CHAPTER 736: READY

The canopy of undead, obscuring the sky, had become the grim hallmark of the Scourge’s advance. As soon as the oppressive black sky receded, cheers as loud as a tsunami’s roar erupted from the city walls and the distant military formations! The Allied forces, primarily composed of Lordaeron’s people, were overjoyed, ecstatic!

Ever since the day Arthas murdered his father, a colossal weight had pressed upon the hearts of Lordaeron’s populace.

Is Lordaeron truly finished?

Will the Menethil royal line be extinguished?

Do we still have a future, do we still have hope?

Then... Princess Calia, presumed dead for over a decade, miraculously appeared at the critical moment, stabilizing the scattered hearts of the people. This was followed by the reinforcement from the Dark Portal Front, and now, the last psychological bastion of Lordaeron’s people had finally been defended—the holy city of Stratholme! This immediately propelled the morale of Lordaeron’s populace to its peak.

"Long live!"

"Holy City, bless us!"

"Long live His Excellency Edmund Duke!"

The soldiers, whether from Mograine’s elite Scarlet Crusade, the Stratholme Army formed by Saidan Dathrohan, or Turalyon’s Dark Portal Army, all cheered, raising their weapons high. "Pa! Pa! Pa!" The sword and shield soldiers rhythmically struck their shields with their broadswords, creating a deafening, drum-like din.

Surrounded by three great paladins, Duke could only rely on Mograine’s personal guards to help clear a path through the crowded and fanatical throng to enter Stratholme. It was natural to be particularly happy to reunite with old friends after a long separation. Unlike Mograine, this was the first time Saidan and Turalyon had met Duke since his return.

Although Turalyon was more of a listener and a man of action, he asked almost as soon as he saw Duke: "How are Tirion and Gavinrad?"

"Not bad. At least those two can spar with each other, and then they can discuss the Holy Light with the Saint of Chastity?"

"The Saint of Chastity? Sounds like a beauty?" Saidan whistled, a hint of playful irreverence in his tone.

Duke wore a strange expression. "If you ignore her height of over 60 feet and her stone skin, she is indeed a beauty for a Titan."

Saidan, unfamiliar with the intricacies of Karazhan, was momentarily embarrassed. However, being quite lively and cheerful, he quickly recovered, smiling. "Then I truly wish to see who among us first generation is stronger now."

"What a pity about Uther..." Turalyon suddenly sighed. Among the first and second generation paladins, aside from Uther, there truly was no other leader who could command such a collective of paladins. Logically speaking, the remaining six first-generation paladins were all qualified. Unfortunately, Reginald and Gavinrad were Duke’s direct subordinates, Bolvar swore allegiance to the Stormwind Kingdom rather than the Holy Light itself, Turalyon was more of a commander than a spiritual leader, Saidan was more of a personal hero, and Tirion had been silent for another thirteen years, not yet returned. Alexandros Mograine, the leader of the second generation of paladins, was slightly inexperienced. Therefore, in the post-Uther era, the Silver Hand was more akin to a collaborative organization. Fortunately, under the oppression of the Scourge, the common enemy of the living, the Paladins remained closely united.

After entering Stratholme, in the temporarily requisitioned command post in the city center, Mograine was the first to voice his concerns.

"The Scourge’s actions are very unusual."

Turalyon nodded. "I think it’s too quiet, too. Even though I don’t have enough intelligence to support it, it gives me an ominous feeling. I feel like Arthas is planning a bigger conspiracy."

Duke sighed: "Arthas once captured the Sunwell, yet he abandoned this source of magic, so precious to us. He simply resurrected another great Lich, Kel’Thuzad, and then departed. Don’t you think this explains one thing?"

The answer was already apparent.

"They look down on the Sunwell because they have a better goal, which is the new Well of Eternity that is closer to the original."

"What? Where?" the three Paladin leaders asked in unison.

Approaching an empty table, Duke raised his hand, and a dozen wizard hands cleared away all the debris. Then, he spread a map of Azeroth, drawn from his memory, across the table. Of course, it only depicted three continents—Eastern Kingdoms, Northrend, and Kalimdor. Duke feigned ignorance, pretending that places not widely known at this stage did not exist.

"This is..." Several generals began breathing rapidly. The mapping of each landmass was a colossal undertaking, and maps could be highly inaccurate due to misleading old charts, adverse weather, or various magical anomalies. No one understood the importance of an accurate map better than these generals, who led troops abroad year-round.

Now, this large map, created by Duke based on his memories of the game, was four meters by four meters in size. Although the map was made... very game-like, in this era, even military maps were crude, with only thick black lines. Duke’s map, which marked specific place names, district boundaries, and major monsters, was simply a national treasure. This was no joke. Had the Alliance not been fighting as a unified whole for the past decade or so, the specific topographic maps of various countries would still be hidden and locked away in each nation’s military departments.

Duke pointed to the location in his memory on the map: "I don’t know what the Scourge will do. But if those bones want to reach the Well of Eternity, they must at least find a way to cross the Endless Sea, reach Azshara, and then break through the powerful Night Elves’ defense circle to finally reach Mount Hyjal."

The World Tree Nordrassil! Thinking of the most powerful World Tree of this era, Duke couldn’t help but feel a little dazed.

Alright! The stage and the script were ready. When would the actors appear?

At this moment, in the city of Dalaran.

Arthas walked among the city’s ruins. The dark clouds accumulated above the city had transformed it into a cold, eternal night. It felt good to be back in the cold. The eternal summer in the elven kingdom, full of flowers and vitality, had made him uncomfortable. It always reminded him of the gardens of Lordaeron Palace where he and Jaina often played as children, and the snapdragons on the Barnil Farm. Now he preferred this place; the ruins represented decadence, death, and despair. The icy wind cleansed him, the cold suppressing the memories. The emotions brought by memories no longer served him; they only brought weakness, and in the heart of Arthas Menethil, there was no room for weakness.

Suddenly, Kel’Thuzad arrived, bowing his bony frame: "Everything is ready."