Prelude

Arthas had thoroughly enjoyed his holiday. He had traveled north from Stormwind City to Ironforge to visit his old friend Muradin and received a brand-new suit of armor. After spending a wonderful Winter Veil with Jaina in Dalaran, he finally returned to Lordaeron.

Back in Lordaeron's capital, Arthas set aside his relaxed mood and began working through the files and orders that had piled up.

He trained the knights, took part in missions for the Silver Hand, and issued instructions and recommendations for the Secret Council Bureau's operations in Kalimdor and Northrend.

Amid his demanding plans and duties, Arthas never neglected to improve his strength and knowledge. Beyond all his arrangements and contingencies, his own power was what would allow him to survive in this perilous world.

Yet despite his steadily growing strength, when Alonsus Faol, mentor of the Silver Hand and archbishop of the Holy Light, finally returned to the Light, Arthas attended his funeral and still felt how fleeting and merciless time could be.

The paladins of the Silver Hand had long known this day would come. They did not succumb to grief, but saw the archbishop off with solemn, dignified expressions.

"Nothing in this world is eternal. Kingship, the Holy Light, magic-even death itself will one day fade."

Arthas stood at the front of the funeral procession, silently watching as the archbishop's coffin was laid to rest in the cemetery outside the Great Monastery in northeastern Tirisfal Glades.

When the tomb's stone door closed, the mortal identity of Archbishop Alonsus Faol, voice of the Holy Light and mentor of justice and light, was laid to eternal rest with it.

Three years passed in a flash. Arthas had risen from a young paladin to one of the Silver Hand's grand knights, and his outposts in Kalimdor and Northrend had taken shape. Not long ago, VanCleef had sent him word of their success.

His father, Terenas, was growing old and intended to formally pass Lordaeron's crown to his son within the next two years.

But during this time, Terenas received several pieces of bad news. He even argued with representatives of the other kingdoms over them at a regular Alliance meeting.

Two matters gave the old king the greatest headaches. One was the reappearance of orcs in the Hillsbrad Foothills, in the kingdom's southern territories. They had raided several villages and stormed a fortress, freeing many of the orcs imprisoned there.

Still, that matter was manageable. After rescuing some of their kin, the orcs quickly fled into the wooded mountains. Terenas had already sent Uther the Lightbringer with a contingent of troops to reinforce Hillsbrad's defenses.

Arthas should have gone with Uther, but there was another matter that required his attention.

According to reports from the magistrates of various towns, a strange plague seemed to have broken out within Lordaeron. Terenas had dispatched Arthas to deal with it, while Dalaran had sent a Kirin Tor advisor to assist him.

With a grim expression, Arthas led a squad of Secret Council Knights toward Brill, where cases of the plague had been reported.

He knew full well that Kel'Thuzad's Cult of the Damned was behind this. Assassins from the Secret Council Bureau had already eliminated many secret followers of the cult, and its agents in East and West Weald were keeping strict watch over the grain transport routes.

He had not expected Kel'Thuzad and his Cult of the Damned to cause so much trouble despite such tight defenses. The former archmage of Dalaran certainly lived up to his reputation.

Arthas's strict controls had eliminated the possibility of the plague spreading through Andorhal and Stratholme, two major grain-producing regions. But just as he had expected, the Lich King and his servants had not given up so easily.

Kel'Thuzad had deliberately chosen to set his plans in motion when the orcs became active in Lordaeron again, hoping the kingdom would make mistakes while struggling to handle both threats.

The undead plague had appeared far earlier than Arthas remembered, leaving him even more puzzled. Even if his earlier actions had not caused major changes to the timeline, had a plague outbreak nearly a full year ahead of schedule still failed to draw the Bronze Dragonflight's attention?

At that point, Arthas became certain that something must have gone wrong with the Bronze Dragonflight. They had not come to intervene in his timeline-or perhaps they could not.

In theory, Arthas should have been free to act without restraint, but he was not particularly happy about it. Though the Bronze Dragonflight could be rigid, they had indeed played vital roles at many moments when Azeroth's survival hung in the balance.

Beside the road to Brill, Arthas and his knights set up a simple camp to await the "advisor" sent by Dalaran.

After the sun had traveled a considerable distance across the sky, Arthas's adjutant, Captain Falric of the Secret Council Knights, addressed the prince. "Your Highness, we've been waiting here for nearly the entire morning. The situation in Brill is urgent. Should we keep waiting?"

"Be patient, Falric. Jaina is often a little late." Arthas already knew whom the Kirin Tor had sent and showed no impatience. He was sitting on a rock, reading a report.

Falric nodded. The prince's words were orders for him to carry out. Just then, several roars rang out from the nearby forest.

The knights readied themselves for battle. Falric said to Arthas, "Your Highness, those sound like ogres."

Barely had the adjutant finished speaking when a hulking figure, half its body frozen, tumbled down a steep slope nearby. After a few agonized howls, it fell still. At the same time, a water elemental a full head taller than the ogre glided out of the forest. A female mage stood atop its head, purple-blue magic runes rising above her palm.

Two more ogres charged out of the woods, carrying thick wooden clubs. The mage showed no trace of panic. She released the spell she had prepared, and ice swiftly froze one ogre's feet in place. The water elemental raised its fists and swung, a high-pressure jet of water instantly punching through the ogre's chest.

"Your Highness, should we go help?"

"No need. They're only two ogres." Arthas had complete faith in Jaina's abilities. "Pass the order. Pack up and prepare to move out."

Just as Arthas had said, Jaina killed the last ogre without much effort. She dismissed the enormous water elemental with a wave, then planted her hands on her hips as she looked at Arthas and the squad of knights he led. "Didn't it occur to you to come help me?"

"Didn't I come over? Unfortunately, you were too quick, and they couldn't take much of a beating." Arthas hefted his warhammer, looking perfectly innocent.

Jaina rolled her eyes at him in exasperation.

"Gentlemen, allow me to introduce Lady Jaina Proudmoore, the Kirin Tor's envoy and our mage advisor for this mission."

The knights all saluted Jaina. Most had heard her name and knew of her relationship with the prince.

"All right, there's no need for formalities. Let's get on with the mission." Jaina mounted the warhorse Arthas had kept ready for her and rode to his side. "We need to hurry. My teacher said this plague is highly unusual."

"My scouts have already gathered intelligence. There's no doubt that Kel'Thuzad is one of those behind it."

"Kel'Thuzad?" Surprise flickered across the mage's face before giving way to concern. "What my teacher feared has come to pass... perhaps merely exiling him was a mistake."

"Then now is the time to correct that mistake," Arthas said calmly. Whatever came of the plague, Kel'Thuzad would die. He was the starting point of all these schemes.

Unfortunately, his original self had treated Kel'Thuzad's death as the end of the matter and overlooked the darkness festering within Lordaeron.

Kel'Thuzad was only a spokesman. Whether he lived or died made no difference to the Cult of the Damned. Its true master was the Lich King, far away in Northrend, and even he was not the true mastermind behind this plague.

The one driving the plague forward was one of the Lich King's jailers, a Nathrezim from the Twisting Nether. These demons were renowned for their treachery, cunning, and endless schemes.

In human records, their race had another name: dreadlords.

The true instigator of Lordaeron's plague was the Dreadlord Mal'Ganis. Arthas's agents were already tracking down his precise location. Once Kel'Thuzad had been dealt with, it would be his turn.

"Next comes a hunt against the clock."

Arthas's expression was cold and stern. The curtain on a new era was slowly rising.