Chapter 54: Life and Death (End of Volume One)

"It's you?!"

Orgrim had considered a myriad of possibilities regarding what manner of being the Lich King truly was, but he had never once connected him to the Prince of Lordaeron.

"It seems your ritual went reasonably well. You haven't degenerated into a mindless zombie."

Arthas glanced at Orgrim, echoing the exact sentiment Lothar had expressed earlier.

"So this grotesque form of mine... is a gift from you?" Orgrim's iron-shod boots struck the hard, cold surface of saronite, producing a series of heavy reverberations.

The Orc, towering well above Arthas, stood before the prince. Yet, Arthas was hardly one to be intimidated by a mere discrepancy in physical stature.

"Has no one ever taught you to kneel before a king, Orc?"

Orgrim's eyes bulged in sudden rage, but before he could vent his fury, Arthas's overwhelming soul pressure fell upon him like the weight of an entire mountain. His knees buckled, nearly sending him crashing to the floor.

His formidable body shook violently under the immense pressure, yet he stubbornly refused to go completely to his knees. However, since Arthas had usurped the Lich King, virtually no one could exempt themselves from his absolute dominion over the undead.

His heavy plate kneeguards slammed violently into the ground, crushing the stone beneath them into a concave depression. Orgrim managed to brace his body with sheer willpower, maintaining a subservient posture on one knee.

"You... resurrected me simply to humiliate me?"

Orgrim found the ordeal to be an unbearable indignity. An Orc could accept death, but he could never accept having his honor stripped away by his enemies.

Arthas turned his back, fixing his gaze on the magical ritual unfolding in the center of the hall, and replied flatly, "You are a sinner, and I have merely granted you a chance at redemption."

"What sin have I committed?! You and I merely fought on different sides!"

"I am not speaking of the wrongs committed against me or humanity; those are debts the Orcs must repay." Arthas leisurely inspected his gauntlets. "Your redemption is owed to Azeroth."

By this point, Orgrim was burning with fury and entirely deaf to Arthas's words. He fought desperately to force himself back up from the ground, yet he felt as though he were pinned beneath the crushing hand of a Gronn, utterly immobilized.

"Do you truly believe the Orcs have absolved themselves of everything?" Arthas's voice struck like a death knell against Orgrim's heart.

"Gul'dan is dead! We only sought a place to call home, and the vast majority of Orcs were innocent victims—innocent—!" Orgrim argued fiercely.

"Innocent? Heh. When you invaded the Alliance territories, did you ever pause to consider whether the women and children you slaughtered mercilessly were innocent? When you carried out your wholesale slaughter of the Draenai, did you think of the innocent lives you used as mere sacrifices?"

Arthas's expression remained cold and stern. "Not a single Orc is innocent."

While Orgrim was stunned by how Arthas knew of events that had transpired on Draenor, he also found himself momentarily at a loss for words. Arthas's cutting words struck directly at the deepest wounds of the Orcish race.

During his tenure as Warchief, he had managed to turn a blind eye to the blood staining his own hands. Yet, having died once, those memories had returned to haunt his mind like an endless nightmare.

"The blood-soaked reality remains, no matter how you try to excuse it. The honor of the Orcs was rendered a joke long ago; you were nothing more than pitiful wretches enslaved by demons."

"Your countless atrocities in Shattrath, in Karabor, in Stormwind, across Draenor, and throughout the Eastern Kingdoms—did you truly think running away would bring an end to it all?"

"Did you think evasion would ever erase the hatred?! Answer me, Orgrim Doomhammer!"

"I would much rather have executed every last Orc I found in those internment camps than show the mercy of granting you a second chance."

Every word from Arthas struck Orgrim's heart like a heavy hammer, finally forcing the proud Orc to lower his head. "I... I can swear allegiance to you, but I beg you to spare my kindred. They... they are no longer the beasts of the past, manipulated by the blood of demons."

"It is not that simple, Orgrim. Not at all," Arthas said indifferently, standing as the true Lich King, a merciless lord of the undead.

"Because of your kind, the Burning Legion has locked its gaze upon our world. If you still wish to reclaim the honor that once belonged to you, go forth and hunt down those vile demons, rather than throwing away your life in some meaningless skirmish."

With the conversation concluded, Arthas paid no further heed to the silent Orgrim and instead instructed his majordomo.

"Anub'arak, take this Death Knight to cool his head. He will need some time before he is truly ready to join us."

Once the Nerubian Crypt Lord had led Orgrim away, Anduin Lothar rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Cough, cough. You seem to harbor a deep resentment toward the Orcs."

"Lord Lothar, I imagine you harbor no fondness for them yourself," Arthas sighed. "If not for our severe shortage of high-tier combatants, I would hardly be inclined to resurrect a pure-blooded Orc like Orgrim."

"Once upon a time, yes. Stormwind was destroyed by their hands, after all. But... by that logic, we are hardly without fault either. Medivh, he..."

As Lothar spoke, memories of those sorrowful past events resurfaced, and the spectral former general shook his head with profound helplessness.

Had Medivh not been corrupted by a fragment of Sargeras's soul, no one would ever have been able to open the astral portal connecting Draenor to Azeroth.

"Enough. Mourning the past resolves nothing. What I said to Orgrim was merely meant to force him to face reality," Arthas patted Lothar's shoulder. "Unless it is absolutely necessary, I prefer not to resort to coercion to command a Death Knight."

"Even as a lord of the undead, you retain the mercy of a Paladin," Lothar joked. "And please, stop calling me Lord Lothar; those are matters of the living. Just call me Lothar."

"I have not forsaken the Light. Everything in this world possesses two sides."

Arthas shifted his focus back to the ritual. Although he had already completed his portion of the work, the erratic behavior of the Elven mage specters made it clear that the ongoing procedure was far from smooth.

Lothar stepped up beside Arthas and clicked his tongue in wonder. "Methods like this would be enough to have the mages of Dalaran issue a warrant for your arrest ten thousand times over."

"Aren't you currently categorized among the wanted?" Arthas retorted with a slight curl of his lip. "The resurrection ritual for a Lich is far more complex than that of a Death Knight. To ensure they retain formidable spellcasting prowess, one must secure a sufficiently potent energy source."

At the exact center of the ritual array lay the corpse of Archmage Kel'thuzad. His soul had already been extracted and carefully preserved within a meticulously crafted phylactery.

So long as the phylactery remained intact, destroying a Lich's physical vessel was utterly insufficient to truly kill them. Once the skeletal body was shattered, the soul would simply retreat into the phylactery to await its next reconstitution.

However, the sheer amount of energy and effort required for the initial transformation was unimaginably vast. The most viable method to complete the ritual was to utilize a sufficiently powerful energy source or a ley line convergence node.

Unfortunately, Arthas could not simply repurpose the Elven Sunwell to complete the resurrection; doing so would undoubtedly provoke the Quel'dorei into a fight to the death.

A Sunwell contaminated by the powers of death would transmit fatal corruptions to every Elf who fed upon its magical energies, effectively undermining the very foundation of Elven society.

Midway through their conversation, the glowing lights of the ritual suddenly dimmed, prompting Arthas to shake his head with mild frustration.

"Aellex, is it still not working?"

This specter was an Archmage tasked with overseeing the resurrection ritual. The Elven mage wore an expression of deep embarrassment. "Forgive me, Your Majesty. The ley line node of Icecrown Glacier is far too chaotic under the influence of the boundary between life and death. It is exceedingly difficult for us to gather standard-grade magical energy."

"Very well, I understand. It seems we must find another way."

"Sigh... If the Well of Eternity still existed, a single vial of its waters would allow me to complete this ritual with ease." The Archmage appeared haunted by his own failure; it was not a lack of technical skill on his part, but rather the sheer difficulty of gathering enough localized magic through mortal means alone to satisfy the ritual's demands.

The waters of the Well of Eternity?

Arthas fell into deep thought. "Wait, Aellex. If we used an energy source derived from assimilated waters of the Well of Eternity, would that suffice for the ritual's requirements?"

"In that case, we would require a much greater quantity. After all, derivative magical sources pale vastly in comparison to the true Well of Eternity."

"Can you give me an approximate required amount?"

Aellex closed his eyes in contemplation for a brief moment before answering, "Ten crystal vials of such enchanted waters would guarantee the completion of the ritual."

Arthas nodded. A quantity of ten vials was hardly excessive, and the cost was well worth paying to forge a Lich of sufficient power.

Using his current leverage to approach Kael'thas might resolve this immediate crisis, but it also served as a reminder to Arthas that he needed to secure a dedicated, reliable energy source for the Scourge as soon as possible.

While magic tainted by death was more than abundant enough to sustain the resurrection of lesser undead, ensuring the purity of complex rituals and the quality of higher-tier creations still demanded high-purity energy sources...

Kel'thuzad's soul remained sealed within his phylactery, and Arthas had chosen not to awaken him just yet. One could only wonder how that devout "seeker of truth" would react upon discovering that his ultimate superior had been completely replaced.

Departing the ritual chamber, Arthas and Lothar walked down the main corridor of Icecrown Citadel. Lothar broke the silence by asking, "What are your plans for the immediate future?"

"There is still much to be done. The Eastern Kingdoms have troubles waiting for me to settle, to say nothing of Kalimdor across the sea."

Though the exact movements of the dreadlords remained obscure, Arthas was virtually certain that Tichondrius and his confederates had taken note of the disturbances in Northrend. Their choice to withhold immediate action suggested they were occupied with matters of far greater priority.

The Lich King was originally meant to be a mere pawn employed by the Burning Legion to conquer Azeroth. The only reason the dreadlords would willingly set aside this asset was if they had already secured the key factors necessary for a direct Legion invasion.

"I must trouble you to oversee the Scourge here for a time. I have to return to the Eastern Kingdoms to handle matters there," Arthas announced, revealing his arrangement. This was precisely why he had summoned Lothar; no one else was better suited to act as a supreme commander and strategist.

Lothar offered a wry smile. "I never expected to find myself holding such a high-ranking post the moment I took office—what precisely do you require of me?"

"Monitor the movements of the lesser undead and ensure their base instincts do not cause us undue trouble, while also supervising the ongoing construction projects here in Icecrown Glacier."

"In due time, Naxxramas—the necropolis dispatched to the Eastern Kingdoms to unleash the plague—will return. You are to purge any remaining loyalists of the old Lich King who refuse to submit to our rule."

Lothar readily grasped the scope of Arthas's deployments. All of these measures were designed to foster the growth of the Scourge. Having already achieved an unmatchable advantage in raw numbers, they now desperately needed to cultivate upper-tier military might.

The former Grand Marshal did not press for further details, well aware that the time was not yet ripe for the Scourge to forcefully intervene in the broader geopolitical struggles of Azeroth. They had to utilize this window to expand their strength relentlessly in preparation for the crises of tomorrow.

The Helm of Domination had been left by Arthas upon the Frozen Throne, sealed away through specialized methods to function as a magical beacon. Though he did not wear it upon his brow, he could still channel a portion of the Lich King's supreme authority through the lingering resonance.

After a brief hesitation, Lothar ultimately posed a question regarding how Arthas intended to deal with Orgrim.

"Deal with him? I have already dealt with him, otherwise I would never have resurrected him. He is an old rival of yours; you should know best how to converse with him."

"I require an emissary capable of bringing death to the Burning Legion, not a disheartened old Orc."

Unceremoniously shifting the burden onto Lothar, Arthas departed with effortless grace, leaving the Grand Marshal wearing an expression of profound exasperation. However, just as his silhouette reached the threshold of the citadel's exit, Arthas spoke softly.

"I am sorry, Grand Marshal. Sooner or later, I will make everyone understand."

Lothar's smile faded, replaced by an expression of grim resolve. "There is no need for apologies, and this choice is my own as well—all for Azeroth."

With the final trivialities settled, Arthas's immediate business in Icecrown Glacier drew to a close. He now had to return to the Eastern Kingdoms to hunt down the remaining dreadlords. Preventing a second invasion by the Burning Legion would be the ideal outcome.

Yet, he suspected the situation would not prove so simple. What manner of secret could possibly exist that made the dreadlords willing to abandon the Scourge and remain hidden in the shadows?

Mounting Invincible and stowing Kel'thuzad's phylactery within his spatial pouch, Arthas embarked upon the journey back toward Daggercap Bay—alone, just as he had been when he first arrived.

Darkness began to breed beneath the light, yet when both light and dark converged within the grasp of a single master, life and death would ultimately find themselves traveling the self-same path.