"Why are you asking about that good-for-nothing?" Terenas asked in surprise.
"What? You're saying Arthas is a piece of trash?" Jaina was slightly taken aback. Although history presents many conflicting accounts of Arthas, he is generally acknowledged as a genius.
Not everyone can become the Lich King.
Terenas stated bluntly, "I have many children, Arthas is the most useless one. Three years ago, he was supposed to join the Silver Hand and become a Paladin. I invited several of the most powerful Paladins of the time to infuse him with Holy Light, but nothing happened. He has disappointed me greatly."
"Fool, you have no idea how terrifying Arthas's Holy Light is." Jaina muttered, her pretty face as cold as frost, and snapped, "Old man, I don't have time to discuss Arthas's talents with you, just tell me where he is!"
Terenas honestly replied, "I'm sorry, I don't know."
"He is your son, the heir to the throne, and you don't know his whereabouts?" Jaina was clearly incredulous, but magic told her that the old King was not lying.
"The heir to the throne of Lordaeron is the great Orgrim Doomhammer," Terenas said in a low voice. "Since Arthas failed to infuse the Holy Light, I have not inquired about his life or death. Perhaps Uther knows his whereabouts."
"A human kingdom, actually allowing Orcs to become the heir to the throne." Jaina found it quite amusing; if she hadn't witnessed it with her own eyes, who would have known history was so absurd?
Unable to get an answer, Jaina left in dissatisfaction, while Terenas breathed a sigh of relief and wiped the cold sweat from his forehead.
"Arthas, my child, if only you were more capable."
Not far away, on the streets of Lordaeron, a group of mischievous children were singing a lullaby:
"My child, when you were born, the forests of Lordaeron whispered your name, Orgrim Doomhammer."
Jaina listened to the nursery rhyme with a complicated expression. She didn't go to Uther; Terenas was indifferent to Arthas, and Uther wouldn't try to please this useless Prince.
But there is one organization that will definitely find Arthas.
Peace Dove.
Jaina clenched her fists, her gaze sharp. "Arthas, for the sake of Azeroth, you must die."
In the Karazhan Library, Medivh leisurely sipped his tea, while two emissaries knelt below him.
One of them, from Lordaeron, tearfully denounced Blackmoore's atrocities. The Orcs of Durnholde were forced to toil for eight hours a day, a cruel torture that brought tears to their Orcs. King Terenas, upon hearing this, couldn't sleep for several days, his heart breaking.
Another person from Stormwind City accused Blackmoore of murdering Sir Chris and other nobles from Stormwind City, throwing them into Orcs internment camp where they were eaten by the Orcs.
Medivh raised his eyelids, his face darkening, and deliberately asked, "I've heard that Orcs are kind and benevolent, so how could they murder a nobleman?"
The Stormwind City envoy was stunned for a moment, then hurriedly prostrated himself on the ground, trying to explain, "Great Guardian, it is absolutely true, Sir Chris was murdered by Blackmoore. Orcs are merciful and kind; they would never harm anyone. Sir Chris had the world at heart and could not bear to see the Orcs starve, so he willingly offered his own flesh and blood."
Medivh laughed, "So, Sir Chris willingly allowed himself to be eaten by the Orcs? What does that have to do with Blackmoore?"
The Stormwind City envoy was momentarily speechless, then quickly added, "No, Blackmoore was wrong. It was him, he was the one who stopped Sir Chris from being eaten by the Orcs, but that's not right either."
Medivh waved his hand and said, "Never mind, Blackmoore is somewhat useful. I heard Orgrim is torturing King Terenas again?"
The messenger from Lordaeron hurriedly replied, "This is King Majesty's honor; we, as his subjects, are all happy for him."
"Hmph, it is a disgrace for a King to be tortured, what honor is there in that? It's utterly absurd."
Medivh stood up, found a lab notebook, and started writing in it with a quill pen.
The notes record the various absurdities that occurred in Lordaeron after the establishment of the Peace Dove. It was an experiment in human nature, observing just how twisted humanity could become.
"This is not Lordaeron's bottom line."
Medivh quickly reached a conclusion and prepared to begin the second phase of the experiment.
"You may leave. I will deal with Blackmoore and make him pay," Medivh said.
The two envoys thanked him profusely and left with smiles on their faces. Medivh pondered for a while, then summoned his butler, Moroes:
"How's that Orcs's training going?"
The steward bowed and said, "We taught him combat skills, how to lead troops into battle, as well as literature, music, poetry, cooking, Alchemy, and so on. He truly deserves to be called a super genius chosen by the Guardians; he learns quickly and well. By the way, his magic has already begun to take shape and is comparable to a full-fledged mage in Dalaran."
Medivh nodded in satisfaction. "Orcs with magical talent are extremely rare; you'd be hard-pressed to find one in a million. No wonder he's Gul'dan's son. Do you think he can replace Orgrim?"
The steward hesitated for a moment before replying, "In terms of individual strength, ten Orgrim wouldn't be a match for him. However, Orcs value lineage above all else, and Gul'dan has a terrible reputation. We need to fabricate an illustrious lineage for him to build his prestige. The best story to tell is to start with the dead."
Medivh stood up, pacing back and forth as he pondered, "Among the Orcs Warchiefs who have passed away, Blackhand's reputation isn't great either, Ner'zhul is even worse, Kilrogg is blind in one eye. It seems only Durotan is truly capable; let's just say he's Durotan's son."
"Your Excellency is wise," said the butler Moroes.
Medivh suddenly asked, "By the way, how good is his swordsmanship?"
Moroes quickly replied, "Although traditional Orcs use axes, he has exceptional swordsmanship talent and is already a greatsword master."
Medivh smiled and said, "Abandoning the axe and using a sword signifies a break between the Orcs and the past, and an acceptance of Azeroth's advanced civilization. Years ago, the Iron Horse Brotherhood gave me a greatsword, and I gave it to him to use."
The steward asked doubtfully, "The Iron Horse Brotherhood the main force fighting against the Orcs. If this sword is given to him, it will definitely arouse suspicion."
"That is exactly what I want," Medivh scoffed. "I want to tell everyone that the era of fighting the Orcs is over. The Orcs are the masters of Azeroth."
Inside the basement of Karazhan lived an Orcs, a tall man, a head taller than the average Orcs, with a bare upper body that was muscular and covered in scars.
Outside the door, an Orcs came in to clean. He was a menial Orcs, sweating profusely from his work. Seeing the guards had gone, he whispered to the taller Orcs:
"Brother Ashkandi, great news! Medivh is going to release you. You'll be free soon!"
The tall Orcs named Ashkandi looked up at him, his expression unchanged, and said, "What good is leaving Karazhan? It's just entering another cage. What's there to be happy about?"
The lowly Orcs sighed, "If only I could get out of here. Karazhan a place of endless darkness, filled with all sorts of horrific experiments. I never know when I'll die."
Ashkandi smiled faintly and said, "Aiguleiya, if you really want to get out, I'll try to find a way."