The setting sun shone on the calm lake, painting the sky and water a lovely orange-red.
The Paladins returned to the island with their heads hanging. None of them felt good about it. It was like having a dinner you had painstakingly prepared snatched away after a single bite and thrown into a cesspit. The helplessness was unbearable.
The soldiers on the island had already seen the fight on the lake. Now, seeing their officers' expressions, they knew the negotiations had gone badly. Uneasy as they were, they could only wait quietly for orders.
Looking at all those fearful eyes, Pulhart sighed inwardly and pulled himself together. His voice rang out across the field. "All troops, prepare to withdraw. Everyone must leave the island before dark!"
To his surprise, there were no protests. After a moment of silence, quiet cheers rose from the ranks instead, and most of the soldiers' expressions relaxed.
For these weary, wounded ordinary soldiers, not having to fight again was the best news they could have received. They didn't care much about territorial issues.
Pulhart shook his head helplessly. With morale this low, he had nothing to say.
Still, retreat or no retreat, they couldn't leave behind any spoils of victory they could carry away.
Bessarius maintained a combined army of around five thousand from various races. Aside from the undead and demons, all the others needed to eat, so his food reserves should have been considerable.
Guided by the prisoners, they quickly found Bessarius's granary and armory in two large caves on the far side of the hill. Tests showed that all the food was safe and free of poison.
It was a tremendous surprise. Food and weapons and equipment were the two most essential supplies in war.
Pulhart's orders immediately spread throughout the army: all horses were to be temporarily donated to carry supplies, and everyone with light injuries or less had to carry at least twenty kilograms of food—anything over twenty kilograms could be kept for personal use.
Because of contamination from the Scourge plague, vast stretches of land in Tirisfal could no longer grow safe, poison-free food. The little farmland protected by the barrier in Farshire couldn't begin to meet the needs of the monastery's growing population. Food had always been in short supply, and twenty kilograms wasn't particularly demanding, so the order didn't draw any protests.
The Paladins went to donate their horses. Unas found the big brown horse he had abandoned on the battlefield. The reasonably good mount lay on the ground, its features mangled beyond recognition. Its leg, broken by a meteor, was a mess of blood and flesh, and wounds of all sizes covered its body. It was clearly on its last breath.
That fat bastard Parrion might have cried if he had been there, but Unas had only ridden the horse for a few days, so he didn't feel particularly sad.
He crouched down and tried using Holy Light on the big brown horse, but it didn't do a damn thing. He looked around. The healing Priests were doing everything they could to save the gravely wounded. They didn't even have enough time to save people, so who had time to worry about whether a horse lived or died?
Should I level up Holy Light? Level 1 Holy Light is so useless that even at level 2 or 3, it might not be able to save the horse.
Besides, Unas had already made up his mind to follow the protection path first. He was still weak, and survival came before anything else. But he didn't want to become a cowardly turtle that could only take a beating, either. Once he could protect himself, he would switch to the retribution path.
Wasting skill points on holy skills went against his plan, so he could only say goodbye to the big brown horse.
Unas had seen movies in which dying horses were given a quick death to spare them further suffering. He murmured "Amitabha," drew a short blade, and gave the big brown horse a swift, clean cut across the neck.
Bloody bubbles gurgled from the wound in the horse's neck. Unas watched the horse die, and the feelings that stirred in his heart soon settled. Having undergone this baptism of fire, he was growing stronger inside.
The big brown horse was dead, and he couldn't donate the Skeletal Warhorse. Probably not many people would dare eat food carried by an undead horse.
"Brother Unas!"
A shout came from some distance behind him. Unas turned around. Only one person called him that—Erigor was waving to him.
Unas walked quickly over to Erigor. The man had a saddle tucked under his arm and a bundle on his back. It looked as though he had already donated his horse.
"Come on, let's go take a look at Bessarius's armory. Maybe we'll find something good." Erigor invited him along without preamble. His fondness for fine weapons had flared up again.
Naturally, Unas didn't refuse. The two went around the battlefield to the far side of the hill, where large numbers of soldiers and prisoners were hard at work.
A small mountain of weapons, equipment, and food had been piled up in front of two neighboring caves. People going in and out of the caves kept adding to it, while a long line of horses and prisoners swallowed it up bit by bit.
Erigor rummaged through the weapons for a little while, only to come away bitterly disappointed. He gave Unas a rueful look. "Judging by the markings, these are all stockpiles from the local garrisons. There's nothing good here."
Unas shrugged indifferently. Verigan's Fist and Parrion's full suit of armor served him well enough. For the time being, he didn't have any pressing need for equipment.
Erigor looked at the mountain of supplies, and his disappointment eased. "Bessarius probably plundered all the stockpiles from the surrounding counties. He saved us the trouble of gathering them ourselves."
With Arthas striking at its heart and the Cult of the Damned responding on all sides, Lordaeron had been overthrown almost overnight. Many local armies had been wiped out before they could react, and a great deal of their stockpiled supplies had naturally been left behind.
The monastery constantly sent out ranger squads like Gordon's, first to search for human survivors, since people were the most important resource, and second to search for all kinds of supplies.
The greedy demon had quite an appetite, but now the Argent Dawn would reap the benefits.
"This really is a huge haul." A look of regret appeared on Erigor's face. "It's a shame we didn't find the Dreadlord's treasury."
"Oh? How do you know the demon had a treasury?"
"Bessarius has been committing evil in Azeroth for a hundred years. There's no way he didn't know the power of money. Do you think he would have passed up gold, silver, and other treasures while plundering all these weapons and food?" Erigor explained.
"That makes a lot of sense." Unas couldn't argue with that.
"The prisoners aren't likely to know where the demon's treasury is, and there's no time to look for it now. We can only hope Bessarius hid it deep enough that the Forsaken won't find it easily."
At that, Erigor changed tack, his voice rising. "But it doesn't matter if they do find it. Sooner or later, we'll take this place back!"
"Maybe." Unas wasn't so sure. Sylvanas looked like a difficult opponent.
"Not maybe. We definitely will!" Erigor punched Unas on the shoulder and lowered his voice. "You can't go around showing such a lack of conviction. Watch out for the Inquisition."
Unas felt warmth in his heart and silently thanked him for the warning. The problem with Whitemane had been resolved for now, but she wasn't the only person in the Inquisition. There might even be Inquisition investigators among the soldiers working around them. It looked like he would have to put on a righteous, heroic front in public from now on, even if it was just an act.
"But I'm not just saying we'll take this place back. We will come back," Erigor continued. "The Dark Lady wanted this island badly enough to break her temporary peace with us. Don't you want to know what her purpose is?"
"Do you know?"
"Brother, have you heard of Tyr?"