"Prince Arthas, across endless time and space, through countless Voids, we have finally made contact."
A distant and mysterious voice emanated from within the Axe of Tyranny, as if it came from another world.
"Why did you contact me behind Robbie's back?" Arthas asked, puzzled. "Robbie is my best friend. I wouldn't be where I am today without him. We're inseparable. He should know this secret."
A voice came from within the Axe of Tyranny, sounding particularly alert:
"Be careful. Robbie harbors a mysterious power within him, a terrifying force that we all fear. We cannot risk communicating with him in his presence; this is a necessary precaution. Remember, never betray him. Always cherish this hard-won friendship. We are not your enemies; on the contrary, we share a common goal."
"This axe has been in Undercity for a long time. We have been waiting for a human like you to appear. Now I will teach you the secrets of the Runes of the Dead. Our cause needs you to become stronger. You are the one who has been chosen long ago."
Before the main gate of Stratholme, Uther, dressed in full armor, knelt, his golden armor gleaming in the sunlight, as he devoutly prayed to the Holy Light.
The Paladins of the Silver Hand stood behind Uther, watching the aged Lightbringer with suspicion. Some were anticipating Uther's performance, while others were trying to find a way to escape to Mograine.
"Holy Light, grant me strength to eradicate the sins before me. I need the mighty Power of the Holy Light, a power that can cleanse the dark world, for the Redemption of Azeroth, for the Justice of the Holy Light."
With a loud bang.
Endless Holy Light descended from the sky, Uther's body rapidly expanded, becoming as large as an Ogre. A pair of golden wings unfurled from his back, and he slowly rose until he was as tall as the city walls.
Uther, radiant and enveloped in Holy Light, stood at the center of everyone's attention, filling him with joy and revealing his delight once more.
"There are no more doubts, no more uncertainties. I, the great Uther, am the Holy Light walking on earth, the sole Lightbringer of Azeroth."
The soldiers atop the city walls watched Uther slowly rise into the air and unleashed a hail of arrows, but to no avail before the endless Holy Light. A golden glint flashed in Uther's eyes as he searched for his prey.
Uther knew very well that he could not conquer Stratholme on his own, but if he could kill Baron Rivendare, the outcome would be different. The baron was the leader of Stratholme and the source of the soldiers' confidence.
Baron Rivendare was already prepared. He drew his two-handed longsword from his back, ready to meet the attack. Staring at the holy sword that had materialized in Uther's hand, he felt a suffocating sense of terror.
Uther also saw the Baron and gave him a disdainful smile:
"Rivendare, you've always mocked me, saying I don't know how to lead troops, complaining that I fed my soldiers to the Orcs, but the Holy Light is on my side, I am the true Justice."
Rivendare replied in a low voice, "The Holy Light's choice of you is the beginning of Lordaeron's tragedy."
"Ha ha!"
Uther laughed loudly, brandishing his holy sword, ready to strike.
Just then, a slender figure rushed out and blocked Uther's path.
Although his face was withered and his youthful beauty was gone, Uther still recognized his youngest daughter.
"Go back. This is not a place for you," Uther snapped.
"Uther, you have killed too many people, why can't you kill your own daughter?" Uther's daughter, now the Lady Deathwhisper, stood in front of her father without hesitation, her gaze utterly calm.
Uther's lips trembled. He hesitated, his heart in turmoil. He looked at the holy sword in his hand, then at the Paladins below. Family ties and honor battled within him.
Thrall, watching from afar, uttered a sarcastic tone.
"Uther, will you refuse this great honor?"
Killing your own daughter with your own hands—what kind of honor is that?
Uther closed his eyes, recalling memories of his daughter playing at his feet, of that carefree home life, of the territory he had painstakingly built. What had shattered all that beauty?
Peace is gone, Justice is blurred, black and white are reversed, leaving only war and bloodshed, betrayal and helplessness.
"Perhaps I really should make up my mind to destroy all the beauty in my heart. I, Uther, am not worthy of family."
Uther gritted his teeth, his holy sword gleaming, ready to strike the frail figure on the city wall.
That place brought me countless moments of family bliss, the softest spot in my heart, the most beautiful sanctuary.
Bang!
With a violent collision, Uther's holy sword was stopped.
This is a man wearing golden armor and a black skull mask on his face.
A warhammer gleaming with golden light firmly held off the holy sword, preventing it from moving an inch.
The burst of Holy Light scattered the Lady Deathwhisper's dry, long hair. Robbie grabbed the slender Deathspeaker with one hand and easily tossed her behind him. Soldiers caught her and surrounded her, protecting her.
"Prince Arthas, Prince Arthas."
No one knows who first shouted it, but on the walls of Stratholme, all the soldiers were chanting the Prince's name, their voices surging and roaring like a tidal wave, forming a vast ocean.
Robbie raised his hand, gently gesturing that everyone could stop.
"Arthas?"
Uther never expected that the one who could withstand him would be his most incompetent disciple.
"Arthas!"
Thrall gritted his teeth in hatred. Seeing Arthas, for some reason, reminded him of the Holy Light Orcs.
Saurfang the Great, standing to the side, was trembling. He had not forgotten the humiliation of being defeated by Arthas, but now his opponent had become even stronger, which instilled fear in him.
"Arthas!"
Sylvanas drew a specially made arrow and secretly concealed it in her sleeve. Her eyes were sharp, her teeth clenched, and she waited for the perfect moment to launch a sneak attack.
"Has Arthas grown to this level?"
Jaina was somewhat dazed, a ripple appearing in her beautiful eyes. She hadn't expected that the useless Prince from back then would become more and more astonishing. If Lordaeron hadn't been so decadent, he might actually be a good match for her.
Robbie didn't speak; he simply raised his warhammer and made a provocative gesture towards Uther.
"A Prince destined for a tragic end, only a cold grave is your final resting place." Uther once again gathered Holy Light, and a holy sword reaching to the heavens appeared.
Uther didn't sense Power of the Holy Light within Robbie; perhaps it was some unknown force, or perhaps Prince Highness truly was a genius. However, this only excited Uther more. Execute the Prince of Lordaeron would obviously bring far more glory than killing Baron Rivendare.
They collided with a loud bang.
Golden Holy Light exploded on the city wall. Unexpectedly, it was Uther who was defeated. He flew backwards like a helpless kite, and although the Power of the Holy Light barely stabilized his body, he still had no choice but to fall to the ground.
"Impossible!"
Robbie displayed a power that Uther didn't understand, and actually defeated the Holy Light that Uther was so proud of.
At this moment, Uther had begun to doubt the Holy Light; he was wavering.
The Paladins of the Silver Hand also shook their heads slightly; Uther had disappointed them greatly.
"Holy Light, please!"
Uther raised his hands toward the sky, praying to the Holy Light, hoping to gain even greater power.
A loud sound came from the air.
Seven small red dots appeared in the distant clouds.