Chapter 51 A New King Rises

Arthas sat upon the Frozen Throne, pressing his right fist against his cheek as he leaned against the armrest. Frostmourne rested beside his leg, digesting the vast surge of souls it had just absorbed.

Before long, Anub'arak led a large group of high-ranking undead up to the Frozen Throne. Some wore cold, impassive expressions, others were filled with confusion, and a few harbored an intense, burning hatred for Arthas.

"Master, you have succeeded."

Anub'arak stepped forward and paid homage to Arthas. The Crypt Lord had been completely subjugated by Arthas's overwhelming power.

The Lich King had effortlessly shattered the Nerubian kingdom that had endured for tens of thousands of years, and now he had been slain by Arthas in turn. Though Anub'arak could hardly be considered living anymore, he had no desire to drift into such a simple, endless slumber.

His people were still in grave danger. While the Scourge would no longer assault Azjol-Nerub, the tunnels dug by the fleeing nerubians reached deep into the long-abandoned sectors of the realm.

Those were ancient altars dating back to the primeval era when the nerubians worshipped the Old Gods. Deep beneath Northrend, one of those primeval entities remained sealed within its eternal prison—Yogg-Saron, the Fiend of a Thousand Maws.

Yet the cunning Old God had already found a breach in that containment, and its malignant influence was once again spreading through the subterranean depths of Northrend.

The true forms of the Old Gods were colossal beyond measure, their bodies resembling mountain ranges and vast continents. Though sealed underground by the Titan Keepers, their tentacles had already taken root deep within the earth.

Anub'arak refused to allow his race, having finally broken free from the madness of the Old Gods, to be enslaved by them once more. Not all descendants of the aqir were willing to serve the Old Gods a second time.

The mere thought of that dark and crazed epoch made him shudder. Their "god" had never shown mercy to its underlings; to it, the nerubians and its twisted flesh-spawn were mere tools and consumables.

The best course of action was to pledge allegiance to Arthas, the new Lich King.

Moreover, owing to the unique nature of the undead, the corruption of the Old Gods progressed at a glacial pace among them, if it could take hold at all.

This was why the Lich King dared to employ saronite—ore corrupted by the Old Gods—to forge the weapons and equipment of the Scourge, and even utilized this chilling metal, radiating with bizarre influence, to construct city walls and bastions.

Arthas nodded to Anub'arak, then swept his gaze across the other high-ranking undead. Some of them appeared visibly agitated, clearly terrified that Arthas would enslave them just as Ner'zhul had.

"It seems Ner'zhul's actions have left you filled with anger and fear?" Arthas spoke first.

"Pardon my boldness, unknown conqueror, but the Lich King should be utterly overthrown. You ought not to have absorbed his power." A high elf ghost stepped forward, voicing his anxieties aloud.

"Indeed."

"You should cast away this power."

"We deserve freedom! We deserve a return to peace!"

Many of the undead began to echo the high elf ghost, finding reason in his words and attempting to pressure Arthas into forsaking the power of the Lich King. Yet not all of them spoke with benevolent intentions.

A portion of them were casting covetous eyes upon the supreme might of the Lich King.

Anub'arak immediately drew a clear line between those subordinates willing to submit to him and Arthas, separating them from the rebellious undead. A few others looked utterly bewildered, and the assembly rapidly fractured into three distinct factions.

"Hah!"

With a soft, scoffing laugh from Arthas, all the undead instantly fell silent. It was not that they chose to hold their tongues; rather, Arthas had directly stripped them of the power to speak.

This was the Frozen Throne, the place where the Lich King's power was absolute, and no other undead would be permitted to act insolently here.

"If you fear I will abuse this power, you are quite welcome to take that fear with you into the grave," Arthas said coldly. "Ner'zhul is dead, and the Scourge is about to be reorganized. Rather than casting this power aside, it is better put to righteous use."

The undead who wished not to have their free will restricted once more grew increasingly uneasy, terrified that Arthas would repeat Ner'zhul's tyrannical deeds.

To their astonishment, Arthas gripped Frostmourne, and a torrent of majestic soul energy surged forth, literally tearing open a fissure between reality and the Shadowlands.

"Those of you yearning for eternal rest, step inside, and you shall obtain everything you desire."

***

The undead exchanged glances. A small faction of the dead were truly exhausted; they could feel the pull of the Shadowlands calling out to them, knowing Arthas spoke no falsehoods. Without hesitation, they plunged into the rift to embrace death once more.

Yet the vast majority lingered, unwilling to cross the threshold.

Arthas had anticipated this outcome. These undead had either been forcibly resurrected by Ner'zhul or were remnants bound into servitude, yet they clearly belonged to the category of souls who felt they had not lived enough.

Though their current state could hardly be called living, they could at least walk the world freely, fulfilling the lingering regrets and unfulfilled desires of their mortal lives.

Therefore, they were unwilling to surrender so easily and return to the Shadowlands. To them, their present undead existence was a strange, perverse "blessing."

"What is this? Have those who vaunt themselves as paragons suddenly lost their tongues? Did I not generously grant you the gift of rest? Why do you linger here, refusing to move?"

"I care not what schemes you harbor in your rotting minds. You may choose to leave this place, to depart the Scourge, and wander the continent to fulfill your own desires. I will not stop you."

"But if you choose that path, your fate rests upon your own heads. Be warned: the continent today holds no welcome for undead such as you."

"Should you remain, choosing to align with the Scourge to reforge the chaotic balance of life and death in Northrend, and secretly safeguard this world, I am willing to accept you and offer you sanctuary."

"As for your anxieties, reserve them for the forces that truly threaten the survival of our world..."

"Remember, though you are undead, your destruction or preservation remains intertwined with the fate of Azeroth. Whether you wish to become wandering, forgotten specters or remain as nameless guardians matters little to me."

The moment Arthas's words fell, Frostmourne abruptly levitated. The soul-fires of several conspiratorial undead flickered erratically before sputtering out entirely. Their empty husks collapsed to the ground, denied any chance of resurrection.

"Naturally, those who cling to treasonous thoughts will be culled by the Scourge without hesitation."

With that, Arthas lifted his suppression over the assembly, restoring their ability to speak. Yet absolute silence hung over them; none dared utter a word.

Finally, the high elf ghost broke the quiet. "Respected Lich King, pray tell, what do you intend to do with this invincible undead army?"

"I have made myself perfectly clear. You elves should understand well enough—this is a disaster of your own making," Arthas said, feigning impatience. "Or have you forgotten the tragedy of ten thousand years ago simply because you died?"

The pale, translucent complexion of the elven mage's ghost turned even paler. He stammered, "The Burning Legion... have they returned?"

"Ner'zhul was merely the vanguard they dispatched. The proof is that five dreadlords accompanied Ner'zhul to Azeroth."

The elven ghost was struck dumb. He had assumed those demons were merely unfortunate wretches enslaved by the Lich King just like the rest; yet viewed in this light, they were peers to the Lich King at the very least, if not his superiors.

Though this particular elf had not personally participated in the War of the Ancients ten thousand years ago, it did not prevent him from conducting research into demons during his long existence as a spirit.

Even though the Legion had been repelled at a horrific cost, vast numbers of low- and mid-tier demons still lingered in the mortal realm, and the activities of high-ranking demons could still be spotted upon occasion.

After a long silence, the elven ghost sighed and bowed to Arthas. "I am willing to lead the restless spirits of Shandalar in your service. At least... at least it will serve as some small atonement toward Azeroth."

"And the rest of you?"

Arthas's voice carried the weight of a final judicial verdict, forcing the wavering undead to make their choice.

Ultimately, the majority of the undead chose to remain within the Scourge, while another faction elected to leave this place of sorrow, weary of combat and seeking solitude in hidden corners of the world.

Once all the departed had left to set about reorganizing the structure of the Scourge, Arthas summoned Anub'arak. "Are these the last of the Scourge commanders?"

Anub'arak replied, "Yes. Ner'zhul had not yet managed to resurrect too many high-ranking undead. To ensure that the resurrected retain or even surpass their mortal strength requires complex rituals."

That was true. From the soul fragments Frostmourne had just harvested, Arthas extracted the tiny remnant belonging to Ner'zhul. Though the vast majority of the old shaman's soul had been thoroughly obliterated, a fraction remained.

To Arthas's pleasant surprise, those lingering memories preserved the runic techniques Ner'zhul had utilized during his days as a shaman of the Shadowmoon clan.

Those unique techniques allowed individuals unskilled in spellcasting to wield magic with relative ease. Though restricted in scope, it was infinitely superior to being utterly incapable of casting spells at all.

Drawing upon those runes, Arthas could theoretically forge a system of runes attuned to necromancy, darkness, and even the Holy Light—this was nothing less than the foundational bedrock for building the dark army of Azeroth!

Ner'zhul had been slain by his own hand before he ever had the opportunity to forge the two most formidable classes of the Scourge: Death Knights and Liches.

The former were relentless vanguard blades that swept aside all opposition, while the latter were masters of necromancy and frost magic.

These were precisely the few classes that met with Arthas's satisfaction.

The future enemies of the Scourge would be the Old Gods and the Burning Legion, and the sheer volume of cannon fodder commanded by both factions easily rivaled, if not surpassed, the undead.

The aqir who worshipped the Old Gods, along with the endless demonic hordes of the Burning Legion, possessed a rate of reinforcement that paled not at all before the endless ranks of the undead.

Demons, in particular, possessed a spiritual nature that made them notoriously difficult to convert into undead servants of the Scourge. Simply utilizing their flesh to construct low-tier undead grunts yielded virtually no strategic value.

Against the other factions of Azeroth, the Scourge was practically invincible. The undead required no logistics, felt no fatigue, and knew no fear. Their morale never broke, and they sustained their war efforts by feeding upon the corpses and wreckage of their enemies.

Yet the cannon fodder of the Old Gods and the Legion possessed virtually these exact traits, and their individual combat prowess far outclassed common ghouls and skeletons.

A single standard Felguard could easily slaughter dozens of basic undead infantry, and their numbers were by no means inferior to the Scourge.

Thus, Arthas's objective was to forge an elite, elite-tier undead force. They would serve as the sharpened blades of the Lich King, acting as the hidden guardians of Azeroth from the shadows.

Death Knights and Liches formed part of his vision. As for the general mass of the undead—aside from abominations and constructed horrors—they largely adhered to the law that the stronger they were in life, the more powerful they became in death.

Finding sufficiently powerful vessels and resurrecting them was admittedly a troublesome undertaking, but Arthas had begun plotting these schemes long ago, and some had already borne fruit.

Moreover, there was still time for the Scourge to continue its development. As for the mindless ghouls and skeleton warriors, if all else failed, they could simply be dispatched to the mines and forests of Northrend to harvest timber and extract ore.

Since they could toil twenty-four hours a day without pause, requiring neither sleep nor sustenance, the endless death energies radiating across Icecrown Glacier alone were enough to sustain them. They were quite literally natural laborers.

The undead empire envisioned by Ner'zhul and the dreadlords had already taken form as a rudimentary skeleton, and Arthas naturally and seamlessly inherited all of Ner'zhul's legacy. Icecrown Glacier remained the absolute center of necrotic power.

The only matter that caused Arthas a degree of vexation was that—aside from Mal'Ganis—the dreadlords had seemingly vanished into thin air. They showed no concern for the "transfer of power" in Northrend and failed to show their faces throughout the entire ordeal.

Nor could any trace of them be found in the undead encampments where they had once been stationed. They had vanished like stones tossed into an endless ocean, leaving not a single shadow behind.

Yet Arthas had ample reason to believe that these demons were lurking somewhere within the clandestine corners of Azeroth, secretly plotting to tear open a portal for the invasion of the Burning Legion.

He could roughly deduce the likely targets of the dreadlords: to summon the Legion's descent, they required a sufficiently potent source of magic as an anchor, coupled with ritual components of a commensurate scale.

Throughout the entire Eastern Kingdoms, only two locations satisfied both criteria: Dalaran and Quel'Thalas.

Dalaran was manageable; Arthas's secret agents had already infiltrated the magical city and maintained rigorous surveillance to deter demonic intrusion, though even this could not be considered foolproof.

After all, the dreadlords were renowned for toying with mortal civilizations. Who could say whether some benevolent, erudite archmage might secretly be a dreadlord in disguise?

Quel'Thalas was another matter entirely. Arthas lacked the means to project his influence there for the time being; the elves remained embroiled in their own intricate political struggles, and their deep-seated xenophobia left no window for Arthas to plant his own operatives.

Pondering his subsequent agenda in silence, Arthas remained seated upon the Frozen Throne, both digesting the spoils of his victory over Ner'zhul and patiently waiting.

Waiting for a few special "individuals."