The night was deep, its hazy darkness shrouding the land of Lordaeron. A full moon like a jade plate slipped through the clouds, spilling faint moonlight over the earth. The misty night veiled the plains stretching for a thousand miles like a bank of smoke. Moonlight streamed like silk, cold and heavy with dew, like a curtain of distant, quiet dreams.
Atop the Greymane Wall, clear moonlight poured down like gentle water, its flowing radiance serene and peaceful. Sadly, beyond the wall, countless densely packed figures hidden beneath the night shattered that tranquility, and strange noises rose ceaselessly from outside.
The Greymane Wall blazed with light. Magical lamps illuminated it as brightly as day, and the same was true of the hundred meters before it. This battle would determine the fate of Gilneas. Win or lose, it would be a major event affecting the entire Eastern Kingdoms. If Gilneas lost, it would become history. Without the protection of the Greymane Wall, its lands would lie wide open, with no obstacles remaining. The undead army could reach the gates of Gilneas City within days.
If Gilneas won, its might would shake the world. Three hundred thousand undead would become its stepping stone. With the prestige of that great victory, it could call for the Alliance to be re-formed. That would be an unstoppable tide.
The old saying was right: crisis was also opportunity, and opportunity was also crisis.
The two went hand in hand, neither able to exist without the other. It all depended on whether one had the ability to turn crisis into opportunity.
The crackle of burning flames rang out constantly. Besides the magical lamps, braziers burned atop the Greymane Wall, lighting every corner and leaving not a single blind spot.
Cold winds blew through the night, stirring their