Chapter 4 Undercurrents

"Arthas, you are late." Uther stood at the city gates, welcoming Arthas's arrival.

Due to a slight delay in the Bronze Dragon illusion, Arthas reached Andorhal somewhat later than expected.

"Apologies, I ran into a few issues along the way—how has everything been in Andorhal lately?"

Uther did not press for details about what Arthas had encountered. "Quite well. We've checked all the checkpoints, weeded out numerous cultists, and everything is running as usual. The plague has not broken out again."

"And the orcs to the south?"

"They vanished into the mountain forests of Tirisfal and Alterac long ago. The scouts we sent deep into the mountains failed to find any trace of them."

"However, our spies discovered large-scale orc activity along a coastline in the Silverpine Forest, though they seem to have left that area now."

The coastline? The orcs of the Eastern Kingdoms had indeed departed for Kalimdor—hopefully they would safely navigate the Maelstrom and the Great Sea.

The colossal vortex left behind by the explosion of the Well of Eternity spanned the middle of the ocean. Without navigational charts, it was far too easy to plunge straight into that horrifying trap.

Arthas could already foresee that the orcs' sea voyage would be anything but smooth. Their understanding of the ocean was still limited to normal seas.

Even the Kul Tirans, renowned for their navigation and shipbuilding, rarely attempted to cross the Great Sea, as most considered it a foolish endeavor not worth the risk.

Aside from the lethal trap of the Maelstrom, the nagas and murlocs dwelling in the ocean's depths, along with the massive sea monsters they kept, were nightmares for all mariners.

With the orcs' crude sailing ships, they would suffer heavy losses before even landing, which conveniently aligned with Arthas's plan to diminish the orcs' strength.

"Never mind those green-skinned barbarians; we have more important matters to attend to." Arthas temporarily dismissed thoughts of the orcs' fate. His current task was to find the dreadlords hiding in the Eastern Kingdoms.

"I understand, but I'm afraid I won't be able to accompany you to Dalaran this time. Matters regarding both the Silver Hand and the capital require my return."

Uther said to his pupil. Following the death of the High Prelate, Uther, as the first paladin, had shouldered many responsibilities for the Knights of the Silver Hand and the Holy Light Church.

Arthas fully understood Uther's busy schedule. "It's quite all right, Master, as long as you leave me a few capable colleagues."

"That goes without saying. Mograine is also in the city; he can go with you to Dalaran in my stead."

"Would it be wise to pull this High Lord away?" Arthas worried that taking Mograine away would leave Andorhal's internal defenses depleted.

"You needn't worry. Gavinrad will take over the defense of Andorhal from me—he will be the resident knight-captain here from now on."

......

"It is a pleasure to see you, Prince Arthas." Alexandros Mograine offered Arthas a knightly salute as they prepared to depart for Dalaran.

"Likewise, Lord Mograine," Arthas exchanged courtesies. "Sorry to drag you along on this trip; this mission is of the utmost importance."

"I understand, and rooting out all evil is my duty anyway, so it's no trouble." Mograine was in the prime of his life. Though not yet the world-renowned "Ashbringer," he was already a formidable paladin.

Mograine's strength ranked near the top within the entirety of the Silver Hand. Both in combat technique and in his comprehension of the Holy Light, he stood at the absolute pinnacle of the Church.

With his assistance, Arthas would undoubtedly have much greater confidence in tracking Tichondrius and his subordinates.

Against demons and the undead, a paladin's abilities held a massive advantage; certain demonic spells capable of deceiving mages could not hide from the Holy Light of paladins and priests.

Aside from a few hunters and assassins who had tracking skills carved into their very souls and instincts, dispatching a paladin to hunt down a demon was an excellent choice.

However, if Tichondrius were truly hiding within Dalaran, his disguise would have to be utterly flawless, otherwise he would have been exposed long ago by the ubiquitous mages of Dalaran and blasted into ash by volatile magic.

Arthas had initially considered bringing a contingent of troops, but realizing that against a dreadlord, the threat mortal armies could pose was extremely limited—and that they would merely become tools for the dreadlord to escape or counterattack—he decided that only he and Mograine should go.

Besides, Dalaran possessed an abundance of magical might, and he could also call upon Kael'thas for help; high-end combat power would certainly not be lacking.

"Let us set off at once. Every second we waste, Azeroth's plight grows a fraction more dangerous."

The two powerful paladins spurred their mounts out of Andorhal, galloping along the high road toward Dalaran.

While Arthas was on the trail of Tichondrius, at the southern end of the continent, another evil force was stirring in the absence of Varian in Stormwind.

Lady Katrana Prestor—none other than the black dragon princess Onyxia—exerted astonishing force with her slender fingers, shattering a crystal wine glass into a pile of shards as crimson wine streamed down her arm.

"Useless trash! Did you truly let Varian's ship reach Kalimdor in one piece?"

A masked subordinate in black answered with trembling fear. "I... I am sorry, my lady, but... among those accompanying him was an Archmage of Dalaran; our magic could not possibly elude her perception."

"And so you simply did nothing, watching Varian step onto Kalimdor's soil with both legs intact?"

The subordinate in black attempted to explain further, but Onyxia clearly had no intention of giving him the chance. A searing flame erupting from within consumed him, and within moments, a charred corpse collapsed upon the luxurious rug.

"Consider this expensive rug your shroud—Howard, dispose of this trash."

The silent knight expertly bundled up the charred corpse and carried it out, leaving Onyxia alone in the chamber.

"Accursed fools... is that the caliber of the hidden sentries funded by those nobles? They can't even handle the smallest of tasks."

Dissatisfaction and wrath flickered across Onyxia's face. This once-in-a-lifetime opportunity had been squandered by those incompetent wretches. Had she known, she would have dispatched her own dragonkin guards to handle the matter.

Yet the opportunity had already slipped away, and Lady Katrana Prestor's influence could not penetrate the fortress city known as Theramore, directly garrisoned by Lordaeron's First Legion.

Consequently, she was now completely blind to Varian's itinerary; moreover, that shrewd king had already realized the risks within the kingdom, sending both his wife and son to Lordaeron for a "vacation."

That was merely an excuse for the public. Onyxia was well aware that this was one of Varian's methods to mitigate risk.

Although she had already conveyed through Grand Marshal Bolvar the suggestion that "there is no need to travel so far, a vacation in the outskirts of Elwynn Forest would suffice," Varian entirely ignored it and sent them away directly.

Furthermore, Lordaeron had actually dispatched a dedicated escort, preventing Onyxia from planting any informants.

"It would seem that king has already grown somewhat suspicious of my identity." Onyxia gritted her pearls of teeth. Her painstaking layout of years had been thrown into chaos by a massive, mysterious influx of funds from a few years ago.

Many fence-sitting nobles believed Onyxia's foresight had failed and were no longer willing to unconditionally lean toward her side, while the intended conflict between the nobility, the king, and the commoner class had been successfully defused.

Now it had devolved into mere political wrestling between the king and the nobles, and those useless nobles were entirely useless aside from irritating Varian during council sessions.

Calling them trash was giving them too much credit. Onyxia felt that if she had to witness their foolish antics a few more times, she might be angered to the point of failing her illusion magic and reverting to her true form.

If the nobles were unreliable, the other factions in Stormwind posed a genuine threat. Stormwind's military power was largely under Varian's direct control, and despite years of cultivation, Onyxia had only managed to plant personnel in the middle and lower ranks.

The supreme military authority of Stormwind remained firmly in Varian's grasp, which was why the nobles only dared to do things that annoyed Varian without daring to overstep too far.

For if Varian were truly driven to desperation, he would not be a commander without an army; he was a monarch capable of drawing his blade and executing all the nobles—a true, legitimate king!

Onyxia had long grown impatient with those high-ranking military generals in Stormwind. She had lost the vast majority of her patience—who knew how much longer her father would take to heal from his wounds?

By the time that day arrived, if she still lacked any notable achievements, she would be the first to suffer!

Moreover, her brother—that crazed experimental monster who inherited Deathstar's temperament—might well be delighted to acquire an adult female black dragon as a "test subject."

At the thought of her potential fate should she fail, Onyxia felt the scales across her entire body stand on end. She hurriedly instructed her dragonkin guards to notify the Blackrock orcs of Blackrock Mountain, who swore allegiance to the black dragonflight.

They were the remaining orc faction from the Second War, excluding those captured by humans or retreated through the Dark Portal.

Blackrock Mountain was once the location of the Dark Iron dwarves' city, but these dwarves, cursed by the Fire Lord, had also been attacked by the massive orc army during the Second War, losing even their city.

Now, Blackrock Mountain served as Nefarian's laboratory and the arsenal of the black dragonflight—that mad black dragon had driven out all the Dark Iron dwarves in Blackrock Tower, usurped their city, and enslaved the orcs of the Blackrock clan.

The Dark Iron dwarves, enslaved by the Fire Lord, had retreated to the subterranean city deep within Blackrock Mountain after multiple failed attempts to retake their homeland. The Fire Lord's forces and the black dragonflight had formed a delicate and fragile balance.

The upper tiers of Blackrock Tower housed the black dragon lair known as Blackwing Lair, while below lay the Dark Iron settlement of Blackrock Depths, which connected to the deep earth veins and the Fire Lord's slumbering place, the Molten Core.

That was undoubtedly one of the most dangerous places in the world today. Within that hollowed-out mountain, one might encounter crazed black dragons, bloodthirsty orcs, and cursed Dark Iron dwarves.

And, summoned back to the material world due to the arrogance of the Dark Iron dwarves despite having been sealed away by the Titan Keepers, was the Firelord Ragnaros himself.

He was the embodiment of all fire on Azeroth, a god of flame, a primordial elemental deity of Azeroth. Simply his summoning had incinerated thousands of miles of mountains and plains between Dun Morogh and Elwynn Forest.

That region now bore new names: the Burning Steppes and the Searing Gorge.

A towering volcano had erupted under the Fire Lord's immense power, and upon cooling, it became the modern Blackrock Mountain. The arrogant dwarves had paid the price: being cursed and enslaved by the Fire Lord's might.

Even Onyxia was unwilling to venture too close to that place. Black dragons indeed favored dry, scorching environments, but that did not include the infernal flames of the Firelord.

Even her father, Deathstar, dared not slight the power of an Elemental Lord, and her own strength was unquestionably far inferior to her father's.

Though the entity slumbering within the earth veins beneath Blackrock Mountain was merely a projection of Ragnaros's power in the material plane, the cautious Onyxia still wanted no part of that cursed place.

"I am nothing like Nefarian, that utter lunatic..."

Onyxia muttered softly as she cast her magical transmission. Though she was affected by her bloodline, she considered herself vastly more rational compared to her father and brother.

At least she could not fathom why Nefarian would choose such a cursed place as his experimental grounds. Did he not fear that the fickle Elemental Lord might one day erupt again, instantly turning Blackrock Mountain into an active volcano?

Madmen... they were all madmen. Onyxia shuddered slightly. Her power was weaker than her father's and brother's, but this also left her less susceptible to the Old Gods' influence. She was an evil black dragon, but certainly not a mindless monster.

She had no desire to become like that either. Regrettably, as the princess of the black dragons, the choice of her fate rested entirely out of her hands.