The night over Icecrown Glacier was cold and pitch-black.
The darkness shrouded in necrotic energy kept the light of Azeroth's twin moons and stars beyond the glacier. The Wrathgate's defenders could only watch the human Allied Forces' movements by the flames burning in their braziers.
Ingvar, who had fled back to the Wrathgate, remained the leader of the Scourge defenders.
After being resurrected as an Undead, Ingvar had lost a few pleasures. He could no longer spend delightful nights with Stormspeaker Ylda.
But as a Warrior, Ingvar could clearly feel that his strength had increased severalfold. His thoughts had also become clearer, and his body's reaction speed had reached its limit.
Necromancy had transformed Ingvar, bringing every aspect of his strength to its peak.
After the second counterattack failed, Ingvar had fought the Bronzebeard Dwarf to a draw.
Although Ingvar had held the upper hand in every exchange toward the end, the presence of two human Mages had denied him any opportunity to seriously wound the Bronzebeard Dwarf.
Both were Warrior Class Practitioners. They countered each other's moves, and the power of their strength and skills frequently canceled out.
In other words, without any allies influencing the battle, Ingvar could fight Muradin for an entire day and night. Provided they both had the stamina.
During his retreat, Ingvar's mind had cleared considerably. He had brought back his mount's corpse and handed it to Ilda.
Ilda had quickly resurrected the sturdy blue Proto-Dragon and returned him to Ingvar.
As they parted, Ilda had felt a little regret, but she had not lingered over it. After exchanging a few pleasantries, she had gone to Jotunheim's camp...
Ingvar stood alone on the Lookout, gently stroking the blue Proto-Dragon's head, even though his palm could no longer feel warmth.
The Necromantic Proto-Dragon's jewel-clear eyes