Ashes to ashes, dust to dust

As Mal'Ganis flew, he glanced at his scorched, blackened left arm, still shaken by the Holy Light Arthas had unleashed.

He should have tormented that doctor and his daughter a little longer, but when he raised his hand to block Arthas's hammer, excruciating pain had savaged his nerves.

The almost violently explosive power of the Holy Light had produced a "remarkable" reaction with the fel and shadow energies inside him. Had he not pulled away in time and avoided prolonged contact with Arthas's warhammer, his arm might have blown clean off.

Demons shared one common trait: utter contempt for the weak mortal races. Their arrogance stemmed from their tremendous strength and nearly immortal lives.

When fighting on physical worlds, demons did not truly die. Once their bodies were completely destroyed, their souls returned directly to the Twisting Nether, the demons' lair.

Unless a demon's soul had first been imprisoned with special magic or an item, physical damage alone could not truly kill one.

Although the Holy Light could inflict considerable damage on demons, its ability to harm their souls was limited. Most demons probably feared mages more than paladins.

A high-ranking demon like Mal'Ganis, rather than lowly cannon fodder of the Burning Legion, had even less reason to concern himself with ordinary human paladins. Yet Arthas's Holy Light had truly opened his eyes.

Still, Mal'Ganis had not fled because he was afraid. He also understood the Holy Light intimately-this energy was closely tied to the emotions of living beings. A calm, composed person's Holy Light would never be as violent as Arthas's.

Arthas's Holy Light had almost taken physical form as golden-red flames. Earlier, Mal'Ganis had thought Lordaeron's defenses were a little too tight and wondered whether Arthas had played a part in that.

But after encountering Arthas, Mal'Ganis was certain his plan had succeeded, which was why he had retreated immediately without hesitation.

Someone with Holy Light like that had to be a reckless brute, because the energy itself could not lie.

When Jaina arrived at the Secret Council camp with ten Secret Council Knights and Thassarian, they found Arthas sitting on a large boulder outside the camp, holding a white-haired little girl in his arms.

His blue-and-gold cloak bore several tears left by blades, and the polished finish on his armor was covered in scratches from various weapons. As for his weapon, [Might of Menethil], only half its shaft remained. The hammerhead had shattered into irregular chunks of metal scattered across the ground, still giving off intense bursts of Holy Light from time to time.

Clearly, Arthas had been through a fierce battle.

"Are you all right?!" Jaina hurried to Arthas's side. Only after discovering that he was merely disheveled, without any injuries, did she breathe a sigh of relief.

"I'm all right. But Mal'Ganis got away."

"Who is this girl?"

"Besides Thassarian, she's the only survivor of this disaster," Arthas said. "I was still too late. All the other soldiers in the camp had become Mal'Ganis's puppets. He even sacrificed Doctor Mait. I only managed to save this girl."

With their master's departure, the undead soldiers under Mal'Ganis's control had weakened. Before [Might of Menethil] broke completely, Arthas had put them all to rest.

Sadly, Mal'Ganis had already devoured the souls of the three hundred soldiers. They were nothing more than marionettes controlled by the Dreadlord. Their master's departure had also drastically reduced their strength, leaving them little better than the lowest, mindless zombies.

Arthas had also carried Mait Whitemane's remains down from the altar. They now lay quietly in the open space at the center of the camp.

"Is it all... over?" Leaning on a makeshift crutch, Thassarian limped toward the camp gates.

Most of the undead had been purified by Arthas's Holy Light, but the battered armor, weapons, and remains left behind seemed to tell the story of the South Camp's tragic fate.

"They're all dead? All three hundred?" Jaina could hardly believe it. A camp garrisoned by regular troops had been destroyed so easily by a demon, without even a chance to fight back.

"That's what makes the Burning Legion so terrifying. If we don't stand united, sooner or later they'll pick us off one by one."

"Come. Let's see them off one last time-ashes to ashes, dust to dust."

After entrusting Sally Whitemane to Falric's care, Arthas led the other Secret Council Knights into the camp to collect the fallen soldiers' insignia.

They had fought to protect Lordaeron, only for necromancy to corrupt their bodies in the end. Even without exposure to the Holy Light, they would rapidly crumble to dust after death, leaving no intact corpses behind.

It took Arthas and the others more than an hour to finish sorting the remaining intact armor and insignia and pile them in the center of the camp. Grief filled Jaina's eyes as she sighed. "We've lost so many people..."

"Reporting, Your Highness. All three hundred and twelve members of the First Legion's Thirteenth Battalion... are present." Thassarian gave Arthas a Lordaeron military salute, his eyes reddening.

"Very good, Major Thassarian-from this day forward, you are the Thirteenth Battalion's new commander. Now, I have a question for you." Arthas's expression was solemn. "Are you willing to follow me and avenge your brothers?"

"I am, Your Highness!" Thassarian's voice thundered. He had even forgotten the pain of his injuries.

"Good." Arthas nodded. "Go back and recover first. In one week, we leave-for Northrend. Then we'll make Mal'Ganis pay, blood for blood."

"Yes, sir!"

With help from the reinforcements that arrived afterward, Arthas brought all the officers and soldiers of the Thirteenth Battalion back to Lordaeron and laid them to rest. After leaving the matter of death benefits to the Secret Council Bureau, he began reading the reports on the war against the orcs in the south.

The orcs in the south had run rampant earlier. Taking advantage of Lordaeron's shortage of manpower and its focus on preventing the plague, they had overrun nearly all the internment camps. With their morale soaring, the orcs had begun to believe humans were as weak as ever.

Then they encountered the elite troops led by Uther. After leaving a great many corpses behind, they began retreating into the forests and mountains under the leadership of Grommash Hellscream, chieftain of the Warsong Clan, and a young shaman named Thrall.

Besides this blow to the orcs' forces, their former Warchief, Orgrim Doomhammer, who had escaped long ago while being transported from an internment camp, was confirmed to have died in battle. His body, however, had mysteriously disappeared afterward.

Uther believed this had dealt the orcs a devastating blow. They should now be exhausted both mentally and physically. Once their new leader took power, they would likely have no desire for further conflict with Lordaeron for at least the next few years.

There was also a secret letter from VanCleef in Kalimdor.

They had found the tauren tribes south of the Barrens. Although the tauren had initially been less than friendly, when VanCleef offered to help them deal with the centaur raids, they agreed to send an envoy to Theramore for detailed discussions.

Arthas had already decided who would go to Kalimdor. He should have gone himself to represent Lordaeron, but he now had to travel to Northrend and could not make the journey in person.

Yet when Jaina heard that Arthas wanted her to go to Theramore while he pursued Mal'Ganis, her initial reaction surprised even him.

"You're hiding things from me." Jaina stared at Arthas. She had felt that the prince's recent actions were rather strange. "You've been acting differently ever since this plague began."

Arthas touched his face. "Is it that obvious?"

"What do you think? Normally, you'd never rush off alone to fight a dangerous demon and more than three hundred undead."

Jaina paused for half a second, then continued to explain how she felt. "But I don't think you've been blinded by anger or some other emotion, either. You've had a plan of your own all along, haven't you?"

As Arthas was about to speak, Jaina raised a slender finger to his lips and said earnestly, "You don't have to tell me. If you truly believe this is what you must do, I'll support you."

"Jaina... thank you." Arthas's feelings were complicated, half relief and half wistfulness. Jaina was no longer that innocent little girl. She had grown more perceptive and intelligent.

"If you really want to thank me, come back from Northrend in one piece. Hmph!" Jaina huffed softly. It was not as though she had no grievances. "When I get back, I'll settle the score with you."

In the end, Jaina agreed to travel with Muradin Bronzebeard and Varian Wrynn as representatives of the Alliance to negotiate with the tauren. After Jaina and the others departed from the Eastern Kingdoms, Arthas led his fleet north to Northrend.

At that moment, the course of fate seemed to have returned to its original path, yet everything was utterly different.