Mal'Ganis was startled when he saw Arthas.
This was the opponent he least wanted to encounter. If Uther hadn't held off Arthas, he would never have risked launching a surprise attack on Stratholme.
"That damned old Paladin, he must be hiding something."
Mal'Ganis knew very well that he was no match for Arthas.
The Dreadlords, also known as the Nathrezim, are said to be immortal.
Just as the Legendary says, after their physical bodies are destroyed, they will be reborn in the Void.
However, such rebirth is far from pleasant; it is equivalent to reincarnation, requiring everything to start over, and leaving an eternal mark on the soul—a perpetual disgrace to the Dreadlord race.
The Dreadlord is known for his cunning. He once successfully seduced the Nathrezim, the strongest Warriors of the Titans. He has always won through scheming. Mal'Ganis put on an arrogant act.
"Haha, I have been waiting for a long time, young Prince."
The deep voice trembled and echoed in Arthas's ears and mind; no word could describe it other than Evil. This startled Arthas, forcing him to approach this opponent with caution.
This is the difference between Arthas and Robbie. After all, the Prince has limited experience and is easily misled. In order to minimize mistakes, he must act with extreme caution.
Robbie's Earth is a world of vast knowledge, where fantasy and imagination run rampant. What conspiracies and tricks haven't appeared in history and literature? The Dreadlord's bluffing tricks are child's play.
Taking advantage of the Prince's momentary lapse in concentration, the Dreadlord quickly reached out and gathered the power of darkness.
The Silver Hand knights who had fallen to the ground, wounded by arrows, rose to their feet, transformed into some kind of low-level Demons, and lunged at Arthas with bared fangs and claws.
Arthas's heart skipped a beat. This transformation ability was very similar to the Scourge Runes of the Dead, and it endowed the corpse with sharp claws and a strong physique, making it seem even stronger than when it was alive. This was clearly the fifth Mutation Rune.
Arthas knew what he had to do; he was in no hurry to kill Mal'Ganis.
He needs to learn from others, to gain strength.
Arthas faced the resurrected Demons, shattering them as he did so, while also sensing the energy the Dreadlord had left within them.
That's interesting; Arthas was quite inspired.
Although these Paladins of the Silver Hand were powerful in life, a trace of Holy Light remained within them, preventing Mal'Ganis's conversion power from succeeding. He needed some corpses without Holy Light.
"As you can see, Prince Highness, your people are now mine. I will transform this entire city house by house until the flame of life is extinguished forever, and you will be nailed to the pillar of history as the murderer of Stratholme."
Mal'Ganis laughed, his unsettling voice dark and grating, attempting to provoke Arthas's rage.
Unfortunately Dreadlord miscalculated.
Arthas remained silent, already accustomed to the twisted narratives of Savior Thrall Guardian Medivh. He calmly killed the resurrected soldiers, attempting to comprehend the power of the Dreadlord, and soon gained new insights.
Arthas's soldiers surrounded the Prince and helped him kill the resurrected enemy.
Mal'Ganis had already taken the opportunity to escape. He flapped his damaged wings and leaped repeatedly, each time covering a distance of tens of meters, landing on the roof of a building that had not yet been destroyed.
He sensed that there were many civilians here, but in his eyes, these were all corpses that could be transformed into his soldiers.
Suddenly, the doors of the residents' houses burst open, and a group of zombies rushed out.
Mal'Ganis was stunned. What he saw was not living people, nor corpses, but a group of undead.
When the mages of Dalaran appeared outside the city, the residents of Stratholme already knew that the city could not be defended.
In order to avoid becoming Orcs military rations, the people did not hesitate to choose to become Undead.
The weak Undead launched an attack on the Dreadlord, their eyes filled with contempt for life, their fearless spirit utterly humiliating Mal'Ganis.
This is not a goal he can control or transform.
"When did such a weak creature dare to challenge the great Dreadlord?"
He opened his sharp claws, about to tear this group of low-level Undead apart.
Arthas had already arrived quickly, his hands brimming with the Rune power he had just comprehended. A sickly green aura descended upon the weak Undead, granting them the power of the dead.
Their bodies grew stronger, their limbs became thicker and more powerful, sharp teeth grew in their mouths, and their nails grew wildly, eventually becoming dagger-like claws.
"So, you were the culprit behind everything. Stratholme truly harbors a terrible Evil."
Mal'Ganis stared intently at Arthas, who had become a stranger to him. He knew he shouldn't stay here; Stratholme was a dead city, and all its inhabitants were his enemies.
He sniffed the air and found the place piled with countless corpses—his paradise.
The meat grinder of humans and Orcs, at the gates of Stratholme.
Mal'Ganis flapped his wings and leaped a great distance, fleeing towards the city gate.
Arthas followed closely behind the Dreadlord, not in a hurry; he needed to learn.
Arthas brandished his emerald green axe, feigning nervousness, and deliberately shouted from behind.
"Mal'Ganis, you can't escape! I'll hunt you down to the ends of the earth, do you hear me? It's a fight to the death, to the ends of the earth!"
"The ends of the earth?" Mal'Ganis was startled. "How does he know my name? I don't recall ever giving my name. Could there be a traitor among us? Uther, or Sylvanas?"
Hearing Arthas's shout, more and more Undead emerged from their homes, silently following behind the Prince, accepting Prince power and transforming into swift, sharp-toothed Ghouls. A massive procession gradually gathered.
Like Scourge.
The city walls of the main gate area of Stratholme.
The trampled flesh and blood, reduced to a bloody pulp, blurred the entire city wall, making the crimson wall seem almost alive.
The meat grinder was still going on, and the one-on-one attrition ratio finally became unbearable for Thrall.
According to the original plan, the Orcs should have gained a foothold on the city walls by now, while fires broke out all over Stratholme. The Paladins of the Silver Hand gathered and charged towards the city gates, coordinating with the Orcs from within.
Then, various siege engines, War Golems, and airships were deployed together, and Stratholme was captured in one fell swoop.
Unfortunately, there was no movement from within the city, which aroused Thrall's suspicions.
So he dispatched one of his few elite teams.
After a flash of teleportation light, a special Orcs team appeared on the city wall. These hundred or so Orcs were stronger than the other Orcs, a full head taller. They roared, exuding a faint dragon-like majesty.
Thrall's Dragon Orcs, a special Legion that has tasted the flesh of Blue Dragonflight.
The defenders didn't even have time to force them into a berserk state before they were completely torn apart.
Without hesitation, Baron Rivendare drew a red flag.
A suicide squad from Rivendare stormed the city walls.
"Kill!"
With only simple orders, Battlefield brimming with passion, and defenders determined to die, their minds focused solely on killing the enemy, all morale-boosting slogans had lost their effect.
The two sides immediately clashed, and blood and flesh flew everywhere.
A simple tactic, and it's just exchanging pieces.
Thrall a pang of pain in his heart and closed his eyes. Faced with such an enemy, even the Dragon Orcs had no choice but to go berserk.
To Thrall's surprise, the defending force was surprisingly strong, managing to hold its own against the Orcs' elite troops.