The heavy greatsword had ancient blue inscriptions engraved on its hilt.
A humanoid undead knight in iron armor swung its blade, cleaving into a troll's right shoulder.
The troll soldier gripped his huge axe, endured the searing pain, and raised it to try to take the armored undead's head off. But a piercing chill penetrated the torn flesh of his shoulder. His hot blood rapidly froze, and all color instantly drained from his face.
A shattered shoulder blade would not kill someone, yet every troll wounded by the blue-runed greatswords had lost all signs of life. The troll who had just died was no exception.
The undead knights wounded large numbers of Drakkari elites, until pairs of icy blue eyes occupied a third of the battlefield.
The troll guards forcibly transformed into undead by the runic greatswords did not immediately turn against their own. They still retained their wills.
Even though their bodies had died, the soldiers continued to control them through sheer consciousness, fighting the undead knights.
But this did not last long. Soon, that powerful divine consciousness took over the wills of the soldiers who had become undead.
Then the defensive forces of Drak'Tharon Keep came under attack from within.
Talanji stared in shock. What kind of sinister sorcery was this? Wounded soldiers were transformed into enemy troops by necromancy. Was there any point in continuing this battle?
Talanji had thought Rowan was her greatest enemy. But after coming to the northern lands of Northrend, she discovered that the enemies lurking here were far more terrifying than that cunning man.
The undead army did not bother matching wits with anyone. It used the simplest means of conquest, creating armies through death, constantly expanding its forces and assimilating the living.
Talanji could not imagine what the world would become