In the distance, on the mountaintop, a female gnome with silver-blueish hair in a bun clutched her head, feeling a headache.
"History seems to have deviated, how could this be? Where did the problem arise? Oh, how did Arthas end up here? Gods, they're already charging forward! Don't die here! My vacation!"
Clearly, this was a bronze dragon who should be on vacation, forced to handle this situation instead.
According to the timeline, Arthas should not be in the Alliance army at this time; he should still be playing hide and seek with Varian. However, Arthas was indeed in the charge, following his mentor, Uther.
This version of Uther was not yet well-known; at least, he would not gain fame until after the Second War. The only somewhat plausible reason to justify his presence was Uther's loyalty and the fact that he would not betray his king; as a disciple of Archbishop Alonsus Faol, he held some prestige.
The choice not to pick Alonsus could also be due to Terenas's concerns about religious authority overshadowing royal power.
"Avenger's Shield!" Whoosh! Arthas used the Light to condense and threw a shield, hitting an orc who was about to land a finishing blow on a fallen soldier, causing it to kneel.
"Hammer of Justice!" A beam of holy light struck down, causing the enraged orc to be stunned, standing dazedly in place. Arthas quickly drew his sword, slashing at the orc's throat, severing the carotid artery.
The health bar above the orc's head rapidly drained, and when it regained control of itself, it could only clutch its neck in agony before collapsing, its eyes showing it was unwilling to accept such a defeat.
"Your Highness, be careful." Captain Falric, along with the guards, protected Arthas in the middle, loyally carrying out orders.
"Don't worry about me, just form up in threes. I'm a paladin; I can protect myself. Come on, I will heal you!" Arthas raised his hand, tossing a decree of glory that pulled up an injured soldier. The deep, bone-exposed wounds instantly improved.
This exaggerated healing effect even made the priests behind him gasp; the Light was powerful, but could it be this exaggerated?
Remembering how Arthas had suddenly been favored by the Light at the banquet, the priests had no choice but to stop envying him; perhaps this is what a prince is like! Only Onyxia's eyes flickered a few times, unsure of what she was planning.
"You rascal, do not be so arrogant!" Uther, renowned for being the most upright paladin, faced off against Grom Hellscream, who had already slaughtered over ten cavalrymen and could even take on demigods, unwaveringly charging forward.
The holy light erupted around him, so bright it was blinding, and he clashed mightily with the orc. If it were an ordinary knight, they would have had their hands split open and bleeding, but Uther merely unfazed; the Light protected him and continuously healed him. This was the freakishness of paladins: able to heal themselves while striking with the Light.
In defense, they were not inferior to warriors, and in healing, they were self-sufficient—a first-class way to wear down opponents!
"Very good, finally a worthy opponent!" Grom swung his great axe savagely at Uther, and the two legendary figures clashed. A whirlwind of dust and stones filled the area within five meters; anyone who approached—be they human or orc—would suffer serious injury or even instant death!
Meanwhile, Arthas on the other side had gone a bit berserk; each orc he took down granted him five percent experience points. With each level gained, he received an increase of ten points in strength, stamina, haste, agility, mastery, and block.
Strength increased health and attack power; stamina boosted defense and health; haste reduced cooldowns on certain skills; agility increased movement and attack speeds; mastery reduced damage taken, decreased block damage, enhanced attack damage, and boosted healing, among others—fairly average yet slightly balanced attributes.
He was feeling sick as he stared at the blood gushing from his first fallen orc. But he quickly overcame that feeling; he couldn't vomit, couldn't show weakness.
As he watched his experience bar rise, Arthas's actions grew more ferocious, often having his guards surround him in threes. One was responsible for defense, another for distraction, while Arthas would take on the attack—this kind of coordination allowed them to take orcs down before they could retaliate, with Arthas finishing the job, targeting their throats, eyes, and vulnerable areas.
Soon, Arthas's armor was stained red with blood, and he appeared particularly exhilarated. Occasionally, a glow radiated from him as he raised his bloody sword, streams of holy light descended, healing the injured soldiers and pulling them back into the fray.
His healing was calculated as a percentage, each time restoring 20% of health, sometimes even more exaggerated than the priests' healing spells.
"For the Alliance, for victory, kill!" Arthas entered a type of frenzy.
He had to build his influence and establish his reputation, forcing himself to continue the slaughter; as long as he killed enough, there would be no future repercussions! Meanwhile, Onyxia followed closely behind, occasionally turning orcs to ashes with fireballs, her spells being more powerful than those cast by ordinary mages. As a retainer of Arthas, her strength merely drew slight attention, since it was common sense that royal retainers were formidable.
Watching Arthas's increasing momentum, she grew ever more curious about this young prince—what other secrets did he possess?
"Ding, leveled up to level two." "Ding, leveled up to level three."
Arthas's kill count caught the attention of the orcs; his efficient slaughter tactics were like mowing grass.
Orgrim turned to Gul'dan and said, "Bring your death knights! Eliminate that prince!"
"As you wish, Warchief," said Gul'dan, who dared not defy him. He had to gain Orgrim's trust to secure a bit of freedom of movement for himself. His aim was clear—from the beginning, it was about gaining power, not following some trivial tribe to seize land.
To gain power, he needed to set sail in search of the Tomb of Sargeras, the leader of the Burning Legion. To find Sargeras's Tomb, he needed ships capable of sailing, and the moment was critical; he didn't want his efforts to have been in vain. As the death knights made their appearance, the surrounding air seemed to chill to the bone, even making Alliance soldiers shiver.
These were not death knights created by the Lich King; fundamentally, they were the souls of orcs forcibly bound inside the bodies of human knights—undead, but weaker than those later death knights, one could even say they were a lesser version.