Chapter 35: Remorse

"What?! You are going alone?! That is far too dangerous!" Jaina adamantly opposed Arthas heading to the southern camp by himself.

Arthas patiently explained to her, "Jaina, his target is me. If you come along, it will only put you in danger."

Mal'Ganis was intent on leading the Prince of Lordaeron down a path of corruption, using this to subvert the most powerful human kingdom, weaken the strength of Azeroth, and pave the way for the Legion's invasion. This meant that while Mal'Ganis cared whether Arthas lived or died, he did not care at all about the fate of those who followed him.

According to Thassarian, the southern camp did not hold three hundred mindless zombies, but three hundred undead warriors with considerable combat capabilities. In such a scenario, even a fully armed and powerful high-ranking knight would be of little use when faced with undead foes that outnumbered them by dozens and were difficult to kill.

Jaina’s situation would be even more precarious. As a grand mage and a primary source of offensive power, she would undoubtedly become a key target for Mal'Ganis. Rather than letting them follow him into such a perilous trap, it was better for him to go alone.

Although Falric and the others were unwilling to let the prince risk his life, they could not defy Arthas's direct orders. Jaina, however, was different; she would never allow Arthas to commit what she perceived as a suicidal act.

"No matter what you say, I won't let you go alone! The best course of action now is to wait here for Sir Uther’s reinforcements." Jaina’s brow furrowed tightly. "You taught me this yourself: one must not act recklessly!"

"We should indeed wait for Master Uther’s reinforcements, but I do not think that dreadlord will wait for us much longer." Arthas understood that if he could not foil Mal'Ganis's conspiracy in Lordaeron this time, the detestable demon would simply vanish to hide elsewhere.

With their current manpower, it was virtually impossible to contain Mal'Ganis if he was determined to escape. The five dreadlords dispatched to Azeroth were the elite of their kind, and Mal'Ganis might well be the most powerful enemy Arthas had ever encountered.

"Mitre and Sally are likely still alive. I cannot stand by and watch the people of Lordaeron be tortured to death by a demon."

Jaina fell silent for a few seconds, her voice sounding somewhat hoarse as she asked, "Arthas."

"Jaina, trust me. I will be fine. I will make that demon pay twofold for everything he has done."

The usually sharp and eloquent mage looked into Arthas’s sincere and earnest eyes, finding herself momentarily at a loss for words to dissuade him. She understood that the prince would not take any rash actions, yet she was deeply worried for her beloved.

"I understand, Arthas—but I will only wait for you for half an hour. If you do not appear before me after half an hour, I will come for you immediately!"

This was Jaina’s final concession. If Arthas could disregard his own safety to save two commoners, she, too, could risk her life for the one she loved.

"That is enough, Jaina." Arthas felt the weight of her resolve and gave the mage a solemn nod.

Having made his promise, Arthas swiftly mounted his horse and vanished into the distance at the end of the road.

...

"Monster, let my daughter go!"

Bound to an altar, Mitre struggled frantically, attempting to break free from the demon’s constraints. Alas, the magic of Mal'Ganis was not something an ordinary man like him could undo.

"Oh, clever doctor, I have no intention of harming your precious daughter just yet," Mal'Ganis said, extending a finger and gently tracing the girl's face with a sharp claw. "Look, how gentle my touch is; it won't even bruise her."

"What exactly do you want?!" Mitre roared hysterically, wishing he could tear Mal'Ganis to pieces.

"Look at your eyes. I enjoy this expression on you humans the most, and your..." Mal'Ganis’s massive form appeared beside Mitre like a phantom, his giant bat-like wings unfurling. "...blood."

His right hand plunged viciously into Mitre’s thigh. As the doctor let out a scream, Mal'Ganis slowly withdrew his fingers, licking the blood from them while his other hand gripped Mitre’s head tightly. "Ah, look at your expression—so pained, so pathetic, so... ridiculous!"

After releasing Mitre, Mal'Ganis allowed the blood to flow freely, gradually saturating the magic circle on the altar beneath the doctor. The ritual of blood magic was taking shape.

"Enjoy your final moments, human. Perhaps you will even live to see how your prince kills your daughter with his own hands."

Mitre’s life was fading bit by bit. He spoke weakly, "Demon... the Prince... His Highness... will kill you and... avenge me..."

"Oh? Is that so? What a pity you will never live to see that day."

Mal'Ganis let out a chilling, cackling laugh. Under the influence of the blood ritual’s magic, little Sally’s golden hair began to turn a pale, ghostly white as her life force was gradually eroded by the evil power.

"Mal'Ganis! Come out and face my wrath!"

A wave of blinding Holy Light surged forward, turning the undead blocking the entrance into ash. Golden flames burned in Arthas’s eyes as he swung the Strength of Menethil with force, the searing radiance banishing all darkness.

The undead warriors were no match for Arthas; they turned to cinder the moment they touched his light. The epic warhammer withstood the torrent of Holy Light, each swing sending out ripples of golden radiance.

"What is this power?"

Mal'Ganis’s smile faltered. The intensity of Arthas’s Holy Light exceeded his expectations. Despite having laid waste to so many worlds, the dreadlord had never encountered a light of such high purity.

Concentrated golden flames wrapped around Arthas like a physical shroud. The Strength of Menethil even began to crack from the sheer magnitude of the power, but the fragments did not fall away; instead, they were held together by the guidance of the light, forming a stable hammerhead.

The ranks of the undead could not impede Arthas’s advance. He descended like a god, and in the blink of an eye, he brought the hammer, accompanied by a fierce gale, crashing down upon Mal'Ganis.

The dreadlord instinctively raised his arm to block, but his physical form, reinforced by fel energy, reacted to the high-purity Holy Light like flesh hitting a scorching iron plate. A jarring hiss echoed out, and with a flap of his wings, Mal'Ganis transformed into a swarm of black bats, vanishing from the camp in an instant.

"Human prince, do not think this is over! Look at that girl beside you; her end shall be your future!" Mal'Ganis’s angry voice echoed from the air. "The cold winds of Northrend shall devour your soul! Your kingdom shall perish because of this!"

The swarm of bats, formed from Mal'Ganis’s dark magic, vanished into the horizon. His retreat was so decisive that even Arthas was momentarily stunned: had the dreadlord truly chosen to withdraw? He hadn't even tried to provoke him further, merely luring him toward Northrend?

He instinctively wanted to ponder this, but the condition of Mitre and Sally left him no time. He released a semi-circular shield of Holy Light to keep the undead soldiers at bay and stepped forward to check on the two.

Sally seemed to have been affected by a dark ritual that was eroding her life force and warping her soul into a creature of evil. Fortunately, the influence was not yet deep, and Arthas suppressed it without much effort, though her hair would never return to its original golden hue.

"Prince... Your Highness..." Mitre’s face was pale, his lips turning purple. "Do not waste your Holy Light... I have lost too much blood... healing spells... cannot save... me... but please, save my... daughter..."

"Rest assured, your daughter is safe now."

Mitre had lost too much blood, and a portion of his soul had been sacrificed to the ritual, leaving him broken. He was only speaking now through sheer willpower, but his time was truly running out.

Even with his immense power, Arthas could not heal such wounds. Even if he were to use the power of death to forcibly tether Mitre’s soul, he would only be left with a hollow, mindless ghost.

Both of them knew what was coming. Upon hearing that his daughter was safe, Mitre’s anxious heart finally found peace. "Thank... you... Your Highness... I... can finally..."

Mitre did not finish his sentence. His breathing and heartbeat stopped, his broken body and soul finally freed from the torment.

He had carried not only the love for his daughter but also the guilt for the three hundred people in the southern camp—if only he had been firmer in reporting the anomalies to the Church, perhaps more might have survived.

A pocket watch fell from the doctor’s coat. Arthas caught the final relic, opened it, and saw a line of small script engraved inside.

"To my eternal beloved—Mitre Menethil." The inscription was signed by Mary Menethil, and below it, another name had been added: Sally Menethil.

Arthas stood in silence for a long time. Finally, he closed the watch and placed it into little Sally’s hands.

May the soul of this ordinary father find rest in the eternal kingdom.