The Art of Persuasion

Utgarde had been under siege for a long time, but the attacks each day were little more than skirmishes. They would bombard it once with cannons and catapults, launch one or two assaults, then hurry to call it a day. In Bovar's eyes, this wasn't just a waste of time—it was a waste of lives, even more so than his own approach. But there was nothing he could do about it. That stupid dog, Genn, wouldn't listen to him. Instead, he hung on Garrosh's every word, making Bovar privately question Genn's loyalty to the Kingdom of Stormwind.

Once a seed of discontent was planted, it would eventually take root and grow into a towering tree. But it needed someone to water and fertilize it. The person standing before Bovar now—no, strictly speaking, the Undead standing before him—was doing exactly that.

Sometimes, the Scarlet Crusade's principles did make a certain amount of sense. Their policy of killing the innocent rather than letting the guilty escape was certainly excessive, but they were genuinely terrified of and hateful toward the Undead. And the Undead really could blend into human society all too easily.

Many Undead were little more than skeletons, while others were Ghouls with no skin and exposed flesh. They were easy to recognize at a glance. But some Undead had wounds that were incredibly well hidden—or no wounds at all. All they had to do was conceal their pallor a little and keep others from sensing their body temperature, and they could hide among humans with ease.

Galenbro had done just that. He had hidden on the battlefield at Utgarde, then seized an opportunity to slip into the Alliance camp.

Galenbro had infiltrated the camp this time not to help the Scourge, but for his own sake. After helping Arthas find