Chapter Thirty: Prologue

Arthas had a very pleasant vacation. After traveling north from Stormwind to Ironforge to see his old friend Muradin and acquiring a brand-new suit of armor, and then spending a wonderful Winter Veil with Jaina in Dalaran, he finally returned to Lordaeron.

Back in the capital city of Lordaeron, Arthas set aside his relaxed mood and began to handle the piled-up documents and directives. He managed the training of the knights, participated in missions for the Silver Hand, and provided instructions and advice for the operations of the Privy Council in Kalimdor and Northrend. Amidst the heavy load of plans and tasks, Arthas did not forget to enrich his own strength and knowledge; aside from various preparations and contingency plans, his own power was the foundation for his survival in this perilous world.

Yet, despite the steady improvement of his strength, when the mentor of the Silver Hand and Archbishop of the Holy Light, Alonsus Faol, finally returned to the Light, Arthas, while attending the funeral, still felt the mercilessness and brevity of time. The paladins of the Silver Hand had long known this day would come; they were not overly sorrowful, but with solemn and grave expressions, they saw the Archbishop off on his final journey.

"Nothing in this world is eternal—kingship, the Holy Light, magic, and even death itself will eventually fade away."

Arthas stood at the front of the funeral procession, silently watching as the Archbishop's coffin was buried in the cemetery outside the Great Monastery in the northeastern part of Tirisfal Glades. As the stone door of the tomb was sealed, the identity of the human who had been the spokesperson of the Holy Light and the mentor of justice and light, Archbishop Alonsus Faol, was laid to rest forever.

Three years passed in a flash, turning Arthas from a young paladin into one of the Great Knights of the Silver Hand. His outposts in Kalimdor and Northrend had been initially established, and just recently, VanCleef had sent him news of victory. His father, King Terenas, was advanced in age and prepared to formally pass the crown of Lordaeron to his son within the next two years.

However, during this time, Terenas received several pieces of bad news, for which he even got into an argument with representatives of other kingdoms during a routine Alliance meeting. The two matters that troubled the old king the most were: first, the reappearance of orcs in the southern territory of the kingdom, the Hillsbrad Foothills, where they had raided several villages and breached a fortress, freeing many orcs who had been imprisoned there. But this situation was manageable; after rescuing some of their kin, those orcs had quickly fled into the mountains and forests. Terenas had already sent Uther the Lightbringer with a group of troops to Hillsbrad to strengthen the defenses.

Originally, Arthas should have gone with Uther, but another matter required his attention. According to reports from the administrators of various towns, a strange plague seemed to have broken out within Lordaeron. Terenas had already dispatched Arthas to resolve this, and Dalaran had sent a Kirin Tor advisor to assist him. With a small team of Privy Knights, Arthas hurried with a grave expression toward the town of Brill, where reports of the plague had emerged.

He was well aware that behind this was the Cult of the Damned led by Kel'Thuzad. Assassins from the Privy Council had already eliminated many of those who secretly worshipped the cult, and agents of the council were keeping a close watch on grain transport routes in East and West Weald. He had not expected that, even under such tight defenses, Kel'Thuzad and his Cult of the Damned could still stir up so much trouble—truly worthy of a former Archmage of Dalaran.

Under Arthas’s strict control, the possibility of the plague spreading through the two major grain-producing regions of Andorhal and Stratholme had been eliminated. However, the Lich King and his subordinates, as Arthas had anticipated, did not give up easily. Kel'Thuzad had specifically chosen to strike when the orcs were active in Lordaeron again, ensuring that the kingdom would be spread too thin to handle both threats.

The undead plague had appeared much earlier than Arthas had known, making him even more puzzled. If his previous actions had not caused a massive change to the timeline, how could a plague event that had been pushed forward by nearly a year fail to attract the attention of the Bronze Dragonflight? At this point, Arthas began to conclude that something must have gone wrong with the Bronze Dragons; they had either not arrived or were unable to interfere with the timeline he was in.

Logically, Arthas should have been happy to have a free hand, but he was not, because although the Bronze Dragons could be rigid, they had indeed played a crucial role at many critical moments of life and death for Azeroth.

On the side of the road leading to Brill, Arthas and his knights set up a simple camp to wait for the "advisor" sent by Dalaran. After the sun had shifted a significant distance across the sky, Arthas’s adjutant, Captain Falric of the Privy Knights, said to the Prince, "Your Highness, we have been waiting here for nearly the whole morning. The situation in Brill is urgent; shall we continue to wait?"

"Be patient, Falric. Jaina is often a little late." Arthas already knew whom the Kirin Tor had sent and did not appear impatient. He was currently sitting on a rock, reading through a file.

Falric nodded; the Prince's words were orders he had to execute. Just then, several roars erupted from the nearby forest. The knights prepared for battle, and Falric said to Arthas, "Your Highness, by the sound of it, those are ogres."

No sooner had the adjutant finished speaking than a tall figure, half its body frozen, tumbled down from a high slope nearby, let out a few wails, and then fell silent. At the same time, a Water Elemental a head taller than the ogres glided out of the forest, with a female mage standing atop its head, purple-blue magic runes glowing on her palms.

Two more ogres chased out of the woods, wielding thick wooden clubs. The female mage showed no panic; she cast the magic she had prepared, and frost quickly froze the feet of one ogre. The Water Elemental raised its fists, and a high-pressure jet of water instantly pierced through the ogre's chest.

"Your Highness, should we go and help?"

"No need, they are just two ogres," Arthas said, trusting Jaina's strength. "Pass the order to pack up; we are ready to leave."

As Arthas had predicted, Jaina did not take much effort to kill the last ogre. She waved her hand to dismiss the massive Water Elemental and, looking at Arthas, who was leading a squad of knights, she put her hands on her hips and asked, "You didn't even think to come and help me?"

"I was just on my way, but you were too fast; they weren't very durable," Arthas said innocently, giving his warhammer a slight lift.

Jaina rolled her eyes at Arthas.

"Come, gentlemen, let me introduce you. This is the envoy from the Kirin Tor, our magical advisor for this mission, Lady Jaina Proudmoore."

The knights saluted Jaina one after another. Most of them had heard of her name and knew of her relationship with the Prince.

"Alright, no need for formalities. Let's get started on the mission," Jaina said, mounting the warhorse Arthas had reserved for her and riding up beside him. "We must hurry. My teacher said this plague is very unusual."

"My scouts have already gathered intelligence. Without a doubt, Kel'Thuzad is one of the ones behind this."

"Kel'Thuzad?" A flash of surprise crossed the mage's face, quickly replaced by worry. "What my teacher feared has indeed happened... Perhaps the decision to merely banish him was a mistake."

"Then now is the time to correct that mistake," Arthas said calmly. Regardless of the outcome of the plague, Kel'Thuzad would die; he was the source of all the conspiracies.

Regrettably, in his original life, he had mistaken Kel'Thuzad's death for the end of the matter, thereby ignoring the darkness festering within Lordaeron. Kel'Thuzad was merely a spokesperson; his life or death had no impact on the Cult of the Damned. The true master of the cult was the Lich King, far away in Northrend, and he was not even the real mastermind behind this plague.

The one pushing the plague forward was one of the jailers of the Lich King, a Nathrezim from the Twisting Nether—demons known for their sinister, cunning, and deceptive nature. In human records, their race had another name: the Dreadlords.

The true promoter of the Lordaeron plague was the Dreadlord Mal'Ganis, and Arthas’s eyes were already tracking the location of this Dreadlord. Once Kel'Thuzad was dealt with, it would be his turn.

"What follows is a hunt against time."

Arthas’s expression was cold and stern. The curtain of the era was slowly being drawn back.