Ner'zhul's Plan

One side was mourning the dead, while the other was locked in a fight to the death. The Son of Light, once the pride and joy of Uther the Lightbringer, now wielded death magic against the Orc Great Chieftain, who used the Holy Light. Their battle had reached a fever pitch from the very start.

Frostmourne's blade was already stained with blood, and specks of red dotted the snow around the Frozen Throne. Yet neither Leiluo's movements nor his spirit had faltered; his fighting resolve remained high. Even so, he was clearly at a disadvantage. The wounds covering his body healed quickly thanks to Frostmourne's chill and the Holy Light, but every attack tugged at them. The damage would accumulate, and as the battle wore on, Leiluo would eventually be worn down.

On the other hand, although Leiluo could always land a blow with Black Cleaver, he still couldn't inflict any real damage on Arthas. Every time he struck Arthas, all he managed to do was knock off a few ice chips.

Leiluo knew Arthas's weakness—or rather, he knew the weakness of all Undead. It was the Holy Light. But Arthas always took Leiluo's Black Cleaver head-on, then dodged his Holy Light attacks, leaving Leiluo helpless. His only option was to channel the Holy Light through Black Cleaver and use it to strike Arthas. The problem was that Leiluo's Black Cleaver couldn't channel the Holy Light, leaving him at a complete loss.

"Damn it, I need to think of something, or I really will end up as this brat Arthas's lackey. What the hell is Illidan doing?! Why isn't he here to help?! Damn it!"

Sometimes, when people got nervous, their minds wandered. And when they were distracted, others could seize the opportunity. Sure enough, while Leiluo grumbled to himself,