Sacrificial Salvation

On the way to Stratholme, Arthas explained the situation to Uther, so that the knights of the Silver Hand wouldn't miss their chance due to shock and fear upon their first encounter with the Undead monsters. Uther replied jokingly that the Alliance had encountered Death Knight before when fighting the Orcs, and they had won, so Arthas didn't need to worry too much.

Arthas was rather annoyed by his mentor's optimism; the beloved Paladin clearly didn't understand what kind of enemy they were dealing with. A few words weren't enough to explain, so Arthas could only quicken his pace, constantly urging the others onward.

As he looked up in a certain direction, he saw a house perched on a hillside. Arthas remembered it; it was Nathanos's house, and he had been invited there once. Guilt washed over him again, and his hand gripping the reins trembled uncontrollably. He thought that if Nathanos had perished—the worst possible outcome, of course—he would posthumously recognize him as a martyr and erect a monument to him.

'It's alright, it's alright! Nathanos will understand me, he will understand me. I did it to save more people.'

The army wasn't moving fast enough, partly because of the need to maintain formation. Arthas found it hard to remain calm, so he simply closed his eyes and let his mount carry him.

The sounds of fighting echoed from all directions, flames engulfed the area, and Undead creatures ravaged every corner. Amidst the chaos, Arthas spotted a figure— Nathanos, locked in a desperate battle with a horde of Undead. His old friend's quiver was empty, his sword broken, and he held only a hastily picked-up weapon. Nathanos beheaded an Undead, then turned to Arthas, roaring, "You betrayed us!"

Arthas was jolted awake, his body shuddering, and he even forgot he was on horseback. He suddenly lost his balance and cried out. Just as he was about to fall, Uther caught him with his hand and said, "What's wrong, Arthas? You don't look well. Should we stop and rest for a while?"

"No!" Arthas decisively rejected him. "We should hurry on our way."

The commanding tone startled Uther; he sensed that Arthas had changed. It wasn't just his attitude towards his mentor, but more importantly, the tense yet tyrannical aura emanating from him. This worried Uther, reminding him of the Prince who had wanted to exterminate everyone.

Remember Arthas, we are Paladin. If our faith and passion turn into fanaticism, then we are no different from Orcs.

Uther hoped Arthas truly understood what he was saying, but at least for now, Uther was certain he didn't.

With only a short distance left to Stratholme, Arthas was surprised to see Farek and Marvin along the way, and even Saurfang was there.

'What's going on? Shouldn't they be in Hearthglen with Nathanos?' Arthas was puzzled, wondering if Nathanos had already dealt with things there and rushed here. But the timing didn't add up, Arthas thought it was impossible.

"Farek!"

Upon hearing the Prince's voice, Farek, who was talking to a farmer, turned around with a look of delight on his face.

"Prince Highness, it is a pleasure to see you safe and sound." Farek bowed in respect.

Arthas asked him directly, "Farek, what are you doing here? What are you doing?"

"It's like this, Prince Highness. It's Nasa..."

"Enough, stop talking, there's no time now," Arthas interrupted him, his heart filled with dread. Farek wanted to say that Nathanos had ordered them to do this; the fact that soldiers were checking the houses along the path indicated that Nathanos had sent them here beforehand.

"Nathanos?" Uther asked, stepping forward after hearing Farek's words, only then remembering that Arthas seemed to have been traveling with Nathanos. "Where is he?"

"He's not here," Arthas said before Farek could answer. "I sent him on a mission." He lied again, doing so simply to keep Uther and her Order of the Silver Hand by his side to help him face the upcoming enemies. If Uther knew Nathanos was in danger, she would surely come to his rescue.

"Mission? "Uther wanted to ask Arthas what mission Nathanos had been sent on, but the other man spoke again, this time in a more urgent tone that made him very uncomfortable.

"We don't have much time left. Farek, gather the rest of you and bring them to the gates of Stratholme to meet us!" the Prince said through gritted teeth. He could already see the walls of Stratholme, and the gates were right in front of him.

"Thank goodness, we've arrived." Arthas laughed, seeing a few people still coming and going at the entrance to Stratholme.

"I'm glad you're here with me, Uther." He turned to look at the old Paladin.

Uther was a good-natured man, but compared to Arthas, he was an elder. "Watch your tone, young man! You are Prince, but as Paladin, I am your superior!"

"If you hadn't reminded me, I might have forgotten," Arthas retorted with a smile. He hurried to the top of the slope so he could observe the city beyond the walls. He knew what he was looking for. He just needed to look for some special signs that people were still going about their normal lives, that they had arrived in time. He was searching for any sign that could give him hope, any indication that there was still time to do something. "Listen, Uther, you need to know how this plague spread. The grain that was transported from Andorhal ..."

As he was speaking, a cold wind rose, and the smell that drifted into his nose wasn't unpleasant, but Arthas felt as if a sword had been plunged into his heart. That eerie smell, the unique aroma of bread baked from contaminated grains, was clearly mingled in the air.

"The Holy Light! No! The grains are already on the table!"

Arthas's face drained of color, and he roared in terror, his eyes wide.

Uther's warhorse "Ironhoof" thrashed restlessly upon hearing the Prince's voice.

"What's wrong? What are you saying, Arthas?"

"We're too late. We're so far too late! The grain is contaminated...it will cause a plague, and these people..." He could barely finish, but he had to let everyone know, "These people are already infected. They may look fine now, but it's only a matter of time before they become Undead monsters!"

"What?" Uther exclaimed. "Child, how is this possible?"

"No," Farek stepped forward to affirm the Prince's words. "He's right, Lord Uther. We encountered this during our investigations. If people have already eaten the contaminated food, they are already infected, and if they are infected... they will become Undead."

"We must purify this entire city."

Before Uther could process Farek's message, Arthas's cold and cruel voice came through.

He blinked. The Prince certainly didn't mean that.

"What did you say?"

This time, Arthas faced everyone and shouted, "This city must be purified!"

"You dare think that?" Uther roared, striding toward his student. "There must be another way. This isn't a pigsty; this is an entire city, all the living people!"

"Insolence, Uther! We must do this!" Arthas drew close to Uther's face, and in that terrifying moment Farek felt they were about to clash.

But Uther didn't move. His brow furrowed, and he shook his head. "Listen to me. We don't know how many people are infected yet. Some may not have eaten any grain at all, and others may have eaten only a little that wasn't enough to be fatal. We don't even know the lethal dose. We know too little. We can't just slaughter them like livestock because of our fear!"

It was an inopportune moment, he said, looking at Arthas's approaching face. "I am trying my best to protect more people, Uther. I swore an oath."

"Shouldn't you protect them? They are the people you swore to protect, just as you said. You actually intend to use them as victims of the plague! There are many children there. We don't know if they will be infected. There are too many uncertainties, we cannot take such... such drastic measures."

"And what about the others who are already infected?" Arthas asked in a sudden, chilling calm, a calm that also told Uther he was composed. "They will kill others, Uther. They will come and kill us...and then spread from here, killing everywhere. They will die anyway, but once they rise again, they will attack, they will seek out the living to eat. If it were you, what would you choose, Uther?"

"No matter what I choose, I will not use the weapon that represents justice to 'purify' them," Uther replied righteously, but his face was already contorted.

Tears of extreme anguish burned in Arthas's eyes.

Uther regained his composure and continued his earnest persuasion, "Arthas, give me some time, just a day or two. I can notify Dalaran, and we can hold an emergency meeting. Maybe we can find a solution..."

"We don't have a day or two left!" Arthas roared. "Uther, they'll erupt in a few hours. Maybe even minutes. I... I saw it with my own eyes in Andorhal. There's no time to figure out how to save them. We must act, now." He straightened his back, looked up at Uther, and declared, "As your future King, I command you to purify this city!"

"You are not my King, boy! Even if you were, I would not carry out this order!"

A terrifying silence fell, the atmosphere tense to the extreme.

"Then I can only consider your actions as treason." Arthas's voice was cold and clear. Uther was more surprised than if he had been punched by him.

"Treason?" he said angrily. "Are you insane, Arthas?"

"Is that so, Sir Uther? In my capacity as Crown Prince of Lordaeron, I hereby declare the Order of the Silver Hand disbanded."

"Arthas!" Uther shouted, raising his hand.

The Prince turned around abruptly, his eyes filled with rage.

The old Paladin felt dizzy and panicked. He really had to do it. He was going to storm Stratholme and cut off the heads of every living man, woman, and child in the city.

"How could you do that?" Uther questioned his retreating figure. "You've been with Nathanos for so long, haven't you learned any mercy from him?"

"Don't mention that dead person again!"

"What!" Uther exclaimed in shock. "What did you say? Say it again!"

Arthas remained silent. Uther turned and glared at Farek, who took several steps back, intimidated by his gaze.

What's going on?

Farek glanced at Arthas, then at Uther, swallowed hard, and explained, "Some of the grain transported from Andorhal was allocated to Hearthglen. His Prince went there initially, and Nathanos went with him, but now... he's not here."

This explanation was not enough to dispel Uther's doubts, and Arthas's next words made him lose his footing.

"An army of Undead is attacking Hearthglen, Nathanos has sent me to find you..."

Uther's neck veins bulged, and those present could almost hear the clenching of his teeth. There was no doubt that Nathanos had summoned Arthas not to witness the Prince's impending massacre, but rather...

"Arthas!"

"That's fine!"

Uther's anger was suppressed by those cold words, his eyes already bloodshot. Arthas turned to the soldiers again, who had remained cautiously silent throughout the argument. "Those who want to save this land, come with me! The rest... get out of my sight!"

The leader of the Silver Hand could no longer remain silent. "You have crossed a dangerous line, Arthas."

The cold facade on his face crumbled, and his pain was impossible to hide. Uther was looking at him with pity and disappointment. He mounted his horse, trembling violently.

With Uther left were all the Silver Hand knights he had brought with him, who were deeply disappointed in the Prince.

A thought suddenly popped into Arthas's mind, simple, clear, and hurtful: Was he right?

No! Impossible! If Uther is right, then I will become an executioner, but I am not; I am only doing this for the benefit of many others.

He shook off the bewildered tremor, licked his suddenly chapped lips, and took a deep breath. So many people had left. Too many, to be honest! Could he really conquer the entire city with only those who remained?

"Sir, please allow me to express my opinion," Farek said. "I... uh... I would rather be beheaded than become Undead."

Then came a chorus of whispered agreement, and Arthas's spirits lifted somewhat. He gripped his warhammer. "What we are doing here is utterly devoid of pleasure, only ruthlessness and necessity," he said. "It is solely to end the plague with minimal casualties. Those within the walls are already dead. Though they do not yet know it, we understand. We must end their suffering cleanly before the plague kills them." He scanned each man one by one; none of them shirked their duty. "They must die, their homes must be burned, lest anyone hide inside." The soldiers tightened their grip on their weapons and nodded in understanding. "This will not be a great and glorious battle, but one filled with ugliness and suffering. I grieve deeply for its necessity, but I also wholeheartedly believe that it is what we must do."

He raised his warhammer. "For the Holy Light!" he roared, and in response, his soldiers raised their weapons and roared. He turned to the city gate, took a deep breath, and charged in.

Dark clouds obscured the sun, making the already ashen battlefield even more gloomy. Rain began to fall, its chilling intensity biting. Nathanos's hands trembled, tormented by the cold and exhaustion. His pale face made him look no different from a corpse, yet he was surrounded by corpses.

Despair welled up within him, not from the enemy, but from Arthas himself. He had held out for a day and a night; even Arthas, at his slowest, should have found Uther by now, and reinforcements should have arrived long ago. He had begun to have doubts, but he dared not believe them. A thousand times his mind told him Arthas wouldn't abandon them, but each time the thought crossed his mind, it felt so real. Nathanos couldn't share his anxieties with the other soldiers; fear was the most formidable enemy. At least for now, no one had asked him when the Knights of the Silver Hand would arrive.

The Undead were finally driven back, but only temporarily. Some soldiers were clearing the battlefield around him. Nathanos really wanted to rest; he told himself, just a little while, a tiny bit!

"The Undead are coming!"

A shout jolted him awake, and he was once again confronted with the overwhelming army of Undead!