Chapter Nine: Zuoaman

Deep within the eastern forest, in the dark and primeval woods, at the ruins of Zu’aman—the abandoned capital of the Amani Empire—a vast troll army was gathering.

“Finally back here, Zu’aman—”

A one-eyed, one-armed troll stood before the ranks, absentmindedly stroking the moss-covered stone steps leading to the ancient gates of Zu’aman.

As the old troll lingered in his reverie, a younger troll radiating a formidable aura approached from behind. “Zul’jin, the sharp-eared Ranger General has fallen into our trap.”

The cloudiness in Zul’jin’s remaining eye vanished instantly, replaced by a cruel, merciless gleam. “Oh? Is that so, Mal’akas? That’s excellent news indeed.”

He touched the remnant of his left arm, now little more than a stump. “The humiliation they dealt me back then will soon be repaid tenfold.”

“Hmph, we lost three witch doctors just to catch this big fish,” Mal’akas, the warlock lord, said with a tone of disdain. Were it not for Zul’jin’s towering prestige among the trolls, he would never have obeyed this failure.

“Heh, we have plenty of witch doctors. How many ranger generals do the elves have? Without the Farstriders, who else can stand against us?”

Zul’jin dismissed the cost lightly; the witch doctors were mere minor tribe healers. Their heads had already been made into trophies by the chieftains who opposed him. Who would still support those healers?

His goal was clear: to kill or capture Sylvanas Windrunner and annihilate the elven ranger forces. Such a small sacrifice meant nothing.

As the two conversed, a troll scout hurried over. “Lord Zul’jin, Lord Mal’akas, reinforcements for the sharp-eared ones have arrived. They are humans.”

“Humans?” Mal’akas sneered. “Just a bunch of hogs trapped in iron buckets.”

“Do not underestimate them, Mal’akas,” Zul’jin frowned. “Though those wretched tribes often fail due to their own faults, the role of humans cannot be ignored.”

During the Second War, when Zul’jin acted as a guide for the orcs, he gained a profound understanding of the humans’ current strength. They were no longer the frail beings of millennia past.

“The elves live within their ridiculous barriers, thinking themselves secure. For thousands of years, comfort and decadence have seeped into their very bones. They are no longer the desperate elves who fought to the death during the troll wars.”

After hearing the scout’s report, Zul’jin turned to Mal’akas. “The Loa have not yet awakened. We need a grand ritual to restore the Amani Empire to its former glory. Windrunner and her rangers are only the first step.”

“You overestimate the humans,” Mal’akas retorted.

“Do I? No, I never have. But humans, having survived the troll invasions, understand danger better than the elves. At least in these past ten years, the elves have been easier to deal with than humans.”

Zul’jin’s voice suddenly rose. “But their lifespans are far shorter than those of the elves or ourselves. Soon enough, they will become weak again, as they once were. That will be our true opportunity. For now, this is but a small step toward our empire’s revival.”

Zul’jin was a brutal leader, but also cunning and shrewd. A true hunter never strikes when the prey is strongest but continuously weakens it, waiting until its fangs dull and its body falters before delivering the fatal blow.

Though Mal’akas disliked him, he knew Zul’jin was right. Reluctantly, he set aside his grievances. “Very well, Zul’jin, perhaps you are right. What shall we do next?”

“There must be shining priests and paladins among the human reinforcements. Once they realize the curse cannot be lifted, Sylvanas will have no choice but to retreat.”

Zul’jin clenched the fist blade resting on a rock, flexing his powerful right hand. “Send scouts to watch their rear. The moment they begin to retreat, our army will press forward immediately, breaking through that forward barrier as fast as possible.”

“What if Sylvanas retreats alone?”

Zul’jin’s lone eye flashed fiercely. “Then Har’az will follow the scouts.”

“From here on, it will be a hunt.”

—

“What? Use Lady Windrunner as bait?” Lor’themar’s objection was clear. “It’s far too dangerous. Who knows if there are troll ambush units along the retreat path?”

“Lor’themar, relax. I will accompany the lady, along with my knights.” Arthas had long anticipated this. The trolls had likely placed scouts and even small ambush groups behind them, waiting for Sylvanas to break from the main force.

But compared to the risk of the main army being discovered and chased by the massive troll host, luring out those scouts first was far safer.

Sylvanas stared at Arthas, lost in thought. After a long pause, she stopped Lor’themar’s protest and asked Arthas, “You say you can break the curse?”

“Yes, but not now. If we do it now, the trolls will surely detect us and assault the position recklessly. With their numerical advantage ten to one, we could never hold that forward outpost, and there would be no chance to retreat.”

“We must have the troops ready to withdraw but appear unaware of the trolls’ intentions, simply sending Lady Windrunner away.”

“Their scouts and assassins will not watch us leave quietly. Once we draw them out and eliminate them, it will buy the army time for a safe retreat.”

“But how do we guarantee the lady’s safety?” Lor’themar said, his tone tinged with frustration.

“Lor’themar, I am a paladin. No one understands protection better than us. Besides, I will bring the Privy Knights along during the retreat. I can assure you the risk is minimal, though as bait, it can never be entirely risk-free.”

“Enough, Lor’themar. Given the circumstances, is there a better plan?” Sylvanas waved her hand. “Besides, my condition is not so dire; I am not without means of self-defense.”

Lor’themar fell silent because Arthas’s plan was indeed the best way to minimize risk at present. Moreover, as the prince accompanying Sylvanas personally, there was little room for objection.

Still, as a member of the Farstriders and deputy to the ranger general, he worried deeply about their leader's safety.

Arthas understood this but noted that Silvermoon had sent no reinforcements—not a single person had left the city. With only two archmages brought along, he could not teleport the entire force away. Severing the trolls’ eyes and ears was the only chance for a safe withdrawal.

“Also, it would be best to bury the remaining mana crystals within the lines. My mages will craft them into mana bombs to buy us critical time.”

At these words, both Sylvanas and Lor’themar’s faces darkened. After all, human magic had been learned from the high elves, and now they had to rely on human mages to cover their retreat—a humiliating situation indeed!

Had Silvermoon deployed even a squad of battle mages, Sylvanas and the Farstriders could appear and vanish at will before the trolls’ eyes.

But now, without a single mage and with the archmages of Lordaeron unfamiliar with Quel’Thalas’s mana network, a swift withdrawal was impossible.

Her anger toward the Silvermoon Council and their pleasure-seeking, useless councilors deepened. Were it not for Lordaeron’s support, Sylvanas and the Farstrider rangers would likely have been captured and sacrificed to the trolls’ Loa.

After negotiating with the elves, Arthas felt slightly relieved. Fortunately, Sylvanas and Lor’themar led the force; otherwise, given the inherent pride of the high elves, any other commander would have made him consider a solo retreat.

After briefing his mentor Uther, the paladin also agreed. “This is the only viable course. I will command the remaining forces and follow your plan.”

Uther’s gauntleted fist struck Arthas’s breastplate with a sharp sound. “Stay safe, my student. May the Light be with you.”

“And with you, teacher.” Arthas smiled and left to make final preparations for departure.