The full moon, round as a jade plate, drifted through the clouds. Serenity settled over the earth with its silvery, mistlike light. An unbroken plain stretched beneath the sky without a single hill, as still as the sea on a windless day.
A slender river ran through the lush green grassland, exposed to the moonlight. From a distance, it looked like a shining silver necklace.
In the night, the clamor and restlessness of the mundane world, its hesitation and uncertainty, all melted away.
The great tent in the military camp gave off a hazy glow beneath the moonlight. Light seeped through its fabric, dispelling the darkness nearby. Inside the silent tent sat a circle of people, not one of them speaking. Every gaze was fixed on the sand table in the center.
The lifelike sand table perfectly reproduced the terrain of Silverpine Forest and Gilneas, with the Greymane Wall its most striking feature. Rex studied it closely, looking at the densely packed military flags that represented the undead army. A trace of bitterness crossed his face.
Three hundred thousand, and this was supposedly only a detachment of the Undead Scourge. Even Rex could hardly believe it. How many undead were there in Lordaeron City? Just over three hundred thousand in total. Everyone spoke of the Undead Scourge's overwhelming strength, but that was because every member of the Undead Scourge was a fighter. Three hundred thousand undead meant three hundred thousand soldiers—tireless, immune to pain, ceaseless killing machines. Who would not fear them? Who would not dread them?
Originally, only a hundred thousand undead had marched south. Most were skeletons used as cannon fodder, with few true elites among them. But reinforcements from Northrend had changed everything. A hundred thousand had become three hundred thousand. Ghouls and abominations covered the land,