That day, the entire lowlands of Barbarus shook.
Hundreds of thousands of mortals unable to join the battle gathered at the foot of the mountain. They craned their heads to watch the well-equipped army, its ranks in perfect order, follow their pale demigod step by step up the pilgrimage road to the summit-a road that had once symbolized death and despair.
"Mentor, aren't you coming up with us?"
The Old Doctor smiled and shook his head, patting Mortarion's hard armor.
"My war is already over. What remains is your own battle."
"Go, Mortarion. End your past with your own hands, and carve out a new future for the humans of Barbarus."
"Remember, don't let hatred blind you. Use everything you've learned to defeat him. With the coolest head, the most precise calculations, and the most efficient methods, show him-"
"Times have changed."
Mortarion nodded firmly. He took one last look at the mortal mentor who had taught him like a father, then turned resolutely and swung Silence, the war scythe in his hand.
"All troops, advance!"
The torrent of the Death Guard began its final, unstoppable charge toward the summit of death, shrouded in lethal poison fog, where no mortal had ever dared set foot.
The battle was more brutal than they had imagined, yet also... smoother than they had expected.
Nakare's sorcery was indeed powerful, and the fortress he guarded was indeed impregnable. But every tactic, every trap, and every spell he possessed was unraveled and countered, one by one, by the Old Doctor's knowledge, which was far ahead of its time.
The poison fog Nakare took such pride in, capable of melting flesh in an instant, was held at bay by the Death Guard's armor, coated in a special neutralizing paste.
His necromancy, which could awaken the dead