Confrontation

When Brann led the Secret Council Knights back to camp, Thassarian, who was waiting at the entrance to welcome them, saw no sign of his prince.

"Lord Brann, where is His Highness?" Thassarian hurriedly asked.

Brann replied with a sour expression, "Don't call me lord-that troublesome prince of yours ran off on his own."

"Ran off?"

Thassarian looked utterly bewildered. Clearly, he had not understood what Brann meant. What did he mean by "ran off"?

"What are you staring at me for? Will staring at me bring that boy Arthas back? Let me tell you, while we've been standing here talking, your prince has already charged into the Undead camp alone!"

Brann raised his voice, but Thassarian had no attention to spare for that. His eyes widened. "What?! Alone-you mean His Highness went after the Undead and the demon by himself?!"

Thassarian's first reaction was to rally the troops and rush to his prince's aid. But the badge Brann produced, and the words that followed, stopped him in his tracks.

"Arthas told me to take you back to the Bay of the Sheathed Dagger Fortress-and even if you set off after him now, you're already too late." Brann sighed.

"But that means letting His Highness venture into danger alone! The soldiers of Lordaeron will always stand with His Highness, Lord Brann!"

Brann glanced at Thassarian and said calmly, "Do you take me for a fool? If Arthas were truly in danger, I would never have agreed to his request. His power has long since surpassed what most of us can imagine."

Brann believed that even his brother, Magni Bronzebeard, would be unlikely to rout an entire Undead force single-handedly unless he made thorough preparations beforehand. Even then, both sides would probably suffer grievous losses.

But Arthas was different. His power was the absolute bane of the Undead. Whether he wielded the blazing Holy Light or the power of death that could control them, an Undead force numbering in the thousands might pose less of a threat to him than half a Mal'Ganis.

After all, most of the Undead Scourge consisted of lowly skeletons and ghouls. Such Undead cannon fodder relied on sheer numbers even against ordinary armies. They would struggle merely to slow Arthas down.

"But..."

"Enough, Major. For now, just listen to me. I am, after all, a veteran of the Second War. These snowfields are dangerous, so not lingering here is the right choice."

Thassarian fell silent. He had never forgotten his father's teaching: a soldier's first duty was always to obey orders.

"I understand. I'll have everyone prepare to withdraw."

As the troops broke camp and prepared to end this "expedition," Falric approached Brann and said quietly, "Mr. Brann, Thassarian rode off alone."

"What?!" Brann's hat nearly fell off in his shock. "Has that fellow gone mad?!"

"My men found this in his tent." Falric produced an insignia-the rank insignia of a major in Lordaeron's First Legion.

Brann took the insignia, conflicting emotions crossing his face. Before long, however, he hardened his resolve. "Notify everyone. Prepare to return."

He would not send anyone to find Thassarian. That would be far too dangerous. Who knew what other dangerous creatures lurked in Dragonblight? Besides, finding a single man would take far more time and effort than locating an Undead camp.

This was Thassarian's own choice. He had cast aside his position as a major in the First Legion for the sole purpose of finding Arthas.

Thinking of Thassarian's departure, Brann felt a little melancholy. "That lad is brave, but he's far too rash. He doesn't have Arthas's power. I'm afraid his chances of surviving this are slim."

"His Highness saved him. Back in West Weald," Falric said succinctly.

"You mean what happened at the camp south of Andorhal?" Brann paused. Arthas had told him about it: three hundred soldiers had been brutally murdered by Mal'Ganis.

Falric nodded. "He was the sole survivor, and his father was Kirlorn."

"I knew him. A hero of the Second War. Sadly, he died on the battlefield too."

Brann stroked the horn of his goat mount, his expression bitter. It was his dislike of fighting and war that had led him to become an explorer and travel throughout Azeroth.

"We can only hope he avoids danger and finds Arthas safely."

Shortly after parting with Brann, Arthas walked to the Undead camp near the cavern, carrying his longsword and the Warhammer on his back. This time, with Mal'Ganis making no effort to conceal his presence, Arthas sensed the demon's soul from a distance.

"I've found my first prey."

[Frostmourne] trembled gently, as though answering Arthas's call. The runeblade's response brought a faint smile to his face. The Nathrezim had placed a curse on the sword that prevented it from killing them, but he had now erased that curse as well.

And so the ravenous demonic blade yearned to taste its creator's soul-a delicacy it had never before had the chance to savor.

When Arthas entered the detection range of the Undead Shadow Guard, the Undead sentries immediately reported his arrival to their evil master.

Mal'Ganis immediately took over the Shadow Guard's spectral sight. When he saw Arthas clearly, along with Frostmourne at his waist, a sinister smile appeared on the great demon's face.

"Hahaha! The stronger the light, the greater the shadow it becomes when it falls into darkness."

Everything had gone just as Mal'Ganis had expected. With the information he had spread among the dwarves beforehand, Arthas had indeed sought out [Frostmourne] and come to track him down.

Strictly speaking, his task was already complete. But the Dreadlord's nature made him eager to swagger before Arthas. Since [Frostmourne] could not kill a Nathrezim anyway, there was no harm in indulging himself a little. He could even strike at Arthas's mental defenses while he was at it.

Besides, he could easily fake his death and escape, temporarily shake off his official duties, and find some amusement elsewhere in Azeroth.

Tichondrius had already begun plotting the Burning Legion's arrival. Once Arthas fell under the Lich King's control, destroyed the human and elven kingdoms, and secured an opportunity to summon that brute Archimonde, Azeroth would be destroyed. There would be far less fun to be had then.

While Mal'Ganis entertained these thoughts, Arthas had already slain a great many Undead with his sword and was advancing toward the Necropolis where Mal'Ganis waited.

The Dreadlord simply stopped hiding. The Undead here were merely cannon fodder meant to hold the troops at bay. Since Arthas had come alone, these lowly creatures served no purpose at all.

With that thought, Mal'Ganis abandoned concealment. Spreading his bat wings, he transformed his towering body into black mist and a swarm of bats, rushing out of the Necropolis.

"Oh, has the brave prince come knocking? Do you think carrying a powerful weapon means you can defeat me, Mal'Ganis?"

Arthas pulled the runeblade from a ghoul's rotting chest. [Frostmourne] flashed, then dimmed. Though these lowly Undead still possessed souls, they could not satisfy its hunger.

The Dreadlord noticed that Arthas was not using the Holy Light, but was slaying the Undead through physical prowess alone. Mal'Ganis felt a flicker of delight. Had this prince already abandoned the embrace of the Holy Light?

It seemed the plan was proceeding even more smoothly than anyone had imagined.

"Come, let me take your soul. That might prove amusing." Dark energy surged around Mal'Ganis's two claws. Empowered by his dark magic, the surrounding Undead grew even more frenzied.

Arthas remained unmoved as the ghouls and skeletal soldiers lunged at him. He merely gripped [Frostmourne]'s hilt with both hands and charged into the Undead horde.

Against his superb swordsmanship and [Frostmourne]'s unstoppable edge, the skeletal soldiers' decaying armor and the ghouls' ravaged flesh could not hold out for even a second. Within just a few exchanges, Arthas unleashed a storm of bone and flesh amid the Undead.

Mal'Ganis began to take Arthas a little more seriously. He had not expected the prince to remain so powerful after "losing" the Holy Light's protection. Even fallen, he was still a capable warrior. If he became a fallen vanguard of the Burning Legion, Mal'Ganis thought there might well be a place for him among its ranks.