The word "father" sent a jolt through Tirion Fordring's body, his face contorting in shock. The nightmare he had been unwilling to acknowledge had finally come true.
Ever since he last saw Arthas's true face, Tirion Fordring noticed that his face resembled Taelan's, which led him to a rather ominous suspicion.
Tirion Fordring subconsciously didn't want to admit it was true, but this suspicion continued to torment Tirion Fordring deep inside.
Tirion Fordring scrutinized the young man in front of him closely.
Yes, it was Taelan Fordring, though he had become a living person.
"Damn it, my son Taelan is the Lich King!"
Fordring was furious, his jealousy driving him mad. He sneered, "How ironic! The goal I've been searching for has been achieved in you, Lich King Taylan."
Taelan felt an intense killing intent, as if he would be torn to shreds by Tirion Fordring at any moment. He hurriedly protested, "Father, please listen to me, this is not my choice."
"Is that so?"
Tirion Fordring's face contorted with malice as he said mockingly, "You really are my good son. While I was struggling against Thrall, while I was laid out on the table for the Orcs to use, while I was nailed to a wooden frame and bleeding to death, you sat on that high throne, coldly observing everything."
Seeing Tirion Fordring slowly raise Ashbringer, its powerful Holy Light like a small sun, Taelan was terrified, his face turning ashen, and he struggled to explain:
"Father, this is not my will. Ever since I put on this helmet, all I see is darkness. I can no longer feel my body; it's like living in a nightmare."
"So you were just a pathetic puppet."
Tirion Fordring felt a little better and let go of Ashbringer.
Looking at the Helm of Domination on the ground, Tirion Fordring had long heard that the Helm of Domination had the power to confuse people, and it seemed to be true. He was beginning to believe it.
Becoming the Lich King requires paying a price, which Tirion Fordring sees as a perfectly reasonable explanation. Currently, Tirion Fordring's mind is consumed with thoughts of how to become the Lich King.
"Taelan, my good son, to save Azeroth, I want to know: where is the Lich King Arthas? And how can we control the Scourge?"
Taelan remained calm, but his mind was racing. He knew his father's ambition and arrogance, and if his answer was inappropriate, he would be killed by Tirion Fordring immediately.
Since becoming the Lich King, Taelan had been trapped inside this armor, completely unaware of what was happening. To survive, Taelan decided to lie and answered:
"Father, the Scourge is aging, and Arthas is dead."
Tirion Fordring wore an expression that said, seemingly believing him. Taelan quickly organized his thoughts, preparing to fabricate a flawless story.
"That day, I Destiny the Soul Essence. In the Halls of Reflections, I saw all the Scourge generals lying on the ground, aged beyond recognition. I witnessed many generals turn to ashes, and the remaining generals awaited their deaths. Arthas consumed the Soul Essence, but it had no effect. He turned to ashes before my eyes. So, as if by some strange twist of fate, I put on his armor and donned the Helm of Domination."
Taelan looked terrified and said, "Then everything went black, and a voice told me that I was the new Lich King, and then I knew nothing more."
Tirion Fordring pondered to himself, if what Taelan said was true, then there must be something wrong with the Helm of Domination. The Lich King Arthas was dead, but his soul might be residing inside the helmet.
Without a physical body, Arthas was nothing more than a helpless soul.
If you can find a master who Mastery at torturing souls, such as the Dreadlord of the Burning Legion, and interrogate Arthas's soul, you can obtain all the secrets of the Scourge.
But the Dreadlords are unreliable; they might also want to become leaders of the Scourge. It's truly troubling. Just as Tirion Fordring was lost in thought, he heard Taelan say with delight:
"It's Uncle Thrall, long time no see."
"Thrall?"
Tirion Fordring, with his habitual ingratiating smile, quickly turned around, then something suddenly occurred to him.
Taelan is just a lowly human; how could he be qualified to call the great Savior Thrall" uncle"? Thrall is not a benevolent and kind person; isn't he afraid of being torn to pieces and eaten alive by Thrall?
Suddenly sensing something was wrong, Tirion Fordring reacted immediately, gripping Ashbringer tightly and turning around swiftly. Sure enough, a sharp blade came slashing towards him—the infamous Frostmourne.
Ashbringer parried Frostmourne, but with a crash, Frostmourne shattered, failing to launch a sneak attack. Taelan was terrified, his face turning ashen.
"You actually tried to kill me, you damned unfilial son, die!"
Tirion Fordring was a stern father who believed in tyranny and ruthlessness. His wife and children were merely his private property, and his sons had to obey him. He could take the lives of his wife and children at will.
Ashbringer mercilessly pierced Taelan's chest, unleashing a terrifying heat from the intense Holy Light.
Taelan struggled in agony, his body rapidly burning to ashes, which vanished without a trace in a gust of wind.
"The Evil Lich King is destined to die by my sword, Tirion Fordring! I am Tirion Fordring, the great leader of the Argent Crusade, destined to be remembered for eternity, my name sung by all people."
A smug look on Tirion Fordring's face as he picked up the Helm of Domination, his greatest reward from the trip.
Tirion Fordring was very satisfied with the result. No one knew whether it was the Lich King Arthas or Taelan Fordring who died by his sword, except for...
Turning around, Tirion Fordring looked at the twenty-five carefully selected Azeroth "Elites " with a wicked smile. Although each of them had cost a fortune, it was a great pity that they had seen something they shouldn't have.
Tirion Fordring raised Ashbringer in his hand and said mercilessly, "You all deserve to die."
Icecrown Citadel, third level.
The leaders of the various tribes were wary of each other, maintaining a certain distance, and the Anjing was eerily quiet.
Thrall broke the silence first, his face contorted with rage, and said:
"The Orcs saved Azeroth. After the Scourge was destroyed, I demand that each of you contribute half of your people to serve as food and slaves for the Orcs. What, you are unwilling?"
The leaders of each race remained calm, seemingly confident. Thrall, suspicious, chuckled coldly, "It seems you all disregard us Orcs. Why not kill you all right here and now, and say we died at the hands of the Lich King? Where are the Dragonblood Orcs then?"
A strong, stench wafted over, and with a sudden tremor, a group of Orcs emerged from the shadows. They were taller and stronger than ordinary Orcs, their skin covered with thick dragon scales, their faces contorted in a ferocious and terrifying manner. Although there were only two hundred of them, they seemed like a vast army.
The Invincible Dragonblood Orcs were Thrall's last trump card, he said smugly:
"These two hundred Dragonblood Orcs are those I left behind years ago, protecting my secret palace. Now they've finally come in handy. Sylvanas, you were once the Ranger-General of Silvermoon City. I wonder if you have the courage to challenge the Dragonblood Orcs?"
Sylvanas simply smiled faintly and clapped her hands lightly.
An ominous gust of wind blew by, Thrall suddenly felt a chill run down his spine. A Banshee suddenly appeared in the center of the Dragonblood Orcs, emitting a piercing shriek.
Dragonblood Orcs Invincible in close combat, but their mental strength is very weak. After this terrifying shriek, two hundred Dragonblood Orcs staggered, blood flowing from their mouths and noses, and collapsed to the ground.
Thrall quickly forced an awkward smile, "Azeroth is like family, I was just joking with everyone."
Sylvanas said seriously, "But I wasn't joking."