The Dreadlord's Game, Slaughter Contest, Hell on Earth

There was no mercy, no restraint, not the slightest hesitation. Arthas's soldiers were like ruthless killing machines, slaughtering all of Stratholme in a frenzy.

Countless citizens of Stratholme watched in disbelief. They could not believe that Prince Arthas, whom they had once adored beyond measure, would raise his butcher's blade against them.

The screams of innocent civilians, the wails of women before they were slaughtered, and the cries of children stirred pity in countless Lordaeron soldiers.

Some soldiers even angrily tore off their helmets and demanded of His Highness the prince, "Why are we raising our blades against our own people?!"

Although he had explained it again and again, Arthas had no answer at this point. The young prince was on the verge of collapse—or rather, the moral defenses in his heart had already come crashing down.

But the dreadlord watching all this did not want Arthas to remain in that state. He had to keep killing. He had to slaughter faster.

"Ha ha ha! Young prince, your people are destined to become my army. They all wish to join the Scourge." At that moment, a monster over three meters tall appeared before Arthas. It had a pair of enormous bat wings, a bald head, and demonic horns.

The newcomer was none other than the dreadlord Mal'Ganis, the nominal commander of the Scourge!

In truth, he was a vanguard of the Burning Legion.

"You damned demon! I swear, I will kill you!" Arthas roared, swinging his warhammer as he charged the demon before him. Yet he struck nothing but air; the demon in front of him seemed to be nothing more than an illusory image.

"Don't be in such a hurry, young prince! Our game has only just begun. If you don't want your people to fall into my hands, then kill them all. If you kill faster than I do, they won't become my army." Mal'Ganis's phantom let out a strange laugh.

"I would rather kill them all than hand them over to your demons. You will never have them!" Arthas roared.

"Oh! Then you'd better hurry up! Moving this slowly simply won't do." The dreadlord's laughter echoed through the sky as his phantom vanished.

"We have all seen the Lordaeron soldiers. If we do not kill them, they will become undead as well, and then that demon will use them!

"So do not hesitate any longer!

"I know you are suffering, but I am suffering ten thousand times more than you are! The only thing we can do now is return them to the embrace of the Holy Light rather than let demons use them. We must destroy the dreadlord Mal'Ganis." Arthas raised his warhammer high and addressed all the soldiers.

At that moment, these dispirited soldiers finally rekindled their fighting spirit under the dreadlord's provocation!

That was right! What they were doing now was right. If they did not do this, these innocent civilians would become the dreadlord's monsters.

Once morale had stabilized, the slaughter contest became even bloodier and crueler. The innocent townspeople hid in their homes, and Arthas ordered his soldiers to set them on fire: either come out and die, or burn alive inside.

All of Stratholme became a living hell, with corpses piled like mountains.

Arthas's hands were stained with the blood of his own people, and the expression on his face grew ever more savage. He even began to doubt the Holy Light.

Why? Why had the Holy Light not saved his people? Why could the all-powerful Holy Light not cure this plague?

Burdened by these doubts, Arthas slaughtered madly, until blood nearly dyed his armor red.

The massacre lasted three days and three nights. Hundreds of thousands of Stratholme's residents were slaughtered, and only scattered survivors escaped beyond the city, where they received Jaina and Rod's protection and survived.

However, among the Stratholme residents protected by the two of them, one-third later became servants of the Scourge.

Rod used Flash of Light to purify those residents who had turned undead!

In the end, all of Stratholme was burned to ashes and slaughtered to the last. The dreadlord waited for the prince at Stratholme's docks.

"Demon, it is time to settle this. Right here." Arthas, his face covered in blood, approached the dreadlord with a trembling body.

Beside him stood a large group of human soldiers, while corpses and bones lay scattered everywhere around them.

"Heh heh! Your courage is commendable, but unfortunately, this is not over. Your journey has only just begun, young prince." Mal'Ganis spoke with a mocking expression.

"Don't think of running, monster! I won't let you escape. My soldiers will not allow it, and neither will the dead souls here!" Arthas's voice was nearly a roar!

"That is not for you to decide. Gather your forces and come to Northrend in the far north to challenge me again. There, our grudges will finally come to an end, and you will learn your true mission." After Mal'Ganis spoke, his body transformed into countless bats and vanished.

The human soldiers around him were aghast. Some dwarf riflemen even fired at the bats in the sky, only to discover that they were merely illusory forms of energy.

"Even if you flee to the ends of the earth, I will catch you! Do you hear me, dreadlord? I will kill you! I will kill you!" Arthas roared at the sky in despair, fury, and unwillingness.

The human soldiers around him also cursed the dreadlord madly. They had become executioners, yet the true culprit had not received the Judgment he deserved.

"Warriors! We will launch an expedition to Northrend. Depart immediately—there will be no delay!" Arthas roared.

He announced his decision to all the human soldiers.

"Follow His Highness the prince. We will make that demon pay," Falric said.

"Destroy that demon and make him pay for his blood debt," Marwyn said.

Arthas nodded. Without almost any delay, he immediately led tens of thousands of Lordaeron troops, along with part of the dwarf army, aboard ships at the harbor and sailed for Northrend.

No one could stop his revenge!

After the slaughter ended, Uther, a paladin of the Knights of the Silver Hand, led a small force of paladins into Stratholme.

Rod and Jaina also came into the city to meet Uther.

Looking at the hell his most beloved disciple had created with his own hands, Uther could barely remain standing!

He simply could not imagine how deranged Arthas had to be to do such a thing.

Militiamen recruited from elsewhere were burning the mountain-like piles of corpses in Stratholme. The entire city seemed to be weeping.

In a city of hundreds of thousands, fewer than a thousand people had survived.

"Dead bodies everywhere... I can't believe Arthas did all this," Jaina said with a sigh.

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