Survival Against All Odds

Dalaran

Jaina racked her brains; there must be a way to salvage this situation. Antonidas personally searched through some of Kel'Thuzad's belongings in front of her. The Archive were a complete mess.

"Mentor, how much longer?"

"Wait a moment, Jaina. For every kind of magic, there is always another kind that counters it," the Archmage repeated. Jaina trusted her mentor's judgment, but to solve the problem, she needed to understand its root cause. However, since Kel'Thuzad was driven out of Dalaran, most of what he had left behind had been destroyed, including documents and some experimental data; the rest were buried deep within the Archive.

"Master, I have a question." Jaina looked at Antonidas's retreating figure with a complicated expression. The Archmage, after messing up one bookshelf, moved to a new one.

"Don't worry, we'll make it in time," Antonidas replied, knowing what she wanted to ask. But Jaina shook her head.

"No. I want to ask, are those who turned into Undead creatures really dead?"

Antonidas turned around and looked at Jaina with a puzzled expression. Why would she ask such a simple question?

"Of course, because what keeps them alive is no longer their organs, but magic. Their hearts have stopped beating, and their bodies will begin to decay over time."

"If that's the case, can we do it?" The mage's face slowly drained of color, as if Antonidas's answer had dealt her a heavy blow, taking away all her hope.

What can be done?

"Save them! Turn them back to life, bring the dead back to life."

Hearing her words, Antonidas stopped what he was doing. He casually tossed the book aside, and a burst of purple energy carried it back to its original position on the shelf. Jaina was right; now even he was beginning to doubt it. Finding a way to suppress the plague could only stop its spread, not restore its victims—including those who had been transformed and those in the process of transformation—to their original state. Antonidas didn't doubt what he had just said; all life moves towards death, and to resurrect the dead was absolutely against the laws of nature.

A silence fell between mentor and apprentice, both knowing the same thing: They couldn't do it! Magic couldn't do it! The Holy Light couldn't do it either!

This is terrible!

The sky over Hearthglen was overcast, and a light drizzle flowed down Nathanos's hand onto his sword, leaving a bright white streak on the blood-soaked blade, as striking as a tear.

The weather and exhaustion blurred his vision, and Nathanos wasn't sure how much longer he could fight. He had already ordered the corpses piled up at the city gate. Now, all the remaining defenders of Hearthglen, including the wounded, were gathered around him, with only children and women behind them. But the enemy still outnumbered them more than tenfold.

Today's sacrifice deeply affected him. Nathanos had never fought such a tough battle before. More than the disparity in strength between the enemy and himself, he cared about Arthas.

Has he really abandoned this place? Abandoned everyone here?

"Prince Highness won't be coming, will he?"

The voice startled him from his deep thoughts. He hurried to find the owner of the voice, only to find the person right beside him. It was a young man, not yet an adult, but his disheveled appearance and bloodstains made him look like a veteran.

Many people focused their attention on Nathanos because of this issue. He closed his eyes, and no matter what questions, accusations, or even attacks he faced next, he did not intend to resist. These soldiers had the right to vent their anger.

"Thank you, Lord Nathanos!"

He opened his eyes and looked at that unfamiliar face again, only to see the other person smiling.

"Thank you for staying here and fighting alongside us. You are exactly like Lord Fordring. My name is Erigor, and it is an honor to stand beside you."

Nathanos paused for a moment, then replied with a wry smile, "Thank you, Erigor."

"They're here again!"

A soldier shouted, Undead launched countless waves of attacks, too many to count. But each time, Nathanos treated it as his last wave before dying, leading the Charge and being the first to plunge into the enemy ranks. He slashed, parried, and dodged wildly. The Undead were fearless, and so was he, for his consciousness had begun to numb, focused solely on one thing: to kill these hideous monsters. Death had been cast aside.

"By the Holy Light! For Lordaeron! For the King!"

A fierce battle cry rang out. Nathanos's heart trembled, and he was instantly brought back to his senses from the passion of killing, heading towards the sound.

"It's reinforcements! It's the Order of the Silver Hand!"

The soldiers cheered with hope for survival, and Nathanos did too. At that moment, he felt as if all his strength had been drained away, and he longed to rest and leave the rest to Uther.

Uther brought the core of the Knights of Favonius, energetic and battle-hardened. They showed no fear of the Undead army. Now the zombies fell even faster, each wave of attacks crumbling under the fierce onslaught of warhammers, swords, and the thunderous Ironhoof of warhorses. The last Undead, scorched by the Holy Light, staggered a few steps like a headless fly before collapsing.

Uther hurriedly dismounted and ran to the side of Nathanos, who lay collapsed on the ground. His hands trembling, he took out a water pouch and brought it to Nathanos's mouth. After several unsuccessful attempts to call out to him, Uther raised his head and ordered, "Clean up the battlefield immediately and treat the wounded. Everyone, move into Hearthglen!"

Nathanos was placed on a stretcher, Uther carrying one end alone, while two soldiers held the other. Looking around at the sea of bones and remains, he couldn't believe this was still Hearthglen, the Hearthglen once led by Tirion. The earth was almost entirely covered in blood, the blood pooling and flowing down the slope like a river. What terrified him most was the wall of bones piled up at the entrance to Hearthglen; this must have been Nathanos's doing, protecting those inside the city who were unable to fight. The knights used considerable effort to break it down, silently chanting the Holy Light.

"It's alright, Nathanos. Everything will be alright."

Is the battle over?

Nathanos, still asleep, seemed to hear Uther's voice. He opened his eyes and found himself standing in the street, in a city engulfed in flames. Screams and the sounds of swords slicing through flesh echoed from all directions.

This isn't Hearthglen, where is this?

Nathanos looked around in panic, a sense of familiarity mixed with strangeness. Not far ahead, the door of a house was kicked open from the inside, and a man in armor dragged a woman out, pulling her roughly by the hair. The woman cried out, begging the man to let her go. But he didn't; he simply pulled the woman in front of him and raised his longsword.

"Stop!" Nathanos' eyes widened as he rushed forward, wondering how this could be. He saw that the man's blood-stained armor still bore the blue insignia of Lordaeron —he was a soldier of Lordaeron! Why would he do such a thing?

The soldier seemed not to hear him, his weapon still aimed at the woman's head. In desperation, Nathanos lunged forward, only to watch helplessly as he passed right through the soldier's body. Then the woman screamed, and the world fell silent. Nathanos stared wide-eyed, bewildered. He hadn't smelled the crackling of burning wood or the thick smoke—was this a dream? How could it feel so real?

Nathanos looked around and finally spotted a figure standing atop a tower. His face was obscured by smoke, making him appear so different. The outline of the weapon in his hand resembled a warhammer, and his cloak billowed behind him. Nathanos tried to see who this person was, and the black smoke surrounding him seemed to know his desire and automatically dispersed.

At that moment, Nathanos suffocated!

"No!"

"Lord Nathanos! Lord Nathanos! Calm down, calm down! It's all alright, it's all alright."

Erigor grabbed Nathanos's arm, gradually calming him down.

"You were just having a nightmare, sir."

Yes, it's all a dream, but...

"Where is Uther? Where is Arthas?" Nathanos looked up and asked immediately, wanting to prove that he was wrong and that what he had seen was all a lie.

Erigor's expression stiffened, then he replied with a stiff smile, "They're all alright; it was Lord Uther who saved us."

"You're lying! Tell me where Arthas is! I need to see him!"

"You can't go!" Erigor stopped Nathanos, who was trying to get out of bed. His face gradually darkened, and he dared not look Nathanos in the eye.

Answer me!

"He's gone!" Erigor replied hastily. Although Uther had warned him not to report any news to Nathanos, he couldn't do it; sooner or later, everyone would know.

Nathanos stopped breathing in surprise.

'What does he mean? Arthas is gone! Where did he go?'

As if knowing what Nathanos was about to ask, Erigor continued, "Prince Highness has gone... to Northrend."

Northrend! Nathanos couldn't believe his ears. He grabbed Erigor and asked through gritted teeth, "Northrend? Are you kidding me?!"

"It's true, it happened three days ago, but you..."

Three days ago! Nathanos was stunned.

How long was I unconscious?

"One... one week!"

A week! How is that possible? Seven whole days have passed since the Battle of Hearthglen ended?

"What on earth is going on?" Nathanos asked, bewildered. He was terrified; something terrible must have happened in the past week to fill him with such fear, most likely related to that dream. "Why would Arthas go to Northrend, and why did he leave three days ago? What is he going to do?"

"He..."

"Enough, Erigor," Uther entered and stopped the young Paladin. "You may leave. I will explain to Nathanos later."

Erigor nodded, exchanged a glance with Uther, and left quickly, as if relieved.

Uther approached his student and patted him on the shoulder.

"I'm surprised you've remained calm for so long, lad." His voice was warm and proud, a smile playing on his lips. Nathanos had to admit that, in terms of disguise, Erigor was far inferior to Uther.

"That happened a week ago. I'd like to know what happened after that?"

"Later... a lot did happen. Just as Erigor said, Arthas went to Northrend."

"Three days ago?" Nathanos asked again, confirming. The Paladin before him nodded, looking as if he had aged many years.

"How could he..." Nathanos felt his head was about to be crushed by questions, so he changed his approach and pressed on. "Why would he leave in such a hurry? Northrend isn't Gilneas, nor Stormwind City! It's a continent on the other side of the sea, a land of ice and snow. Even an expedition would need a month to prepare to go there!"

"Yes, but he only took five or six ships and a hundred soldiers with him there."

"You didn't stop him?"

"I can't do it anymore."

Uther told Nathanos everything that had happened in Stratholme, including his dismissal by Arthas and Arthas's final decision.

Nathanos shook his head frantically, rejecting the news, but it had already taken over his mind. "The whole city!" Nathanos uttered these three words in a trembling voice, a tear rolling down his cheek. "The whole city!!! This can't be... he wouldn't..." Suddenly, the world spun around him, and he collapsed, utterly powerless. Darkness enveloped him, and many voices echoed, as if he had returned to that dream. The Prince standing atop the tower was so cold and ruthless. Now, Uther's words matched his vision perfectly; he could no longer distinguish between dream and reality!

"Nathanos! Nathanos!"