Chapter 46: The Frozen Throne

The sword light of Frostmourne intertwined, clashing violently with the Crypt Lord's scythe-like claws. Despite the incredible toughness of Anub'arak's carapace, it could not withstand the relentless slashing of Frostmourne.

A small section of his foreclaw was already severed, and his entire body was covered in deep gashes. Though these were trivial wounds to him, a glance at Arthas revealed a stark contrast—he was completely unscathed, his breathing steady and unhurried, clearly demonstrating the superiority of one over the other.

"You are strong. Perhaps you truly can defeat him."

Anub'arak sighed with sincere admiration. He felt that today might finally bring him complete release, freeing him from the control and enslavement of the Lich King.

Arthas held Frostmourne aloft in silence, but the glowing runes along the blade clearly spoke his intent.

"Come, Arthas. Sever my head and let my soul find peace."

"Are you truly content to die like this? To perish in a meaningless struggle?" Arthas suddenly asked.

Anub'arak fell silent for a moment before letting out a self-deprecating chuckle. "Heh... Even if I am not content, what else can I do? In the eyes of the nerubians, I am a traitorous king; honor has long since abandoned me."

"If you do not strive to change the status quo yourself, then it will indeed remain an eternal disgrace."

Arthas raised the runeblade, his voice deep and resonant. "You have a chance for vengeance."

"...How is that any different from now?"

Anub'arak spoke no further. Instead, he rapidly burrowed into the earth, seemingly attempting to flee. It appeared the Lich King did not wish to lose a servant he had acquired with such great difficulty.

Yet how could Arthas allow Anub'arak to escape so easily? A massive surge of death energy poured into Frostmourne, causing the runeblade to flash with an eerie blue light as it initiated a final assault against the Crypt Lord.

Whether undead or living, anyone wounded by the cursed blade was marked with a semi-permanent brand, making it nearly impossible to evade the pursuit of Frostmourne's master.

Anub'arak's digging motion abruptly halted. His body began to convulse involuntarily, forcing him back up to the surface.

In that brief moment, he had only tunneled a few dozen meters underground and had not even reached the foundations of the Iron Wall Dam before Arthas dragged him out from the earth.

The wounds on his body emanated the exact same glow as Frostmourne. The very moment the runeblade had injured him, it had driven an anchor deep into his soul.

Riding Invincible, Arthas slowly approached Anub'arak, resting the tip of his sword against the Crypt Lord's cephalothorax. He could feel the strange disturbance deep within Anub'arak's soul.

It was the imprint left by the Lich King, Ner'zhul, upon key commanders of the Scourge, used to cement his control over the undead.

Yet now, the "king" who once thought himself the master of his own grand design radiated a fury of unprecedented proportions from the depths of his soul.

Without a moment of hesitation, Arthas obliterated the Lich King's mark, severing the connection between Ner'zhul and Anub'arak.

Anub'arak felt a sudden lightness in his body; that heavy, suffocating constraint had finally vanished. Though he remained undead, at least he now possessed a free will.

Yet he felt not a shred of joy. Recognizing that Arthas possessed methods no less terrifying than the Lich King's, he suspected his fate might not have changed at all.

"You do not look particularly happy."

The Crypt Lord, former king of the nerubians, flexed his limbs. Eschewing any futile attempts at flight, he replied, "Your power is cut from the exact same cloth as the Lich King's. How could I possibly be happy?"

"True. I have my own goals, and you and your subordinates are formidable assets." Arthas spoke with blunt honesty; he had nothing to hide from Anub'arak. His intention was precisely to make the creature his subordinate.

"Then what are you waiting for? In my current state, I have no capacity to resist."

Having just broken his bond with the Lich King and with his soul still corroded by Frostmourne, Anub'arak might have managed to escape from Arthas at the height of his power, but doing so now was an absolute impossibility.

"I have no interest in enslaving your every being as the Lich King does. All I demand is your loyalty."

"Besides, surely you must have noticed. A faction of your kin... ah, your former kin, have begun to turn toward the most primordial of faiths."

Anub'arak was filled with doubt and astonishment: How could Arthas possibly know of such matters?

"They are our creators to begin with; there is nothing wrong in worshiping them." Anub'arak had no desire to pursue this topic further.

"Then why did you cease worshiping them for tens of thousands of years—until, fleeing in panic, you once again unearth their roots?"

Arthas's question left Anub'arak speechless. Azjol-Nerub was once part of the ancient nerubian empire, yet they had long since abandoned the worship of their creators: the Old Gods.

For through generations of transmission, the wise and astute nerubians had recognized the consequences of madness. Coupled with the imprisonment of the Old Gods by the Titan Keepers, they had retreated deep underground and forsaken their faith in the primordial deities.

"Death heralds rebirth." Arthas lowered the tip of his blade toward Anub'arak. The Crypt Lord silently gazed upon the runes etched into the steel. "At the very least, you can still do something for your people to make amends for past mistakes."

It meant this: wherever power resided, despair followed close behind.

Clearly, Arthas was currently the only entity capable of rivaling the Lich King, and his power would bring despair to all enemies.

Yet, unlike the Lich King's malice and evil, which were as deep as an abyss, Arthas's power was astonishingly pure. Anub'arak sensed only a single concept emanating from the edge of his blade—death.

A fierce internal struggle raged within Anub'arak. Ultimately, he chose to yield to Arthas.

"I salute you, my master."

Arthas's lips curled into a smirk. The moment Anub'arak finished speaking, a rune embedded itself into his forehead, and the Crypt Lord could directly hear Arthas's voice echoing in his mind.

This power was even purer and more deeply rooted than that of the Lich King. Anub'arak felt no further urge to resist, for this rune was far less burdensome than the Lich King's enslavement; at the very least, Anub'arak retained his own independent thought.

"Very well. Then, are you ready for a satisfying vengeance?"

"With the greatest of pleasure, master."

With the aid of the Crypt Lord, Arthas quickly took command of the vast host of undead forces Anub'arak had brought. Those religious fanatics whose brains had been too thoroughly washed by the Lich King were ruthlessly slaughtered by the Crypt Lord without a second thought.

Having once been a king, he understood a fundamental truth: a monarch has no use for disloyal subordinates.

Those cultists were merely feigning allegiance; once they reached Icecrown Citadel where the Lich King resided, they would undoubtedly find ways to betray and inform their true master.

Although Anub'arak was certain that Icecrown Citadel currently held few powerful adversaries, it still housed massive hordes of the undead and constructed puppets. No matter how vast their numbers, they could not withstand an overwhelming tide of the dead.

"Master, we must exercise caution regarding the garrison at Icecrown Citadel. My former subordinate, Anub'Rekhan, is one of their commanders."

"Though a significant portion of the undead officers and high command departed with Kel'Thuzad aboard the floating necropolis Naxxramas to the Eastern Kingdoms, the defenses currently remaining within Icecrown Citadel are still not to be underestimated."

Arthas glanced sideways at Anub'arak, who stood even taller than he did upon his mount. "Are there any Dreadlords?"

"I do not know the whereabouts of Tichondrius and Balnazzar. Mal'Ganis likely departed for the Eastern Kingdoms, while Detheroc and Varimathras are hiding somewhere in the dark corners of Northrend, not in Icecrown Glacier."

Arthas nodded. "Mal'Ganis is dead. His soul became a fine meal for Frostmourne."

"That is most excellent. They were perhaps the greatest threat remaining within the Scourge."

With Anub'arak's explanations, Arthas gained a general understanding of the current situation at "Icecrown Citadel."

Though called Icecrown Citadel, the Scourge's terraforming and construction efforts across the Icecrown Glacier region had only recently begun. Aside from a few outer walls and redoubts, the innermost primary stronghold was still little more than a rudimentary framework.

The Frozen Throne was not yet entirely covered in saronite; much of it remained exposed to the open glacier, resembling a spiraling tower.

In truth, even without Anub'arak pointing it out, Arthas could see across half the glacier how vast crowds of souls swirled into violent vortexes in the distant sky. Without a doubt, that was the location of the Frozen Throne—the point where the Shadowlands and the mortal world shared their thinnest veil.

Weak undead dared not obstruct the march of this grand army under the pressure of the aura Arthas emitted. They were merely low-grade cannon fodder, lacking even complete self-awareness, some functioning as little more than laborers.

As for the various minor factions guarding other territories, they were either exterminated by the combined forces of Arthas and Anub'arak or absorbed into their swelling ranks.

When Arthas marched to the main peak of Icecrown Glacier, at the base of the mountain housing the Frozen Throne, he finally encountered a semblance of organized resistance.

Vast numbers of crypt fiends and Scourge nerubians poured forth from the earth, led by none other than the Crypt Lord Anub'Rekhan, flanked by numerous mighty champions of the ancient nerubian empire.

Anub'arak gazed upon his former subjects with mixed emotions. Though he had been powerless to resist the Scourge and forced into servitude by the Lich King, standing once more in opposition to them filled his heart with a tumultuous array of feelings.

Yet he had sworn fealty to Arthas and would never again return to the banner of the cold-blooded executioner known as the Lich King. As for these former kin of his, those willing to embrace the rebirth of death he would accept on Arthas's behalf; as for those who would not...

He could only send them to their eternal slumber.

"Master, our numbers are vastly inferior to theirs," Anub'arak emitted a low buzzing sound, a resonance that accompanied his every utterance.

Yet he felt no cowardice, for the Lich King had summoned nearly every readily deployable force of the Scourge to defend the Frozen Throne, proving that he perceived the genuine threat Arthas posed.

"If we fail to achieve a swift victory, more undead will arrive," Anub'arak emphasized. "Upon this continent, their numbers are infinite."

"I am well aware," Arthas estimated the disparity in forces. His own undead army numbered slightly over ten thousand, while the enemy force clearly exceeded one hundred thousand, with numbers continuing to swell. "How long can you hold them off for me?"

"If we expend ghouls and skeletons without regard for loss, roughly two hours."

"Who among them is the strongest?"

"Anub'Rekhan, my master. Aside from the champions of the nerubian empire, the Lich King has found no other corpses suitable for the task."

Arthas observed the Scourge army, which comprised nearly every race imaginable: trolls, dwarves, humans, orcs, nerubians, skeletal remains of elves from over ten thousand years ago, and he even caught sight of the shadowy silhouettes of several skeletal dragons.

"Can you defeat him?"

Anub'arak seemed to chuckle. "Master, the nerubian empire worships strength, and I am the king; he is merely a commander."

"Very well. Lead our forces and pin down their main body here."

Anub'arak emitted a double buzz. "Your will is my desire."

"Let Ne'zhul, that incompetent 'Lich King,' witness what true death looks like."

Arthas raised Frostmourne level, transmitting his command instantly to the mind of every single entity within his legion: "Flatten everything in your sight!"

A terrifying roar erupted. The lower jaws of skeleton warriors unhinged, igniting with blue flames of soulfire. Raising their decaying and shattered weapons, they charged headlong toward the Lich King's army.

"Crush them, for His Majesty!" Anub'Rekhan led the charge personally, plunging into the sea of skeletons and kicking up an avalanche of shattered bone.

Anub'arak could not allow high-ranking Scourge commanders to squander his cannon fodder in such a manner; he was counting on those skeletons and ghouls to buy sufficient time. Consequently, the Crypt Lord swiftly intercepted Anub'Rekhan, suppressing him with superior might.

Because the conversion of liches was not yet perfected at this stage—meaning there were no true liches even within the Scourge—the spellcasters on both sides consisted either of wraiths, nerubian priests, or skeletal mages. Thus, the disparity between spellcasting forces was minimal.

Seizing the gap left by the absence of senior Scourge leadership, Arthas cut a swathe right through the undead cannon fodder to tear straight across the battle line. Bone dragons in the sky unleashed their breath upon him, but they were merely the remains of juvenile dragons, utterly incapable of posing any significant threat to Arthas.

On the contrary, one bone dragon flew too low and was yanked out of the sky by Arthas's Death Grip, its wing broken before Invincible trampled its skull into dust.

Suffering such catastrophic damage, even an undead creature found it hard to recover. Aside from thrashing helplessly amidst piles of bone and corpses, the bone dragon had no other recourse.

Before long, Arthas broke clean through the lines of the Scourge and raced toward the Frozen Throne. The Lich King's minions frantically attempted to pursue him, but how could the speed of ordinary undead compare to that of Invincible?

Even the remaining bone dragons were left far behind. After casually cutting down a few obstructing necromancers, Arthas entered the upward path to the Frozen Throne with virtually no resistance.

Vast numbers of restless spirits gathered here—a considerable portion of which even the Lich King lacked the power to control. Thus, he dared not commit his undead legions in large numbers to guard the stronghold, knowing that the surging tide of souls would cause him to lose his grip over the Scourge entirely.

Such an outcome would serve no purpose and merely fracture his focus. Consequently, once Arthas stepped inside the Frozen Throne, he encountered no further scattered undead patrols.

The Lich King stood ready, poised to welcome Arthas's arrival in his most "complete" form.