The Orcs methodically completed their massacre of Lordaeron and gathered at the Lordaeron Royal Palace for a grand celebration.
Uther the Lightbringer rode his warhorse alone through the deserted streets of Lordaeron.
Looking at the devastation on both sides of the street, the shops looted, the people slaughtered, and the piles of bones, he was filled with grief and indignation that he could not vent. His people had been massacred here, and he truly felt the pain.
Although he was the greatest Paladin of his time, he felt utterly weak and his vision blurred.
"Great Holy Light, guide me, illuminate the path ahead."
Uther gripped the reins tightly, feeling dizzy and disoriented, as if his soul had left his body, as if he were in a nightmare. He was repenting for his sins.
"King Terenas, my old friend, I was truly wrong. I shouldn't have cared about the face of Paladin, shouldn't have cherished my false reputation, and shouldn't have let you bear the narrow-minded gaze of the world alone. I should have advised you to slaughter these damned beasts. Holy Light, why did you abandon me? Why didn't you remind me of my Destiny today?"
The old horse knew the way and led Uther out of Lordaeron, heading towards his own territory Thorium Territory.
Uther was filled with shame, feeling he could not face anyone. He abandoned everything, forgot the honor of Paladin, and abandoned his basic conscience as a human being, willingly becoming an accomplice of the Orcs, harming the people of Lordaeron, just to protect his own people.
But what did he gain?
With most of his people slaughtered by Orcs, how could he face his fellow villagers?
Those poor old people longing for their children to return; wives eagerly waiting for their husbands to come home; those young children standing alone at the door, their young parents never to return.
"King Terenas, my old friend, the prophecy foretold that your son Thrall would return to Lordaeron with a cursed Runeblade called Frostmourne to seek revenge against me. If that day ever comes, I, Uther, am willing to offer my neck for slaughter, to repent before Lordaeron with my death, and to atone for the sins of the innocent people who perished."
On the roadside between Lordaeron and Thorium Territory, a group of blood-soaked Paladins were gathered together, arguing fiercely. The group had clearly been through a great battle, and everyone was wounded.
The leader of the group was a young novice knight. When he saw Uther approaching unsteadily on his warhorse, the young Paladin quickly dismounted and knelt on one knee. "Sir Uther, Father."
The apprentice knight was named Udir, Uther's Bastard Son, whom he had always kept by his side, treating him like his own son. Uther opened his dim eyes and asked without hope, "Where are your older brothers?"
Udir gritted his teeth and said sadly, "They died to cover my child's escape. I barely managed to fight my way out. We've already revealed our identities to the Orcs, but they still haven't stopped. They're doing it on purpose."
Among those piles of white bones were his two beloved sons, whom he couldn't even distinguish. Uther's vision went black, his body swayed, and he almost fell off his horse. It took him a long time to recover.
"Father, my fifth sister has led her team to Stratholme, and I plan to go with her. I was just about to say goodbye to you."
"Nonsense!" Uther roared. "Stratholme is a desolate, dead city, with no food supplies and no reinforcements. It can't hold out for long, and even the Order of the Silver Hand will be finished."
Uther couldn't continue. According to the Guardian Medivh's plan, Stratholme had to be wiped off the face of the earth to bring Lordaeron to a perfect end, and the Order of the Silver Hand could not remain uninvolved.
"Father, the remnants of the army from all over Lordaeron are rushing to Stratholme. Lords of all ranks have abandoned their territories and are leading their remaining people toward Stratholme. This is the last piece of territory and the last vestige of dignity for Lordaeron. Everyone knows that Stratholme cannot be defended, but I just want to do what my fifth sister did: kill a few more Orcs before I die."
Udir's voice was calm, his face resolute, and he had made his decision with a death wish.
Uther looked up at the sky, gazing at the brilliant Milky Way.
Countless civilizations have risen and fallen, lived and died.
Dignity and honor, belief and pursuit.
That final glimmer of light in life that cannot be given up.
Uther suddenly realized something, he dismounted, and grabbed his beloved son's hands tightly:
"Udir, I beg you, Father, do not go to Stratholme. For the sake of our family bloodline, you must live in anonymity, in humble cowardice, forget our shameful name, and never tell anyone that you are the son of Uther the Lightbringer. Go, my child."
Udir looked at his elderly father, his expression conflicted, his heart churning.
"My child, living humbly is harder than dying bravely in battle. Your father is old, and I have no choice but to go down this path to the bitter end. You must live on strongly for your deceased elder brothers, for your third brother who died in battle years ago."
Seeing his elderly father pleading in anguish, Udir's heart bled; he couldn't bear to see the despair on his father's face.
"Yes, Father, I will listen to you."
The young Paladin mounted his horse, waved goodbye to his father, and Uther saw him off with tears in his eyes; it was almost a final farewell.
The group was traveling south, towards Silverpine Forest, the location of the Kingdom of Gilneas.
Some people are alive, yet they are already dead.
At this moment, Uther had no more attachments in his heart and felt like a walking corpse.
Karazhan.
Medivh lay in bed, tossing and turning, unable to sleep.
He felt a nameless fear approaching.
In his sleep, Prince Arthas, expressionless, held a longsword wreathed in crimson light and plunged it viciously into Medivh's chest.
"Frostmourne? Does a cursed Runeblade that can grant immense power truly exist?"
Why should I believe the so-called prophecy of an arrogant fool?
Medivh found it particularly amusing; he was an Archmage and also a learned scholar.
Strength is never easily acquired; it requires the accumulation of knowledge from predecessors, finding the right path through repeated mistakes, experiencing countless desperate failures, and paying a higher price than others.
It's so unfair that someone can gain superhuman power just from a Runeblade.
Medivh reassured himself that this was absolutely impossible, and drifted off to sleep again.
You must have reverence.
"That unknown power."
Strange noises echoed in his ears, Medivh was awakened from his sleep once again.
Due to the excessive use of magic, Karazhan and its surrounding space are extremely fragile, connecting to many unknown worlds. Strange sounds can often be heard and bizarre illusions can often be seen.
Most of them were unknown even to Medivh himself.
Medivh opened his eyes.
"Since you've already had doubts, why not confirm them? It'll at least put your mind at ease."
"If Frostmourne truly Runeblade, its master can only be me, the Guardian Medivh."
Medivh opened Portal, his destination being Dragonbone Plains on the Northrend, the residence of the Red Dragon Queen and her consort, the location of the Wyrmrest Accord, and the Wyrmrest Temple.
"Alexstrasza, the Red Dragon Queen, the Guardian's mount, awaken from your slumber."