"Damn it! What are you doing?"
"Killing you!"
Xavius was left speechless; technically that was correct. What he meant was to ask what method the other party had used, not the action itself—had his words been misunderstood?
Misunderstood or not, kill first and ask questions later. Enough chatter—die!
Arthas was still hacking at the Heart of Corrosion, firing off a skill the instant its cooldown ended; now the cooldown was almost negligible. In less than a minute he had summoned a horde of Water Elementals and Serpent Totems. Their individual damage was low, like mosquito bites, but swarms of them still hurt.
Worse, the minions attacked with lightning speed—two or three strikes per second. The constant stinging drove him mad. No other Nightmare creatures remained, only the Nightmare Ancients, and with the burning effect steadily shaving off their health, it looked like they would be roasted alive.
"Mighty master, hear the voice of your most devoted servant—grant me strength!"
Xavius shouted to the heavens, hoping his Old God master would save him. But no matter how many times he called, there was no reply.
Old Gods aren't fools; when a battle is lost they retreat at once, conserving strength to prepare for breaking their own prison.
C'Thun is already half free and urgently needs to replenish power. The moment he steps out, even the Gates of Ahn'Qiraj won't hold him—soon all will be his domain!
Yogg-Saron is also storing strength for escape. Sending Xavius to invade the Emerald Dream now is meant to open a new front and draw the attention of Azeroth's Keepers.
If the pawn Xavius is useful, use him; if not, discard him—no sentiment involved. Toward any servant who isn't a Faceless One, their method is always the same.
Besides, Yogg-Saron played a petty trick: letting nightmare creatures sprout eyes everywhere to frame C'Thun. He didn't even need to explain—any knowledgeable Keeper would recognize whose handiwork it was.
"Old God" is only a title; each god evolves in its own direction and bears its own name.
The Seven-Eyed Black Goat Y'Shaarj and the Thousand-Tentacled N'Zoth are both dead. Now only the Thousand-Mawed Yogg-Saron and the Thousand-Eyed C'Thun remain; seeing so many eyes, anyone would think of C'Thun.
While the Keepers focus on C'Thun in the south, Yogg-Saron in Northrend will have plenty of time to break free. In short: a scapegoat tactic—better you die than I.
After these Old Gods were infected into fleshy forms by Azeroth's world soul they still belong to the Void, and the Void's first law is devour.
Whales eat big fish, big fish eat small fish, small fish eat shrimp—devour the weaker to grow stronger. That is the Void's purest, eternal rule: devour more Void energy to become stronger.
If C'Thun is killed, so much the better—Yogg-Saron can then have a bite, hot or cold, it doesn't matter, as long as there's something to eat.
"Stop yelling—no one will come even if you scream your throat raw!"
Malfurion said this quite calmly, though it sounded odd—those are supposed to be a villain's lines!
Xavius was stunned for a moment, then a surge of shame and rage washed over him—he had been humiliated!
"Damn it! Arthas deserves to die, but you, Malfurion, deserve it even more! All of you will die! Aaaargh!"
In fury Xavius's body suddenly swelled. To avoid death he had to use his final trump card. Once he did, there was no turning back: he could never leave the Emerald Nightmare, never enter the physical world again, and would no longer even be a Satyr—just a full-fledged Nightmare monster.
Vines snapped, and a shock-wave sent Fandral Staghelm flying; Malfurion, in mid-spell, was also interrupted. The backlash made him cough up a mouthful of blood.
Xavius didn't pursue—not because he didn't want to, but because he couldn't. The surrounding Nightmare Ancients were entwining around him, trapping him inside.
Roots hanging from the sky writhed, their tips boring into his bone marrow, and Xavius screamed.
"Aaaah!! You—ah—haha—ah—hahaha—"
Arthas quickly blinked away; the place had become too foul to stay. Sometimes he even wondered if Xavius was some sort of pervert—why else make such awful noises?
A beam of Holy Light descended, healing several druids and dispelling some of their fear.
"Thank you, my lord."
Fandral bowed, hand to chest; this was a demigod and had to be respected. Besides, his granddaughter had asked if he could speak on her behalf for a marriage proposal.
How could he bring that up? It was only natural for his granddaughter to fancy a demigod—few Night Elf women wouldn't be moved.
"No need. Malfurion, if you're all right, get up and cast. This time you protect him—don't let the spell be interrupted again. I'll keep Xavius busy. For Azeroth!"
"For Azeroth!"
The druids couldn't help but echo, feeling as though the Way of Nature had deepened within them—was this a reward for defending the world?
Xavius was dragged into the trees, fusing with the Heart of Corrosion. Gigantic roots linked to his body until he and the ancient formed one monstrous entity that filled half the Rift of Aln.
"Heh-heh, dying by my hand is your honor. I never wanted this move—the cost is too great. But you forced me. I'll kill you, enslave your corpses, return to the real world, and slaughter your loved ones one by one!"
"Queen Azshara will be brought here to stay with me forever. Arthas, I'll make you watch as your queen pleases me! Cackle-cackle! Aaaah!"
The moment those words left his mouth Arthas struck hard. Being the "other man" has a price—especially in front of the husband. If this weren't a law-abiding society, he'd already be dead ten-thousand times.
Arthas hates two kinds of people: those who steal others' women, and those who won't let him steal women—both must die!
Chaos-form blows smashed into the trunk, spraying splinters. Several Nightmare-root tips locked onto him the instant he attacked and stabbed out.
Thud!
Arthas vanished as an illusion. Just as Xavius was cursing this shameless sneak-attacker, the figure reappeared—then split: one became two, two became four, four became eight. Suddenly eight identical figures stood there.
The Blademaster's signature move: Mirror Image!
Mirror Images inherit half the attacker's damage, take full damage themselves, and come with both Bash and Critical Strike!
The number of illusory clones depends on spiritual power—however many the mind can control, that many can be split.
This level of duplication has long surpassed traditional skills; it is a unique evolution and refinement exclusive to demigods.
"What!"
"This is—?"
Before Xavius could even feel shock, agony surged through him, as though countless ants were crawling under his skin. The Bash stun truly had no effect—he was already a plant—but the bonus damage still hurt.
Even a tree, faced with seven clones plus the original, eight strikes from every direction—hit one and the rest keep swinging, impossible to chase or dodge.
A colossal body's advantage is immunity to stun and control: deep roots anchor it to the earth, branches link sky and land, the whole fused with the Rift of Aln. The drawback is equally obvious—nowhere to hide. It can only rely on thick bark and Emerald Nightmare power to reduce damage, trading on huge health and regeneration.
Pity that this is exactly what Arthas hard-counters. No matter how vast the health bar, once it's shown, he'll whittle it away in minutes!
The burning from Rain of Fire perfectly stifles regeneration; poisons, burns, bleeds—DoTs' virtue is stopping enemy healing. Even a Holy Light Spell is only a drop in the bucket.
Now Xavius rages helplessly, flailing branches yet hitting nothing. If he can't kill Arthas, he'll soon drop into stasis: alive but motionless, forced to watch his foe dance on his grave!
All that is secondary—humiliation is humiliation; he's endured worse. What Xavius cannot accept is Malfurion; the Emerald seed in his hand is a real, lethal threat.
He wants to strike Malfurion, but can't get past Arthas. Once locked onto Arthas, he walks straight into the trap—one path blocked at both ends.
"Malfurion, the woman you love most isn't yours. Are you willing to watch her spend her life with another? Join me and I'll help you win Tyrande back—trust me, I can do it. In the Nightmare world, I am master of everything!"
Seeing attacks fail, he tries trickery—sowing discord, the oldest tactic in the book.
What better lever than a woman? Love, kinship, friendship—everyone serves one.
"I am master? Hah—so you covet Tyrande too, Xavius. Lucky you have no mother, or you'd collect countless fathers."
Arthas flips the blade with one sentence—whatever your game, I'll name your lust.
"Silence! Tyrande is my friend; her happiness is all I wish. A vile thing like you could never understand; the Highborne know nothing of love!"
Malfurion rebukes him fiercely. In his eyes, if Tyrande is happy, nothing else matters. What brings more joy than seeing the goddess you love find joy? There are many kinds of love, and his is one none can grasp.
Left speechless, Xavius watches his health bar shrink toward stasis and begins cursing like a madman.
"Wretch! A man should claim the goddess he loves—you fool, you coward, too craven to face Tyrande—argh!"
A shriek cuts short as frostmourne pierces his skull. A force begins to sip at his soul, tearing the whole into fragments and refining them into pure Anima.
The more twisted the soul, the richer the Anima yielded. A spotless soul is useless; cunning, sin, war-lust—those vices give the true harvest.
"Xavius, just die already—you talk too much. Don't worry; your death will make Azshara whole. I'll see she bears my children—not one, but four, five, six—hahaha!"
"You—!"
A killing stroke to the heart!
Xavius' eyes bulge, unwilling to die. His soul shatters; memories slip away. Such is the price of a broken soul. He hates—hates Arthas, hates Malfurion, even begins to hate Azshara.
"My lord, leave this foul thing—my spell is almost finished."
Malfurion uses the honorific; without the other's help he would already be dead. Fighting Xavius inside the Rift of Aln had been too much alone—fortunate, truly fortunate!
In the waking world, Ysera receives the signal and drives a nail of enchanted dream-dust and World-Tree twig through the heart of Xavius' projected form.
Dead in both dream and reality, Xavius is swallowed by an oak. When the tree takes shape it bursts, scattering the Nightmare.
The once-crimson sky fades back to normal jade; the Nightmare beasts at the periphery weaken, and the colossal ancients rivaling demigods wither, life ebbing away.
Though the Nightmare is cleared, this is only one stage finished.
Arthas gazes into the rift, lost in thought. Perhaps the azeroth world-soul once grew here. Now it stands empty; the goddess who should have been was torn away, leaving a wound that festers into Nightmare.
"My lord, have you found anything new?"
Malfurion approaches, forgoing rest, respectful.
"Nothing. I only ponder: sometimes what we see is not truth. Xavius is dead, yet Nightmare lingers—given time new terrors will rise."
Arthas shakes his head. He must find a Titan Keeper and turn them. Titans are not always right; they do what they deem just, yet to others it may spell doom.
"Come, we can leave this place."
Outside the Rift of Aln the battle rages on.
Arthas lifts frostmourne high, releasing an aura that empowers every ally. Surging strength and endless vigor drive the Nightmare creatures back in rout.
A perimeter spell-circle blocks escape; the Nightmare beasts must fight to the death—none can flee, for to release them is to loose tigers on the mountain.
"Glad to see you return unharmed—I already feel the Nightmare waning. Elune watches us, friends, children—press on and wipe out every last Nightmare!"
After a whole day of fierce fighting, everyone finally got to rest, and campfires were lit throughout the camp.
The Druids were performing a prayer ritual for their fallen brothers, so that their souls could return to the embrace of Elune.
Druids revere nature, but they also believe in the Moon Goddess Elune; however, unlike members of the Sisterhood, they don't constantly have the phrase 'May Elune bless you' on their lips. Compared to such things, they were more focused on following the Wild Gods to repair the world's scars and maintain natural balance.
Arthas was here treating Maiev's injuries. Even with armor protection, spells hitting the body would create a shock through the plate; after a day of bloody battle, she had multiple injuries on her body.
Her head rested on the man's shoulder, deeply enjoying this feeling of being cared for. This sensation was unprecedented; she had never thought she would rely on a man, or find a mate she truly liked. For a long time, she felt that living alone with her sisters was good enough.
Why would I need a mate? What even is a mate? I don't need one at all!
"I say, you woman are really reckless. Fighting so hard, aren't you afraid of losing your life? You're not alone anymore. You need to know when to fight and when to retreat. Don't keep pushing when you're out of strength; there's no shame in tactical rotation and rest. Always trying to be brave—do you want to be a hero that badly?"
Arthas nagged her while simultaneously casting Holy Light Spell and Healing Wave to close her wounds.
Maiev felt a sweetness in her heart; this concern came from her lover. She didn't care, nor did she have the right to blame Arthas for having other mates; compared to the others, she was the newcomer.
At this moment, being able to enjoy his care and affection was already the best thing—it was a unique kind of pampering.
It's so good to have a husband's concern!
"I'm not afraid, because as long as you're here, I'm not afraid."
"Fine, it seems you're stuck with me. For a lifetime?"
"Yes, for a lifetime, until the day I die!"
"Silly girl, you won't die. We will all live well."
Maiev took the initiative to offer a sweet kiss, full of love.
As it happened, Malfurion came over to talk to Arthas, only to get a face full of public affection. Where was the justice in this?
He already has Tyrande, and now he's after Maiev. Is he going to pluck the Kaldorei race clean before he's satisfied? Honestly, enough is enough, you bastard!
A few days later, they returned to the Emerald Dream.
Malfurion finally found a chance to speak with Arthas. After a brief conversation where he blessed him and Tyrande and asked him to treat her well, his expression turned solemn.
"Actually, the Wild Gods wish to request your help to resurrect them and help them return to Azeroth."
Maiev came out yawning, preparing Dream Green Tea like a wife. After placing two cups of tea on the table, she felt dizzy and went back to the bedroom to sleep. She hadn't wanted to get up, but for some reason, she wanted to give Malfurion another dose of 'dog food,' so she forced her tired body up.
Watching this, Malfurion's mouth twitched incessantly. Enough already.
"Maiev seems very happy. She was right to follow you. Before, she was always bitter and never smiled; sometimes we were really worried that this would lead her down an extreme path."
Arthas acknowledged this; in the original plot, Maiev indeed turned dark. She didn't even hesitate to raise her blade against her own people, becoming cynical about everything and willing to do anything to achieve her revenge.
While such a Maiev had a distinct personality, she really wasn't the type Arthas liked. Being too extreme often brings unimaginable harm and drags everyone around into an invisible abyss.
He didn't want Maiev to become like that. It was best to influence her with love. Who would have thought that the current Maiev, acting like a young wife, was the same cold scorpion who would turn on her own?
"Yes, I was also worried she would go to extremes. That's why I want to keep her by my side. She is my mate, my wife, the woman I will spend the rest of my life with. I must take good care of her, and I definitely will."
In the bedroom, Maiev's lips curled into a happy smile. She didn't think much about hunting demons or fighting anymore. She would retreat behind the scenes, handle logistics, bear Arthas's children, and take care of them.
The cooperation between the Wardens and Lordaeron was a win-win, without a doubt. The Warden Force was expert in combat, having fought cunning demons for a long time, and their quality was top-tier. Meanwhile, Lordaeron had vast lands, and with Druids and Dryads entering Lordaeron to purify the soil...
The land would not only recover quickly but would become more lush than before. It was said that after the Dryads studied the Essence of Fel Energy, they could convert it into pure natural energy. They couldn't absorb this energy themselves, but it could be used to nourish the land, making plants grow faster and stronger.
Malfurion took a sip of tea, composed himself, and brought the topic back to the original discussion.
"The Wild Gods state that they will not let you go empty-handed. After returning to Azeroth, they will be your loyal allies, and in the future, they will unconditionally cooperate with any action of Lordaeron, as long as it does not harm the world."
This was a disclaimer—they couldn't interfere with or harm the world. They couldn't exactly agree if Arthas suddenly decided to blow up Azeroth, right?
"Fine. Please go back and tell them I agree. I will talk to them in detail tomorrow. You may leave."
He agreed so readily?
Malfurion suddenly felt a sense of shame. He thought Arthas would demand a huge price, but he just agreed?
No wonder Tyrande chose him. Arthas was indeed an excellent and responsible demigod, far superior to himself.
After seeing Malfurion off, Maiev walked out yawning. With her eyes narrowed, she sipped the green tea for a while to make herself feel better and more awake.
"You agreed very readily. Aren't you afraid they'll break their word?"
Arthas embraced her waist from behind, breathing in her faint scent.
"I'm not afraid. They are reputable Wild Gods; they won't go back on their word. If they did, they wouldn't be fit to be Wild Gods. Besides, no one can default on a debt to me. Rest assured, everything is under my control."
"I was just reminding you. Since you're prepared, I won't ask further."
"Alright, now it's time to rest. It's dark!"
Maiev looked outside. Although the sky remained the same, there was no such thing as 'dark' in the Emerald Dream, was there?
And didn't she just wake up? Why sleep again?
The next day.
Arthas went to the Moonlight Cave, where the Wild Gods were already waiting. They had all sacrificed themselves in the great war ten thousand years ago and had waited since. They thought they could be resurrected, but their descendants, having lost their guidance, didn't know how, and without protection, their intelligence had regressed. Combined with natural disasters and wars, they gradually declined and were unable to help with the resurrection.
The method of resurrecting Wild Gods was mostly the same: it required enough believers, some special materials, and finally an Archdruid to guide them through the gates of the Emerald Dream.
This involved some special materials that Arthas needed to collect. Their descendants might have them, or could be sent to collect them. To help, they specifically handed over items containing their Essence as tokens.
As long as they were their descendants, they would obey orders upon seeing the token. If any attempt was made to steal it, Arthas was permitted to fight back and kill them all.
This involved social obligations, and some promises had to be made. For example, sending descendants to form an allied force to join Lordaeron's army, and giving priority trade rights for products from their territories.
However, there was no mention of making them work like beasts of burden in Lordaeron; there wasn't even an intention for that.
Go to Lordaeron? What a joke. The Chromatic Dragons were already settled there; there was no need for these Wild Gods, or rather, no place for them.
After staying for another half month, Arthas learned the Way of Nature from each of these Wild Gods. They taught him with exceptional diligence, wishing they could pass on everything they knew for fear he wouldn't learn. Compared to the favor of helping them resurrect, teaching the Way of Nature was trivial!
"Way of Nature study complete. Talent Mastered: Way of Nature."
"Demigod Path Stage Two complete. Please enter the Rift of Aln for meditation, duration: one month."
The Rift of Aln contained the residual traces of the azeroth world-soul after it was moved; most of this energy had turned into Nightmares due to resentment. Returning to the Land of Nightmares to meditate was actually using the purest power of the world soul to achieve a breakthrough.
Though it was a bit strange, Arthas didn't doubt it. He gave the Wild God tokens to Maiev, instructing her to go out and negotiate with Jaina, Sylvanas, and Onyxia. They were to devise a plan to systematically collect the materials needed for the resurrection ritual, and arrange for Druids and Dryads to go to Lordaeron to purify and restore the contaminated territories.
Feeling reluctant to leave, Maiev, now a wife, could only suppress her doubts and follow her husband's instructions to leave the Emerald Dream.
A long time had passed inside, but only half a month had passed in the outside world.
Jandice, who was waiting outside, received Maiev's instructions and used magic to notify the three mistresses to come. She felt a bit disappointed that she hadn't been able to follow her master into the Emerald Dream to serve him.
Vashj also received the news and relayed it to Queen Azshara, so the Mistress could rest easy—one month at most. Once the Master returned, he could help the Mistress solve her form issue, so she would no longer be trapped in the deep ocean and could travel freely.
Half a month was enough for many things to happen. Jaina had to return to Lordaeron to oversee things and help handle the Druids coming to assist. They were guests, but it was hard to guarantee there wouldn't be some fools who thought with their lower half and targeted these beautiful elves.
Back when the Blood Elf' kingdom of QuelThalas still existed, there were bold fools who would kidnap female elves to sell as slaves, let alone now.
The intelligence network was still being trained and deployed; for now, they could only monitor northern Lordaeron, with very little penetration into the south.
Additionally, the Gnomes were still calling for aid. Their capital, Gnomeregan, was being invaded by Troggs and desperately needed Alliance support. The Gnomes alone could not repel the invasion.
Troggs were very good at burrowing, making it extremely difficult to deal with them underground.
Lordaeron City Hall.
Except for the master, Arthas, and the mistresses Azshara and Tyrande, everyone else was present, including the Red Dragon Queen Alexstrasza. It wasn't that she wanted to come, but Jaina had invited her to the meeting.
Despite the couple both having reputations as 'filial' children, Arthas had not fallen to become a Death Knight, and Jaina had not gone to extremes due to losing her lover. The current Jaina could be described as a virtuous wife and mother. Coupled with the grief of her father's death and a crisis in Kul Tiras, she desperately needed Lordaeron's support.
She had been so busy that her magical training had stalled. Human life is short; if one neglects training due to being bogged down by trivialities, they will remain at that level for a lifetime.
Fortunately, the Red Dragon Queen gave her confidence, saying that as long as Arthas was strong enough—and he had now ascended to a demigod—one of his abilities was blessing. Extending life was just the most basic thing; even she, if she regained her guardian power, could grant others longevity.
At her peak, the Red Dragon Queen could use the World Tree and a small vial of Well of Eternity water to grant the entire Night Elf race immortality; this was a very familiar process.
"Everyone, the Gnomish leader Mekkatorque has sent another request, hoping the Alliance can help them retake their capital, Gnomeregan. Do you think we should send troops?"
Jaina naturally took the main seat. She managed all affairs, acting as the general manager. She usually didn't directly interfere in military or financial matters but would consult with her two sisters.
Having not seen her for a while, Sylvanas had a few strands of white in her golden hair, giving her a unique, charming aura; when she was cold-faced, she had a cool and valiant air.
"Send troops. The Gnomish engineers provided great help during the campaign against the Burning Legion. Back then, they even gave up their homes to build weapons for us with crude equipment; the Alliance cannot forget this friendship."
Onyxia was counting the cost of deployment on her fingers. As the Mistress in charge of financial revenue and expenditure, she was very sensitive to money.
"The treasury is currently flush; fighting while recovering is no problem. If the Druids and Dryads improve their efficiency and restore the Silverpine Forest region, we can have fresh bread and rice for food instead of eating fish every day."
The newly joined Maiev hesitated to speak, considering her status and how recently she had joined.
Jaina noticed her expression, and a smile appeared on her pretty face.
"Maiev, welcome to the group. You've helped Arthas a lot, and your joining gives us more time to rest. Do you have any thoughts? Regardless of whether it's reasonable or appropriate, you can speak up. By brainstorming, perhaps we can find a better way."
Sylvanas rolled her eyes slightly, wondering if her husband just really liked female elves. She was an elf, Sinestra's image was that of a High Elf, the Red Dragon Queen usually appeared as a High Elf, and now Maiev was an elf too—was he an elf enthusiast?
Perhaps inspired by Jaina, or perhaps truly wanting to do something, Maiev recounted the war that had taken place in Highmountain.
"Since Gnomeregan is an underground city, we can also borrow the Mantid's help to exterminate the Troggs. They evolved from the ancient Aqir; although we don't know why they now obey Arthas's commands, they are undoubtedly the best allies. In narrow tunnels, no one fights better than they do."
"Even if the Troggs try to dig new passages for surprise attacks, the Mantid's instincts will give early warning, allowing them to defeat and kill the Troggs. The Lordaeron coalition can concentrate on fighting in open areas, which is favorable for deploying troops, and we won't need huge numbers—mainly the Mantid."
"The Mantid's logistical needs are simple: food. They eat anything; Trogg corpses can be meals. Supply pressure will be low. The only uncertainty is that Arthas is still in the Emerald Dream seeking enlightenment; whether the Mantid will heed orders is unclear. If they refuse, we may have to wait for his return before launching a large-scale invasion."
It wasn't a sudden flash of insight from Maiev; the battle in Highmountan had simply left too deep an impression. At the time Arthas's attention had been fixed on the chieftain Mela; only she and Vashj had noticed how ferociously the Mantid fought indoors. Ordinary creatures were cramped, but for the Mantid it was like a fish in water.
It was an intuitive lesson: every race has its ideal battlefield. Naga in the ocean, murlocs in streams, fire elementals in volcanoes, Night Elves in forests—on their home ground their combat power can at least double!
Back then, had the Tanaris Desert not been so barren, they wouldn't have needed Mantid reinforcements just to hold off the Aqir. Night Elf guerrilla tactics and tree-kin support were useless; they had lost at least half their strength.
Sylvanas raised an eyebrow. Such fun and they hadn't invited her? Damn you, Arthas—when you return I'll make you pay!
"I agree. The Blood Elves can spare some troops. As part of Lordaeron, every race must contribute; no free riders!"
It was a wry truth: the Blood Elves were too few. Their population had never been large; the Scourge had culled some, the loss of the Sunwell had driven others mad, Kael'thas had taken a contingent, a handful remained in Silvermoon City, and another portion had followed the Windrunner Family into Lordaeron.
A family that had never been wealthy was now truly destitute.
Unbearable!
"The drakes can be sent too. Sylvanas, you're our military commander—don't worry about us. We're sisters; we've got your back."
Onyxia batted her eyes; her sultry gaze seemed ready to drip. When it came to social graces, she was unrivaled—after all, she had the Stormwind nobility dancing in circles, something impossible with brute force alone.
"Let the Naga handle transport. Indoor combat isn't our forte, though we can send some troops—as long as pools are prepared in advance."
Vashj sighed. Their current forms were a problem. Apart from the upper echelons, low- and mid-tier Naga were permanently set; change was nearly impossible.
Amphibians sounded impressive, yet they still needed constant moisture. Murlocs died of thirst after a single day away from water; their skins couldn't retain moisture. Naga fared better, lasting three to five days, but prolonged operations in arid zones were out of the question.
"Why not open a sea route to Gnomeregan? Anyway, whatever they build will need shipping—why not establish a maritime line directly?"
Onyxia's eyes sparkled. Gnomish craftwork was excellent; compared with goblin contraptions that loved to explode, reliable, non-explosive (if slightly weaker) gnomish devices were the first choice.
Those mechanostriders were perfect for travel: just swap power cells periodically—hardly any maintenance needed. Ideal for logistics; after all, living mounts had to eat, drink, and excrete, and someone still had to shovel the dung.
Mechanization was inevitable; as finance minister she understood it well. Only Stormwind's fools loved flashy junk—probably because they had more money than sense.
Jaina rubbed her temples. Ideas were popping up faster than popcorn.
"The proposal is good. Once Gnomeregan is open we can reach Ironforge; portals aren't suited for bulk cargo—too expensive. A new route would also showcase Lordaeron's power. But do we have the capacity right now?"
Sinestra naturally supported her daughter, yet resources were stretched. Not to mention an Arctic route also needed opening; her mate kept muttering about Northrend—not just to topple the Lich King but for the north's rich resources!
When it came to finance, the Black Dragon Princess was confident. She started counting on her fingers.
"No problem! Once we kill Fire Elemental Lord Ragnaros in the Burning Steppes, Nefarian can bring the local orcs and Dark Iron dwarves to open the route for us. It won't cost much. Logistics? We've got endless fish—just feed them that. Those poor sods in Blackrock Mountain haven't seen fish in ages!"
The topic was drifting further afield—how had they leapt to the Burning Steppes? That had nothing to do with helping the Gnomes.
Jaina, head aching, cut her off before she started eyeing the jungle trolls of Stranglethorn Vale.
"All right, Onyxia—let's solve the Gnomes' problem first. As for the sea route, as long as it doesn't hinder Lordaeron's development you may use surplus resources. But you'll need the locals' consent; if they refuse, we can't force it."
"Relax, they'll agree—they wouldn't dare refuse!"
"Maiev, can you contact the Mantid?"
Maiev nodded, looking hesitant.
"I can try, but I'm not sure it will work. I'll attempt it."
"Take Shandris with you. Too bad Azshara returned to the Eternal Palace—otherwise she could have helped."
O
There was no alternative: the Mantid obeyed Arthas only because he had absorbed the heart of Y'Shaarj and they mistook him for an Old God. Only Dragon Queen Sinestra knew, but she kept the secret to herself—her and Arthas's private matter, not to be shared, not even with her daughter.
The meeting adjourned, and the women scattered to their tasks.
Jaina was off preparing for her husband's coronation. With Lordaeron Royal City reduced to rubble, rebuilding was pointless; she might as well declare the City of Hope the new capital. Invitations had to be sent to the other racial leaders—yet deciding whom to invite was a headache in itself.
Sylvanas returned to camp and began hand-picking the troops. This campaign demanded elites, and she needed someone who could keep the army in line so no one tarnished Lordaeron's reputation while they were away.
Vereesa showed up the moment she caught wind of it. She'd already figured out who she fancied—she was just a little shy about admitting it.
"Second sister, let me lead the detachment this time."
"You? Not waiting for your brother-in-law to get back?"
Sylvanas arched a golden brow, teasing. She could read her baby sister like a book—did Vereesa really think she could hide anything?
Predictably, one jest and Vereesa's cheeks flamed scarlet.
"Sister!"
"Hehe, go if you like, but stay safe. I'm naming Uther field marshal of the reinforcements; you'll command the Blood Elf contingent plus the Warsong Clan as the main strike force. Don't just charge ahead—plan strategically. I'll be watching every move. Step out of line and I'll haul you back, understood?"
Sylvanas had her own motives: she wanted the Blood Elves to earn glory while keeping her people alive. Her kin had grown too lax; they needed a harsh lesson.
Otherwise, when Arthas saw she'd raised a flock of good-for-nothings, he'd be furious. Lordaeron fed no idlers—no skill, no stay.
"Got it, I'll be careful. I'm not a child anymore. You look stressed, sis. You need to drop the nursemaid act—without trials, no one grows. Silvermoon City is struggling now, but everyone works; they've abandoned their old sloth."
"Look at the Sindorei here in Lordaeron—you've coddled them so much they don't even say thanks and still whine you don't give enough. I know you mean well, but even Kul Tiras is said to be in trouble, and Jaina isn't rushing to coddle anyone."
"Change your thinking. Spoiling them only hurts them. The only reason Arthas keeps quiet is out of respect for you. Know why the Sindorei can't fit into Lordaeron? Because everyone else earns their keep. A pack of layabouts naturally sticks out."
The onlooker sees most clearly; Vereesa knew the process all too well.
In Lordaeron there is no high or low—nobles work alongside commoners. Those who wanted reward without labor now lie beneath three-meter-high graves.
Sylvanas knew it too—she just couldn't bring herself to act.
"I can't."
Vereesa blinked, an idea sparking in her eyes.
"All right, we'll leave it at that, then."
Can't? We'll see about that.
Three days later the army mustered. The Warsong Clan spent half its time on labor details—atonement for past sins and a way to integrate. Obedient orcs were good orcs; orcs were meant to be ruled.
What nonsense about "orcs will never be slaves"? They just wanted free room and board.
Gnolls and Kobolds assembled as well; they would fly ahead on zeppelins to Gnomeregan as an outpost. Their mission: scout the numbers and positions of the Troggs. Gnolls made natural scouts—much like Worgen, just without the latter's higher ceiling as transformed creatures.
They could sprint without mounts and track scents better than any hound. A hunting dog was only a tamed wolf—so why couldn't a Gnoll fill the role?
Brilliant.
As for the Kobolds, the aim wasn't to improve their genes; they simply had a gift for digging. Weak in combat, they made perfect laborers. A little training turned them into first-rate miners, and when it came to tilling fields they could pull a plow like oxen and finish the furrows themselves.
The plan was to establish a settlement that could later serve as a trading post with Gnomeregan and Ironforge. Buying straight from the factories cut out the middleman and saved a fortune.
Maiev took Shandris along, carrying Arthas's token to Thousand Needles. The girl was thrilled to help her father and agreed without a second thought.
She oversaw military operations; with the Naga queen as her stepmother, the ancient hatred between Kaldorei and Naga was moot. Occasional skirmishes happened, but nothing that threatened the big picture.
That left her free to accompany Maiev on the trip, and her mother Tyrande not only allowed it but urged her to see more of the world. Listening to Mom, she could barely contain her excitement at the new horizons.
Thousand Needles, Kypari Trees.
The ancient Mantid Empress of old had died; the current ruler was Empress Shek'zeer.
Though of insect stock, the Mantid differed from their two cousin races: they could fly, were more intelligent, stronger individually, and from the middle castes upward had abandoned savage customs to become as civilized as any race.
Thousand Needles brimmed with unique flora; pale amber globes hung from rock faces—material the Mantid prized for preserving precious objects or the life of a Paragon. Paragons stored this way could be revived ages later when needed.
"Princess Shandris, we are honored,"
said Empress Shek'zeer with a deep bow inside the amber palace. An insect face showed no expression, but her tone was sincere.
This was the master's own bloodline; not long ago the swarm had felt their lord's return, heartening every Mantid. Arthas had granted them freedom and they had taken it, yet their loyalty endured.
"Hehe, good news—Dad's back and breaking through again. He'll return soon."
Shandris knew the place well; as a child Tyrande had brought her several times to settle disputes between Mantid, Worgen, and Furbolgs. Even then she'd realized her father had left priceless legacies.
"Thank you, Princess. We have already sensed his presence. The Mantid stand ready to give everything for our master; our loyalty is eternal."
The Empress's voice rang firm. Their lord had granted freedom and broken ancient shackles, freeing them from Old God influence and the snares of C'Thun to the south.