To Arthas, the Second War had always been a historical term. War was close to him, yet also very far away.
Arthas had grown up in peacetime. He had little personal feeling for that desperate war between two races. He knew it had determined whether the Alliance lived or died, but he could not grasp that emotion. All he could do was search for something he could relate to in the surviving war reports.
Arthas knew the battle studies taught in his theory classes by heart. In theory, he was an excellent tactician. At school, he had even devised several battle plans to demonstrate his expertise, proving that the defense of Southshore could have been turned into an Alliance counterattack.
Those tactics looked meticulous and watertight. Even his instructors could not refute his military deployments. But war was not a game that could be simulated with a sheet of paper, a few words, and a sand table.
It was just like playing a game: starting with Radiance, Manta Style, Blade of the Ruined King, and Trinity Force would let you crush a player who started with branches and a shortsword.
It seemed terribly unfair, but that was war.
Every enemy wanted to have everything ready and steamroll the other side in one push, rather than wait until everyone had their six divine items, activated BKB, and put on Lotus Orbs to duke it out.
War meant exploiting your advantages to the fullest. Finding the best timing and killing the enemy who had developed the least.
The Dreadlords' ability to reap lives on the battlefield was terrifying. The second highland defensive line had held for only a day.
Corpses littered the entire western front of Butcher Heights. Hills once covered in forest and vegetation had been reduced to sandy wasteland by