremony" from Grim Batol.
Drawing his runeblade from his back, Derek's stern voice echoed throughout the army, "Prepare to engage."
"Heh, quite impressive," Ogrim commented on Derek. As for himself, he hurled his warhammer violently up the hillside. Terrifying dark magic instantly exploded, and dozens of kobolds hidden in the rocks let out agonizing wails, turning into puddles of blood in the blink of an eye.
"Let these ugly little things be utterly destroyed! Scourge, attack!" Ogrim retrieved his thrown warhammer with Death Grip, letting out a roar. A vast wave of death energy enveloped his Legion, instantly boosting the power of the Scourge.
Savage kobolds crawled out of every crevice in the mountain, quickly crashing into the silent undead army. These ugly monsters roared as they surged into the formation, intending to tear apart the Undead Scourge as they had other invaders in the past, but they would soon realize their foolishness.
The undead remained silent, reaping the lives of the kobolds like silent reapers. Several high-ranking Necromancers expressionlessly collected the kobolds' souls, then used the jumbled, chaotic souls and the corpses scattered everywhere to form bone golems that reaped lives. In contrast to the rapid decline in the number of kobolds, the number of undead not only did not decrease but rapidly increased.
Soon, these bloodthirsty, savage monsters also realized something was wrong. The number of their companions was rapidly decreasing, but the momentum of the undead was growing stronger. Giant flesh golems could instantly crush several kobolds, but the kobolds had to pay a huge price to defeat even the most ordinary skeleton soldier.
Moreover, they couldn't truly kill these undead creations. As one skeleton was struck down, several new skeleton soldiers would stand up, directly tearing the flesh from the kobold corpses and extracting their bones as weapons.
Facing such terrifying enemies, the kobolds' usual advantages of numerical superiority and bloodlust had no room to be exploited, so their only outcome was extinction.
The heavily wounded kobold tribe finally sluggishly felt fear. They began to try to escape the efficient killing machine formed by the undead, but the materials were right in front of them, and the Scourge's Necromancers would not let them retreat so easily.
Soon, the battle turned into a one-sided slaughter. After Ogrim struck down several kobold leaders, who were much larger than ordinary kobolds, he watched the fleeing kobolds and thoughtfully turned his gaze to Derek.
"What's wrong?" Derek froze the blood on his blade into ice crystals, then shook the blade with a flick of his wrist, scattering the frozen blood, and met Ogrim's gaze.
"kobolds are not warriors; their actions are mostly driven by instinct," Ogrim said. "To only realize they should flee after paying such a heavy price doesn't fit their characteristics... It seems these guys were just cannon fodder sent up by someone. What a pity; trying to wear down our strength this way is just wishful thinking."
Derek understood Ogrim's meaning. "Then it seems our every move has been seen clearly by some rats hiding in the dark. Heh heh, I hope they don't get scared out of their wits..."
As the powerful Death Knight spoke, he brandished his blade again, and the sword light flashed, instantly decapitating a kobold that tried to ambush him from above.
Derek ignored the kobold's corpse that fell to the ground. He raised his hand and grabbed the ugly head, his eyes fixed on the dark purple glow that had not completely dissipated in the kobold's eye sockets. "I see you. The Lich King's power will utterly crush you."
He squeezed his large hand, and the entire kobold's head was frozen by frost at a visible speed, finally being crushed in Derek's palm, shattering into a pile of ice shards.
At the same time, deep within Grim Batol, a Twilight Acolyte wailed, clutching his head and falling to his knees. Soon, his face was also covered in frost. After a brief struggle, the acolyte fell forward, his head hitting the hard floor, also bursting into a pile of ice.
Several acolytes looked at their colleague's corpse with slight fear, while a broad figure, much more robust than a human, completely ignored the deceased Twilight Acolyte. He remained intently kneeling before the altar, and on the altar floated a short blade with a curved edge, intricately inscribed with complex runes and markings.
After that acolyte died, the short blade trembled slightly, emitting a very low-frequency hum. In this hum, the surrounding shadows seemed to come alive, extending countless tentacles to devour the deceased acolyte, while the eyes of the other acolytes, who had been somewhat fearful, were suddenly filled with a purple glow, and they numbly continued the ritual as before.
There was no other will in their minds, only one thought remained: "Protect our master, conceal her whereabouts."
The Scourge's progress was smoother than Derek and Ogrim had estimated, even though Grim Batol was home to the Twilight's Hammer cult, which included surviving orcs from the Dragonmaw Clan and other sub-clans after the Second War, and had enslaved the kobolds, two-headed giants, and Ogres from the mountains, even capturing some Gronn from Outland. However, none of this posed any obstacle to the fully prepared Scourge.
Ultimately, the Twilight's Hammer was merely a dark cult that hid in the shadows, scheming various plots. With the Old Gods yet to rise, they were simply a disorganized rabble that could not withstand a true army's cleansing.
Moreover, the Scourge's combat capabilities far exceeded any army formed by mortals. For the undead army, capable of sweeping across all of Azeroth, annihilating a small group of Twilight Cultists hiding in Grim Batol was incredibly easy.
After Ogrim's warhammer heavily shattered the skull of the last two-headed giant enslaved by the Twilight Cultists, he watched as the undead dragged the massive corpse to the rear. Ogrim, however, did not show a satisfied smile; instead, he frowned deeply. "Derek, is the intelligence truly correct? We've cleared the entire city, so why haven't we found any trace of it?"
Derek's blade sliced across the throat of an Orc cultist. He ignored the dying pleas and fear of his opponent, granting him cold death without a shred of mercy. The Death Knight wiped the blood from his runeblade onto the corpse's robe, then spat on the ground.
"These guys' souls have been corrupted by dark magic. We can't extract any useful information, and even if we resurrect them, they'll only become mindless zombies," Derek replied, then extended his butcher's knife towards the next Orc.
Ogrim raised a hand to stop him, reminding him, "We're not here for a massacre or to waste time. You and I both know what our master wants."
"You think I'm venting my anger?" Derek chuckled twice, then backhanded his sword into another Orc cultist's chest. "Death, pain, and… fear—that's what I want."
As Derek spoke, the souls of the deceased cultists peeled away from their bodies, accompanied by extremely painful wails. These souls, tainted by void power, traced strange paths through the sky before speeding off in a certain direction.
"This—?" Ogrim was also slightly shocked. He looked at Derek with a puzzled expression, trying to understand what he was doing.
"Follow me."
Derek swung onto his Death Steed. After a neigh, the warhorse galloped away, following the departing souls.
Ogrim also mounted his horse, but before leaving, he said to a high-ranking Necromancer, "You, organize them to set up camp here and process any valuable materials."
Then Ogrim followed Derek, quickly catching up to him. "You're having these souls lead the way? But why would they betray their master?"
He had tried a similar method earlier, but found that these darkly corrupted souls "preferred" death to betraying their master. Even enduring the immense pain of soul tearing, they couldn't reveal their master's location.
Yes, "couldn't." Souls touched by the Old Gods' power, even if completely transformed into pure anima, could not betray their master.
"When I was very young, like every Kul Tiran, I heard the call of the ocean," Derek said, not directly explaining the reason, but instead recounting a past event to Ogrim.
Although Ogrim frowned, his patience and curiosity, far greater than that of most orcs, made him quietly listen to Derek's next words.
"Kul Tirans naturally have a deep connection with the ocean. We have unique Tidesages who wield the power of the tides and can bless our ships. This is why Kul Tiras's fleet is Invincible across the oceans of Azeroth."
Derek's narration reminded Ogrim of the time when the Horde's ships were so suppressed by Kul Tiras's Invincible fleet that they couldn't even leave port. Although he disliked the Dragonmaw Clan, he had to admit that if they hadn't taken the risk of controlling those dragons back then, perhaps the Horde would never have been able to enter the oceans of Azeroth.
But even if they weakened the Alliance's fleet, they only gained the right to sail on the surface. When encountering Kul Tiras ships head-on, the orcs' best choice was always to flee.
"However, some people can hear another voice from the ocean… that is the call from the abyss, regarded as ominous by most. Even the eldest Tidesages dare not easily touch it, but some still believe it is not a power to be feared," Derek shook his head, seemingly thinking of something unpleasant. "When I was young, I also thought it was just the whispers of the deep sea, but now it seems that what is hidden in the deep sea is clearly the whispers of the Old Gods."
"Your people are toying with the power of the Old Gods?" Ogrim looked strange. If that were true, why hadn't Kul Tiras been invaded by various monsters?
Having dealt with the Old Gods several times, Ogrim knew well the terrifying and ubiquitous nature of this dark power. Even the powerful Titan Guardians had to succumb to the whispers of the void, but why had Kul Tiras remained unharmed by the whispers of the void?
"I don't know," Derek said, a hint of helplessness on his face as he spoke of the hidden danger in his homeland. "That's why I suggested coming to Grim Batol, not to vent some inexplicable anger at these orcs who joined a cult, but to better understand these powers and their potential impact on Kul Tirans—wait, we're here."
Their warhorses stopped before a large gate. They exchanged glances, and Derek dismounted first, placing his hand on the metal-forged hall door.
To their surprise, the gate was pushed open by Derek without any resistance. Apart from the sheer weight of the metal door itself, Derek and Ogrim felt no other magical power.
However, in Grim Batol, where almost the entire city was covered in desecration and ill omens, such a hall seemed abnormal in every way.
Derek held up his runeblade, its blade glowing faintly, illuminating the ground beneath his feet. Derek reached out, and a grasping hand formed of death energy picked up something from the ground. He held it in his hand, examined it, and then stated definitively, "This is a dwarf skull."
"Dwarves?"
Upon hearing this, Ogrim kicked open the other side of the gate. Looking inside, he saw a landscape of pale white skeletons, all of them dwarf bones.
Grim Batol had long been abandoned by the Wildhammer dwarves. These dwarves naturally couldn't have died here during the Orcish Wars. And looking at the intertwined dwarf skeletons and the rotten weapons stuck in their bones, it was clear they had killed each other here.
After a brief search, Derek's gaze had fallen on an empty spot on the ground not far away, where a corpse, though covered in dust from the passage of time, was still wrapped in an exquisitely preserved, unrotted robe.
Mordgud, the Witch-King…
Derek, with his profound family background, quickly realized the identity of the skeletal corpse, and after that, his heart immediately became highly vigilant.
Derek exchanged a silent glance with Ogrim. After confirming their understanding, Ogrim casually grabbed a dwarf skeleton that had been dead for many years. He gripped the dwarf's thick skull with his large hand, and necromantic energy suddenly began to extract the memories from the corpse's former life.
But after a while, Ogrim released his grip on the skull and shook his head at Derek, "As expected, the souls of these corpses have long since disappeared to who knows where."
"Then they could only have been fed to the masters of these cultists," Derek used his runic sword to clear a path to stand on, slowly walking up to Mordgud's corpse.
Even though Mordgud had been dead for many years, Derek could tell from the ferocious and exaggerated opening of her skull what kind of despair this Witch-King had experienced before her death. It seemed that the common failing of the Dark Iron Dwarves was not knowing how dangerous the power they wielded truly was.
First, the void power of the Old Gods, then Ragnaros who once dwelled in Blackrock Mountain. The Dark Iron Dwarves had already encountered some of the most dangerous entities on Azeroth. It was truly not easy for this race to have survived until now.
"Are you sure your magic hasn't failed?"
Ogrim cautiously walked around the hall, finding nothing else noteworthy apart from the dwarf skeletons scattered everywhere.
Derek, however, did not answer Ogrim. He squatted beside Mordgud's skeleton, seemingly tinkering with something.
"Did you hear me? Or is there something special about this corpse—" Ogrim, seeing Derek ignore him, quickly walked forward but stopped midway, gripping his warhammer with great vigilance, "Derek?!"
Derek still did not respond, but this time he stood up, and in his hand was a strangely shaped curved dagger. The large eyeball at the connection of the hilt was like a living thing, staring intently at Ogrim, causing even this battle-hardened old orc to feel a chill in his heart.
Just as Ogrim thought Derek was controlled by the dagger and was about to swing his warhammer to knock the dagger from Derek's hand, Derek finally spoke, "Wait, Ogrim! I'm not controlled!"
However, Ogrim still swung his warhammer at Derek without hesitation. Judging by the arc of the hammerhead, if Derek didn't dodge in time, he might be smashed into two pieces.
Fortunately, Derek reacted quickly, immediately raising his longsword and firmly jamming it into the angle between Ogrim's hammerhead and handle, stopping the warhammer midway before it could accumulate enough kinetic energy.
"Are you crazy, Ogrim? I told you I'm not controlled," Derek angrily rebuked Ogrim who was attacking him.
Seeing that Derek showed no other reaction besides expected anger, Ogrim slightly reined in his hostility, but he still coldly rebuked, "Are you an idiot? How dare you directly hold such an unknown evil weapon in your hand? You should know better than me how these dwarves died."
Although protected by the Lich King, the Scourge undead were difficult to brainwash by the Old Gods, but no one knew how much temptation and hypnosis one would be subjected to by holding such an evil weapon. Ogrim's cautious nature did not allow for any possible mistakes.
"Don't underestimate the Lich King's power, Ogrim. His strength far exceeds our imagination," Derek, seeing that Ogrim had no intention of continuing the attack, also put away his longsword. But he also understood Ogrim's concern, so he tossed the dagger in his hand away. However, the dagger showed no tendency to fall, instead floating in mid-air. "I did hear the dagger's whispers, but I only heard them. The Lich King's power completely blocked her attempts to influence me."
Arthas provided excellent protection for his powerful knights. Unless they fell into an Ancient God's private domain like a certain unlucky Loken, even if they faced an Ancient God directly, it would be difficult for them to lose their self-will.
Or rather, before the Old Gods could break through their mental defenses, an overly powerful mental force would directly destroy their bodies and souls, rather than control them.
It might be easy to kill a Death Knight who had been captured alive, but the difficulty of brainwashing them was no less than directly confronting Arthas, the Lich King.
Xal'atath initially thought, just as Derek had surmised, that if she could use whispers to entice Derek to take her away from here, then acquiring a powerful subordinate might allow her to better execute her plans.
But the moment she used mental stealth to divert Ogrim and Derek's attention, hiding herself beside Mordgud's corpse and intending to use the last vestiges of the Witch-King's corpse to initiate a mental invasion, she realized she was completely mistaken.
The instant she tried to control Derek, a powerful mental defense immediately repelled her power. At the same time, an incomparably formidable presence had already cast its gaze upon her.
Realizing that she might have caused big trouble, Xal'atath immediately decided to implement Plan B—to submit and surrender.
Indeed, although she was a weapon possessing powerful dark power, capable of easily corrupting mortals, and even bishops with unwavering Holy Light faith, facing the current master of dark power on Azeroth, she was somewhat outmatched.
After all, she only had a tiny bit of will and the shell of a weapon left. To confront the Lich King in her current state would be overly delusional.
Having understood this point, Xal'atath unhesitatingly abandoned the "dignity" she once held as a supreme being alongside Old Gods like Y'Shaarj, C'Thun, and Yogg-Saron. She prepared to preserve herself before Arthas like a small dog wagging its tail for mercy.
More precisely, such a thing as dignity had long since vanished along with most of her power and soul when she was devoured by her former colleagues.
Her only thought now was to survive, to live longer than any other Ancient God. Only then could she atone for the ridiculous mistakes she made back then.
And after a brief contemplation, Xal'atath became even more certain of this idea, because after she "overestimated herself" by touching the Death Knight's mental defense, that terrifying Lich King had arrived!
A bone-chilling cold spread through the spacious hall. Derek and Ogrim immediately understood something. They simultaneously looked in one direction, and swirling black mist quickly outlined a tall figure.
"Xal'atath."
After Arthas's figure completely solidified in the hall, he softly uttered a word, and the name itself seemed to carry magic, for merely reciting it made the omnipresent shadows stir restlessly.
But Xal'atath's reaction was far more agile and swift than those lower-level shadow creatures. Her blade emitted a rapid hum, and then the shadows immediately fell silent again.
She whispered in a seductive voice that only Arthas could hear, "At your service, my new master."
"Xal'atath, you must know why I've come."
Arthas gripped the dark empire blade, completely unafraid of the evil influence emanating from the weapon, and directly questioned Xal'atath.
"Oh, great Lich King, I am merely a weapon with a pitiful remnant of will now, so how could I possibly know your thoughts?"
Xal'atath, however, did not directly tell Arthas what he wanted to know. Her enchanting and soft voice could stir the heart of any man, but this trick had no effect on Arthas.
Seeing that Xal'atath was still playing coy, Arthas showed no mercy. Terrifying death energy directly poured into the dark empire blade. Under the surging power, Xal'atath's remaining will was almost completely destroyed.
Although Xal'atath had tried her best to overestimate Arthas's power, she still found that she had underestimated the newly appointed Lich King when she truly fell into his hands.
His power was immeasurably stronger than that cowardly, yet insidious and cunning Ner'zhul. Xal'atath had originally intended to use her knack for manipulation to gain some benefits from Arthas, but now it seemed that if she didn't cooperate obediently, she might be completely annihilated.
Sensing the shift in Xal'atath's thoughts, Arthas stopped pressuring the dark empire blade. "This is a warning. If there's a next time, what awaits you will be the baptism of the Holy Light."
Upon hearing the words "Holy Light," even Xal'atath couldn't help but tremble. She certainly had other contingencies, but the thought of being transformed into some indescribable, strange thing by the Holy Light was difficult to accept.
The Void and the Holy Light are eternally at odds. To the lifeforms of these two factions, each other are as disgusting and loathsome as cockroaches and maggots.
"Alright, alright, you annoying man, you're looking for N'Zoth? To be honest, I dare not pry too much into the secrets of those complete Old Gods. It would absolutely not be a good thing for them to discover my existence," Xal'atath replied, her tone completely different from before, half-compromise and half-helpless, but she still used her words to distance herself first, "I don't know exactly what N'Zoth wants to do. I only know that a group of Naga belonging to Azshara went to Pandaria."
Before she could finish speaking, a sharp pain made Xal'atath shriek, "Ah! Damn Holy Light, I already told you, you can't do this!"
Arthas frowned, and the light in his hand gradually dissipated. Only then did Xal'atath calm down. Compared to Xal'atath's confusion about why Arthas suddenly used the Holy Light to harm her, Arthas was more puzzled by one thing.
Xal'atath didn't seem to know that Y'Shaarj's Heart was still being stored?
And after being scorched by the Holy Light, Xal'atath immediately realized something keenly, "Is there something else in Pandaria that I don't know about? Something worth N'Zoth coveting? Titan ruins? Void treasures? No… that can't be it."
Arthas wasn't surprised by Xal'atath's quick reaction, because this fellow had survived for many years under the encirclement of multiple Old Gods. If she wasn't quick-witted, she would have been completely devoured long ago. How could a sliver of her will have survived until today?
After a brief thought, Arthas decided to tell Xal'atath the answer, "It's a heart, the heart of Y'Shaarj."
"Y'Shaarj?! How is that possible? That fellow was personally slain by Father Aman'Thul. Heh, as arrogant as Y'Shaarj was before he died, that's how pathetic he was when he died." Xal'atath clearly didn't believe Arthas's words. She had hidden in a dark corner and witnessed it all with her own eyes. Foul blood rain and the wails of the Star Soul echoed throughout Azeroth on that day.
Y'Shaarj was indeed annihilated by the Titans' intervention, and even caused irreparable and severe damage to Azeroth. If the Titans hadn't discovered this, the remaining Old Gods would have faced complete annihilation, not just imprisonment.
However, when Xal'atath saw no signs of wavering from Arthas, she couldn't help but become suspicious, but soon this doubt turned into another realization, "You are very certain that Y'Shaarj's heart was preserved? Ah… well, that is truly intriguing."
Arthas's brows furrowed tighter and tighter. These Old Gods were indeed masters of manipulation. Even though her power was blocked by him, her words alone still accurately and impartially hit the core of the entire topic.
That is, why did the Titans leave Y'Shaarj's heart?
The already fragile trust relationship finally developed a complete rift. Arthas admitted that he had to reconsider the Titans' stance. Perhaps they represented the side of order, but whose order this order truly was, that was hard to say.
"It seems we both know some secrets that the other doesn't. Hmm… that's good. Perhaps forcing you to do something would be counterproductive, so how about we make a deal?" Arthas placed Xal'atath into a magnificent royal scabbard. The scabbard fit perfectly, indicating that Arthas had long reserved this place for Xal'atath .
Xal'atath was dangerous enough that Arthas believed keeping her by his side might be the best option.
"A deal? My master, I've made many deals, and usually I'm the one offering tempting terms to others, but I must admit, this time I am drawn to you." Xal'atath breathed a sigh of relief when she saw Arthas not pressing her further. After all, she didn't want to go for broke until the last moment, and in Arthas's hands, whether the net broke was uncertain, but the fish would definitely die.
"Souls, a very simple bargaining chip, you understand."
Arthas didn't say much, but those few simple words instantly made Xal'atath's swill active. Even Derek and Ogrim, who hadn't directly communicated with Xal'atath , noticed the intense shift in consciousness.
"After it's done, N'Zoth is mine, and yours is yours," the plan Arthas proposed made Xal'atath unable to refuse, but the dagger quickly calmed down.
"What do I have to refuse you with, my dear," Xal'atath's tone returned to normal, "It seems we must… have a deeper discussion."
Accompanied by a brief laugh, Xal'atath fell silent, but Arthas knew she was preparing the bargaining chips sufficient to complete this transaction.
After ending his conversation with Xal'atath , Arthas turned his gaze to Derek and Ogrim, who were kneeling on one knee. He nodded slightly, "Well done. Now, you two go take over this city. As for those Twilight Cultists, leave none alive."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
After giving the orders, Arthas's figure also disappeared from the hall. The next second, he returned to the Throne Room in Lordaeron. Sitting back on the throne, he slightly lowered his head, took out the dark empire blade, and fell into contemplation, looking at the ancient runes on the blade.
Was it N'Zoth who was eyeing the Heart of Y'Shaarj, or was Azshara plotting for this item?
Arthas suddenly had an idea—if Xal'atath didn't know that Y'Shaarj still had a heart, did that mean other Old Gods might not know about this either?
Although he couldn't be sure if Xal'atath was feigning ignorance, this might expose some other problems, and to understand the answer to this problem, perhaps he would have to go to another island, isolated for ten thousand years… Zandalar.