Looking into Arthas's determined eyes, what could Robbie say?
The entanglements of the mortal world are like fishing nets with hooks, unknowingly entangling people within them.
No one forced Arthas, no one demanded Arthas, but he did it naturally.
This is probably what responsibility and obligation are, or perhaps it's Destiny.
Robbie has started to believe in Destiny, but of course he still doesn't believe in the Holy Light.
To find Kel'Thuzad, one must stay close to Arthas. If one finds an excuse to separate from Arthas, one will have to start all over again. Robbie doesn't think he has many chances of meeting a high-ranking Archmage of Dalaran.
Moreover, the mysterious Kel'Thuzad —who knows where he's hiding in that dilapidated house?
Arthas's Destiny was probably sealed, and Robbie decided to risk his life to accompany the Prince.
Of course, Robbie's life is relatively safe; if all else fails, he can call upon the Infinite Dragonflight to escape.
That evening, Robbie and Arthas stayed in a guest room at the Royal Palace.
Lying on the less-than-comfortable bed, Robbie stared at the broken ceiling, tossing and turning, unable to sleep. Experiencing this unknown history firsthand had a profound impact on his mind, and he needed time to process his thoughts. The Guardians' record of history was so distorted, so inverted, that it far exceeded his previous expectations.
The decaying state of Lordaeron, the Guardians' own unwavering resolve, and the unexpected rise of the Orcs —what reasons lie hidden within all of this?
In a daze, Robbie heard a voice deep inside him:
"The Burning Legion, Sargeras Void Academy, Medivh's Admission Letter."
"This is a conspiracy!" Robbie suddenly sat up.
Robbie heard footsteps beside him. The sound was very soft, as if the person walking was deliberately slowing down so as not to disturb others. If Robbie hadn't undergone the transformation by the Mysterious Blood, giving him extraordinary hearing, he would never have heard it.
Robbie gently pushed open the door and peeked out.
In the corridor, by the bright moonlight streaming through the window, Robbie saw the back of a perfect woman. She had a curvaceous figure, long, straight legs, wore a gorgeous red dress, and had golden hair as bright as sunlight.
The woman walked quietly, stopped in front of Arthas's door, and silently pushed open the slightly ajar door.
In the dead of night, a young woman, a lone man and woman, secretly meet.
Robbie smiled slightly, finding it somewhat interesting. He guessed it was some noble lady, or a court lady who was in love with Arthas. He could foresee that things would soon escalate into a passionate affair.
Shaking his head, Robbie decided to go back to sleep.
Strange, strange, why is there not a sound? That shouldn't be the case; even in a suppressed atmosphere, it shouldn't be this quiet.
As the woman walked, her arms swayed slightly, and the gold trim on her sleeves lingered in Robbie's eyes.
Why does it feel so familiar? I've seen Phnom Penh before.
Not good!
The woman was clearly Arthas's roommate in the tomb, the beautiful corpse who had once shared a coffin with Robbie.
Robbie jumped out of bed and rushed to Arthas's room, kicking the door open.
Arthas, dressed in his pajamas, lay sprawled on the ship, drooling and muttering incoherently in his sleep.
Hearing the door being kicked open, Arthas jumped up immediately.
"What's wrong? What happened? Have the Orcs stormed the Royal Palace? Has the Silver Hand rebelled?"
"The female corpse from the cemetery in Deathknell has arrived. Hmm, where is she hiding?"
Seeing that Arthas was safe and sound, Robbie was relieved. Although Robbie wouldn't look down on Arthas having some kind of ambiguous relationship with the female corpse, Robbie had to at least ensure the Prince's safety.
Upon hearing that Robbie had come looking for the female corpse, Arthas yawned, a nonchalant expression on his face, and waved his hand, saying, "Alright, it's nothing, go back to sleep." He then lifted the bedsheet and pointed to the floor beneath the bed:
"Isn't she right down there?"
Robbie quickly bent down and, sure enough, saw the female corpse with her eyes closed, lying Anjing under the bed.
"Prince Highness, aren't you afraid?" Robbie asked curiously.
"If different female corpses had been sleeping under your bed since the first day you could remember, day after day for over twenty years, you'd get used to it." Arthas admired the female corpse's face under the bed with a calm expression. "She's been with me for over a year. Let me think, she's probably the most beautiful and has the best figure of all the female corpses."
The female corpse's lips clearly had a slight upward curve.
My goodness, this is amazing! Prince Arthas is truly gifted.
"You disturbed my sweet dreams, I can't sleep either." Arthas sat on the edge of the bed, gesturing to a chair beside him. "You sit too, I'll tell you some strange tales about the Royal Palace of Lordaeron. It all starts with our House Menethil's succession to the throne. Robbie, how much do you know about our House Menethil?"
Robbie stood there stunned for a long time.
Before coming, Robbie did a lot of research, including studying the history of the House Menethil.
Unfortunately, history is extremely wary of the House Menethil. How they rose to power and became Kings of Lordaeron is not mentioned in a single word in history.
Not only the House Menethil, but the entire royal history of Lordaeron is a blank.
However, the rise and fall of some of Lordaeron's great noble families, such as the Barov Family, the Agamand Mills, Banir Soliden families, are well documented.
"I remember that King Thoradin of the Arathor Empire had two outstanding generals who achieved immortal feats in defeating the Trolls. One of them was General Lordanen from the heart of Tirisfal Glades, Lordaeron is named in honor of this great general."
Arthas smiled and shook his head, "Our House Menethil has no relation to General Lordanen. In fact, my grandfather was just an ordinary fisherman in Menethil Harbor when he was young."
"Fishermen?"
Robbie scratched his head, finding it somewhat unbelievable.
Arthas said quite frankly:
"To be precise, the throne of our House Menethil was won in exchange for a bowl of Silverhead Trout Soup."
"Back then, Menethil Harbor was called Rotten Fish Wharf. My grandfather would sail out to sea every day in his small boat with a tattered fishing net. The local fishermen were amazed that young Menethil always managed to catch a bountiful catch."
After taking a sip of water, Arthas continued:
"Near Rotten Fish Wharf, there is an Island called Dead Fish Island, a naturally formed graveyard for Murloc. Our family has a special ancestral ability to communicate with the Restless Souls. Before going fishing, my grandfather would always go to Dead Fish Island to find fresh Murloc corpses and ask them where the fish would be plentiful that day and where it would be best to cast his net."
One evening, as usual, Grandpa had a bountiful harvest and was about to sail home when a female sorceress descended from the sky and landed on the bow of his boat.
"She was a woman whose age was hard to guess, dressed elegantly, very beautiful and with a refined air. Grandpa knew he had encountered a master, so he used the stove on the boat to cook a pot of Silverhead Trout Soup. The female monk drank it and said it was very delicious and she was very satisfied, but she didn't have any money with her."
"Grandpa said it wasn't necessary, a bowl of salmon soup wasn't worth much," the female mage said firmly. "I must repay you, not for this bowl of salmon soup." With that, she pulled Grandpa up, and the two were teleported to Lordaeron.
"Now, you are the King here," the female mage told my grandfather.
"Guardian, Aegwynn."
Robbie said seriously, "The identity of the female mage is easy to guess. Only the Guardian Aegwynn could appoint the King so arbitrarily."
Arthas nodded:
"Unfortunately, Grandpa didn't know then that Lordaeron was a Cursed Royal City."