Chapter One: The Ancient Legend

"Master Bronzebeard, His Highness has returned!"

The deep worry that had clouded Brann's bandaged brow vanished instantly by more than half. He quickly adjusted his hat and hurried out to meet him.

"Brann? You're injured too?!" Arthas frowned. "What happened?"

Brann caught his breath, paying no mind to his still-throbbing head. "On our way back, we were ambushed by a demon—though fortunately, we managed to repulse him."

Of course, the members of the First Legion had paid a heavy price, suffering a dozen casualties.

Arthas had not expected a demon to seek them out in his absence. "What are the details?"

"The lads were all valorous. Most of them only sustained minor injuries, and that demon didn't seem to want to entangle with us for long." Brann forced a wry grin; he was one of the wounded himself.

The dwarf spat, evidently harboring a deep grudge against the damned demon. "That cursed Mal'Ganis made us lose several brave soldiers..."

"Mal'Ganis?"

Arthas's expression turned startled for a moment before instantly hardening. "Mal'Ganis is already dead—thoroughly so. His soul and his skull are in my hands right now."

With that, he tossed the demonic skull of Mal'Ganis onto the ground. The oversized head left Brann stunned as he peered closely at it.

Years of archaeological experience allowed Brann to notice the subtle differences between Mal'Ganis and the demon they had encountered. Brann stammered in shock, "By the Mountain King, these dangerous creatures are already appearing in our world in packs?"

"Not yet, but if we hadn't dealt with the conspirators among these demons, their rampage would only be a matter of time."

While conversing with Brann, Arthas scanned his surroundings, failing to spot the figures of Falric and Sassalar.

"Where are Falric and Sassalar?"

Brann's expression dimmed abruptly. He sighed. "Falric was heavily wounded; the combat medics are trying to save him. As for Sassalar... I'm sorry, that lad, in order to cover us—"

Arthas clenched his fists, only to release them with a helpless sigh. "Where is Sassalar's body?"

Brann led Arthas into a small room where the remains of the fallen soldiers rested. Their bodies were covered with white sheets, atop which lay a few personal effects from their lives.

"Sassalar... when he learned you went alone to challenge Mal'Ganis, he went out onto the snowfields to find you."

The brand-new major's insignia still looked just as it had when Sassalar received it. Arthas slammed a fist against the nearby wall, causing cracks to spiderweb across the stone under his heavy blow.

"The fool! Is the Dragonblight a place he has any business setting foot in?! His recklessness not only cost him his life, but it also implicated the other soldiers of the First Legion!" Arthas's tone held more than a trace of exasperation at unfulfilled potential.

Sassalar was a brave soldier, true, and he always kept his father's advice close to heart, but he had still committed a mistake common to most young men: he was far too reckless.

Arthas knew full well that Sassalar had come after him not only to ensure his safety, but also to lay his own regrets to rest—as the sole survivor of the Thirteenth Battalion, his hatred for the Dreadlord had overridden his reason.

Perhaps, to Sassalar, dying a glorious death on the battlefield was far preferable to lingering in the army alone and climbing the ranks step by step.

Arthas believed he bore a share of the responsibility as well; he should not have allowed Sassalar, who had only convalesced for a single week, to follow him northward. He had underestimated a young man's yearning for vengeance.

By commissioning Sassalar as a major and assigning him a new task, he had hoped to help him find the will to live and escape the painful memories of the Thirteenth Battalion incident as quickly as possible.

Yet, this newly minted major still lacked an understanding of the demons of the Burning Legion. Mal'Ganis's behavior was entirely anomalous among the Dreadlords, for he was deliberately trying to take the bait and lure Arthas in.

To make Mal'Ganis believe he had fallen into the trap, Arthas had specifically mustered an army to march on Northrend. Aside from consolidating the defense of key ports in Northrend, the move was meant to deceive Mal'Ganis.

Mal'Ganis had believed everything was within his grasp, only to lose his life instead. Confronted with a high-ranking demon he knew nothing about, Sassalar had not even realized he was being tracked.

On Azeroth, power was not the critical factor that decided victory and defeat; caution was.

With a long sigh, Arthas stepped out of the room and sat on the steps outside the door. "Brann."

"I'm here, lad. I know you're hurting... I'm to blame too; I should have kept a closer eye on that reckless young fool." Brann leaned against the wall as he sat down, his voice raspy.

"Sassalar's sister and mother are still waiting in Tirisfal for their brother and son to come home—perhaps I never should have brought him to Northrend in the first place."

Arthas shook his head to himself, then continued, "Brann, the true mastermind behind the undead rampage has been slain by me."

"Well done. That may perhaps comfort the souls of the lads in heaven." Brann attempted to console Arthas. "You needn't blame yourself too much; you did all you could."

"But I wanted to do more—" Arthas composed his emotions. Sassalar had made him feel as though he were looking at his own immature reflection, and the end of such immaturity was often tragic.

The two sat in silence for a long time until Arthas himself finally broke the mournful atmosphere. "As for these soldiers, I will have them 'stay' in Northrend for the time being."

Brann blinked in confusion. "Why? Won't you bring their remains back to their homeland?"

"That will depend on their own wishes." Uttering words that left Brann completely baffled, Arthas rose to his feet.

"I must return to the Eastern Kingdoms posthaste. The entire affair is not yet fully concluded; several Dreadlords like Mal'Ganis are still plotting in the shadows."

Arthas stared at Brann. "As for you, Brann, I suggest you return to Ironforge to recuperate for a time before setting out on adventures again."

"I think so too. Though after this ordeal, I likely won't want to revisit this place of sorrow for a very long time."

***

"Elder Hamuul, that concludes the entirety of our covenant." Jaina lowered the magical document in her hands and smiled. "You have a counterpart of this document in your possession as well. We had goblins translate it, producing a standard Tauren-language version."

It was impossible to tell from Hamuul's expression whether he was moved or indifferent. His thick fingers stroked the delicate parchment, his mind still mulling over the terms he had just heard.

In truth, the covenant offered by the Alliance was exceptionally generous—so generous that even Hamuul found it almost unbelievable.

The humans promised to help the Tauren drive out the centaurs, providing not only supplies but also manpower assistance, while simultaneously proposing a definitive solution to the centaur menace once and for all.

Naturally, this did not mean the complete eradication of the centaur race, but rather finding a sufficiently peaceful sanctuary for the Tauren.

And all the Tauren needed to do was fulfill the requirements and promises necessary for a normal alliance—Hamuul checked the document several times more, confirming his eyes were not playing tricks on him.

In the end, Hamuul voiced his greatest lingering doubt: "Forgive my presumption, outsiders, but why would you offer such immense assistance to our race? It almost seems... too selfless."

Jaina's smile grew even brighter. Unlike Varian, who sat silently nearby with a stern expression, she was more than happy to explain it to Hamuul.

Before speaking, however, the female mage clapped her hands, and the guards and other personnel around them swiftly retreated from the conference room, leaving behind only Hamuul, his personal guard, Jaina, and Varian.

Once that was done, Jaina said solemnly, "As you might surmise, we are not asking for nothing. But what we truly desire is simply the friendship of the Tauren tribe."

"Yet the things you have offered are simply too vast. We fear that what is gained in such a manner may not be true 'friendship'."

"That is because the situation has become so severe that helping you is tantamount to helping ourselves."

Jaina paused briefly, continuing the topic under Hamuul's inquiring gaze.

"You in Kalimdor may not be fully aware, but little more than a decade ago, the Eastern Kingdoms faced the greatest catastrophe in thousands of years—the Orcish invasion.

Although the Alliance united as one and finally defeated the orcs, what we did not anticipate was that the orcs, whom we regarded as our primary foe, were merely minor pawns of a dark force within the Void.

The true enemy is still conspiring behind the scenes for something far greater."

Jaina tapped the floor with her staff and proclaimed clearly, "That is our world."

"The orcs were merely the vanguard of the Burning Legion; when all is said and done, they are merely ignorant wretches toyed with by demons. Our true threat remains hidden in the endless starry expanse."

"The Burning Legion?..."

This unfamiliar yet familiar term gave Hamuul a strange sense of déjà vu, and Jaina's next words made the Tauren understand its true meaning.

"Perhaps it sounds foreign to you, but... regarding the secret lore of the War of the Ancients from ten thousand years ago, I believe any ancient race in Kalimdor should have it passed down in their heritage."

"The terrifying demonic legion that caused the Well of Eternity to explode and brought about a cataclysmic sundering of the ancient continent of Kalimdor—they have... returned."

Accompanying the proper noun belonging to that ancient elven tongue, memories were finally stirred within the old Tauren, awakening the ancient legends of the Shu'halo tribe:

According to legend, ten thousand years ago, the world was blanketed in green clouds, and emerald-green fiery meteors rained down from the sky, bringing suffering and death to the living creatures of the land, causing even the Earth Mother to weep.

The living beings of Azeroth rose up in resistance, among them several Tauren clans. United alongside one another, the champions of Azeroth paid a heavy price to finally drive the terrifying enemy from their world.

However, that was not the end, but rather the beginning of a nightmare: a day would come when the destructive legion, burning with green fel fire, would descend once more!