The resurrected Zul'jin is physically fit, his body is intact, and he has regained his right eye and left arm.
Although he was in a state of constant death, Zul'jin's soul was perfectly preserved under the protection of a certain Troll god, and he was aware of everything that happened in the outside world.
Faced with the Forsaken's attack, the overwhelming Undead Legion, his first decision was to flee.
"What do you mean by 'to live and die with the Amani Empire '? To fight to the death for the glory of the Trolls!"
Such slogans are fine to shout in ordinary times, but when it comes to actually taking action, one must think twice before acting.
The Amani Trolls have an ancient history. After the Black Empire of the Old Gods was destroyed by the Titans, the native Troll of the Azeroth Continent established many vast empires, among which was the expansive Amani Empire.
An ancient empire with a history of at least 15,000 years, how much glory and splendor it once enjoyed.
Finally, after the emergence of numerous civilizations and races, it gradually came to an end and withdrew from the stage of history.
Zul'jin knew perfectly well where the problem lay: the deep-rooted backward ideas buried in the hearts of the Trolls, their blind worship and trust in gods, which bound their minds and actions.
The emergence of Elemental Magic was the main factor that overwhelmed the Amani Tribe. Unfortunately, the Trolls did not care much about the study of magic. They preferred tradition and the worship of ancient gods, and they could receive blessings simply by making Consecration.
Zul'jin is unable to make a change, even though he is a leader.
Azeroth is a cruel world, and to not change it means destruction.
Is this the end?
Zul'jin was smart enough to know what he should do. He loudly recited a passionate hymn, but kept his final thought of "escape" to himself.
He gazed at the Amani Tribe who had survived the blood pool, his eyes burning with fervent hope, as if they had been saved.
A deep sense of desolation filled my heart.
"A group of ignorant people. You probably don't know that it is precisely this kind of ignorant loyalty, blind worship of gods and leaders, confident and arrogant character, and lack of ambition that has led to this tragic situation today."
Knowing this, Zul'jin still went through with the act, raising his hands, looking up at the sky, and shouting:
"I, Zul'jin, have returned! All enemies will vanish before me! All spirits have heard our prayers! A terrifying army is about to descend! The Amani Tribe will become the masters of the world! Let us fight for freedom and faith! May all spirits protect us! The Amani are invincible! Zul'Aman will never fall!"
My blood is boiling.
The members of the Amani tribe were as excited as if they were on drugs, regardless of age or gender.
Some couldn't even control themselves, gesturing wildly and trembling all over. At that moment, even if an Old Gods stood before them, they would bravely rush forward.
The numerous priests nodded in satisfaction. The resurrection of Zul'jin had cost many of their people, but it was worth it.
Zul'jin's persuasive words were one aspect, but his greatest strength lay in his ability to weave his dark magic into his speech, inspiring courage in his people. Even the most timid Trolls would become warriors, showing no fear of death.
Donning the Evil attire symbolizing a chieftain, Zul'jin leaped to the highest point of the Altar.
Gazing at the Forsaken advancing into the distance, the green land covered by Plague, the endless army of Forsaken, and the Gargoyles in the sky like dark clouds.
Zul'jin's eyes showed no fear, his will Steadfast, like a fearless war god, as he brandished his Warglaive and roared:
"May all spirits protect us, my people! Slay the Forsaken, devour Sylvanas! The High Elves will be history! We, the Amani Tribe, are the true masters of this continent!"
Inspired by the dark magic, the tribesmen excitedly took up their weapons and surged towards the Forsaken army like a flood.
The courage of that instant was so powerful that the Forsaken Legion, which had been advancing methodically, was clearly hampered.
Zul'jin jumped off the Altar and looked at the priests who remained. These priests, who possessed magical powers, were immune to Zul'jin's incitement of dark magic.
Zul'jin waved his hand; as his courage cooled, only fear remained in his eyes.
"Let's go. I know a secret passage that leads directly to the sea, where a ship is always ready. There's enough fresh water and food to take us to the Zandalari Empire."
I took one last look at Zul'Aman, the former capital of the Amani Empire.
"This shouldn't be the Destiny of the Amani Tribe. What's wrong with this world?" Zul'jin wondered.
The Forsaken's advance is progressing very smoothly.
Although the Amani Tribe's final resistance did manage to hold off the army for a while, it was merely a last gasp before the flames died out. The last glimmer of light from the burning candle was quickly extinguished by the terrifying Undead knights.
The ground was littered with the Corpses of Trolls, a chilling wind blew, and Undead Mage walked across the Battlefield, collecting the souls of the Trolls, whose countless souls wailed in agony.
The Ghouls feasted, collecting their bones—materials for crafting the Forsaken.
After conquering Zul'Aman, the Forsaken's strength was further enhanced.
A green Plague has swept across Zul'Aman, Ghouls have destroyed altar after Altar. They plan to build a Wraith Tower to house the Troll souls they have collected.
The agonizing howls of countless Troll souls will become the source of the dark magic of the Undead race.
Before the Altar where Zul'jin was resurrected, all the Undead stopped.
A mysterious power enveloped the Altar, instilling fear in the Forsaken —a fear that came from the depths of their hearts.
The greatest strength of the Forsaken is their inability to feel fear, which makes them incredibly brave in battle, capable of instilling fear in even the Undead. What kind of dark being is this?
Antonidas went to investigate, but after circling the Altar, he was unable to climb Altar and trembled with fear. He could only report back to Sylvanas.
"Interesting!"
Sylvanas smiled nonchalantly, exuding a thousand charms in an instant, but then her Frost.
"It seems that behind the Troll's foolish Loa lies an incredible being."
In Sylvanas's view, the Loa were nothing more than powerful spirit beings who grew stronger through the offerings of the Trolls.
The most direct way for a weak spirit to evolve into a powerful deity is by devouring souls.
Souls are finite after all. After fierce competition, the few remaining Loa were all extremely cunning. They were good at disguising and deceiving, using every means to conceal their cruel nature of devouring souls.
Sylvanas is not afraid of the Loa, whose methods of advancement are primitive and barbaric.
After acquiring the Legion's Fel Body, Sylvanas's understanding of power reached a new level. These seemingly powerful Loa now appeared to Sylvanas as full of flaws and weaknesses.
Sylvanas strolled to the Altar, her face turning serious.
The power enveloping the Altar was not strong, but it was completely flawless and perfectly natural.
Perfect control of power.
Sylvanas immediately had several alternatives in mind.
"The Titans, the Burning Legion, the Naaru Legion, the Old Gods, or, the mysterious World of the Dead."
The application of power is an ultimate art, inseparable from the accumulation of knowledge. Only the most elite forces can wield such innate magical power.
Taking a deep breath, Sylvanas's eyes glowed with Fel, turning a deep crimson.
Above the Altar, a blurry figure loomed, obscuring the sun.