Night Elves

"The Lich King?"

'Obey orders, follow Grommash.'

Nathanos smiled knowingly, though he knew it might annoy the other man. "How interesting. You know him?"

'Shut your mouth, Nathanos. Carry out my orders. From this moment on, I will be watching you every second. Don't even think of disobeying me. I want to know what you're thinking, as easily as reading a book.'

"Then you have to tell me, where is Grommash going?"

He'll go to Ashenvale Forest in the north.

"Excellent, finally we can enter the forest." He was genuinely happy; he had grown weary of wandering the wasteland for so many days. Whatever the Lich King wanted to do, Nathanos was now willing to serve him this once.

'You'd better be careful; the forest is full of dangers you can't even imagine.'

Danger? The Lich King's warning posed little threat to Nathanos. There were certainly dangers in the forest, but at least it was familiar territory for him.

Ashenvale lies north of the Stonetalon Mountains, a vast and fertile forest. The trees are tall and dense. Entering it, Nathanos felt a chill creep in, causing him to shiver uncontrollably. He believed it must be very cold here; it should be cool for someone who had come from the wasteland. But he was dead, so he felt nothing; no amount of cold could compare to death. The only explanation was that this forest unsettled him.

"It seems I underestimated the Lich King's warning. Perhaps something else is hidden here," he muttered to himself, keeping a close watch on his back.

In contrast, Grom Grommash and his Warsong Clan were completely unaware of the unusual activity in the forest. The Orcs swaggered in, began cutting down trees, and built a makeshift camp. The camp had large open areas for stockpiling timber, indicating they needed a significant amount of this resource. Ashenvale could easily satisfy their appetite.

"Damn it, Thrall sent me here. Sending his strongest Warrior to do manual labor?" Grom sat on a log, supervising the orc Orcs felling trees. He cleaved the blade of the legendary weapon, Gorehowl, into the damp earth, as if declaring that this jungle now Horde to the Horde.

The Warsong Clan overseer didn't seem to be fully focused on the task at hand; he was still replaying the argument he'd had with Thrall two days prior. The chieftain was clearly right, but he shouldn't have sent the Warsong Clan to chop down trees—such a waste of talent was exactly what Grommash resented.

"He will fail without me," Grom muttered.

This remark was overheard by another Orcs, who frowned and approached Grommash, saying, "I agree with you, Overseer. But this forest is indeed strange. It's... a little too quiet. Are we being watched?"

Grom immediately stood up and drew his Gorehowl. The Orcs took a step back in fear.

"So you're afraid of ghosts now?" Gorehowl's master made no attempt to hide the sarcasm in his words. Once upon a time, the Warsong Clan had never feared anything. They were fierce wolves, trampling their enemies underfoot and singing victory Warsong Clan. But now, the surroundings were only slightly quieter than usual, and his Warrior were as timid as startled birds.

"There's nothing here but trees." He raised his voice, telling the Warsong Orcs still on duty to focus on their work.

Perhaps he was too noisy, disturbing something in the forest. A woman's murmur came from behind the surrounding bushes; everyone heard the delicate, elegant voice. It sounded like she was chanting some kind of spell, or perhaps a language they didn't recognize. The Orcs camp fell silent. The laborers stopped working, and the Warrior looked around anxiously, trying to pinpoint the source of the sound. Even Grom looked up, warily watching the grove.

Not only the Orcs, Nathanos also heard the voice. "This language... it's so familiar, yet so strange." He hid behind the bushes, looking around in confusion, but couldn't pinpoint the direction from which the sound was coming. However, he noticed that around the trees, some glowing spheres were constantly floating, seemingly in motion.

There's definitely something wrong with this place!

"Did you hear that, Overseer? This place is haunted! I'm not afraid of living enemies, but my axe can't cut down ghosts."

"Shut up and get back to work!" Grom retorted, then he saw something, a smile appeared on his lips, and he walked steadily toward a tree where the glowing thing that Nathanos had noticed was located.

"These dancing lights are very strange; perhaps they are the ghosts you fear," Grommash said, then suddenly burst into laughter. He was both amused that the others were frightened by this thing and mocking this kind of superstitious nonsense. Soon, the Warsong Warlord set an example for the others. Gorehowl tore through the air, striking the small creature and destroying the tree in the process.

"The Great Chief's new base needs a lot of timber. Cut down all the trees here!"

The Orcs, encouraged, continued their work. Nathanos watched everything unfold, wondering how these flying, glowing objects could be so fragile. The fact that they vanished without a trace of energy proved they weren't energy entities.

'Remember, no matter what happens later, you are not allowed to react at all.'

"What happened?" Nathanos was puzzled by the Lich King's strange prompt when suddenly two arrows flew out of the forest, knocking down two woodcutters. The commotion attracted everyone's attention.

"Commander, we have been attacked."

"I'm not blind!" Grom rushed to the laborers, who were already dead, their faces still showing expressions of surprise.

"Sisters, you are right! These green-skinned butchers have no respect for life. In the name of Elune, destroy them."

"Women? They are women!"

An Orcs Warrior spotted the attackers first, but Grom was more curious about their numbers than their gender. Three! Only three! The Orcs overlord wondered where they got their courage. So before the other Warrior could react, he charged forward.

"These are..." Nathanos, watching Grom fight three opponents from afar, widened his crimson pupils, captivated by the three elegant yet wild figures. They all wore masks, their entire bodies a cold, dark purple. And their long ears stirred up many fragmented memories in Nathanos. These memories were like pieces of a puzzle; whenever Nathanos tried to complete one, his head would throb with pain, yet he couldn't help but ask, "Why...why isn't their skin like the sun?"

Nathanos persisted in his agonizing struggle, but the Lich King did not answer him. So he continued, "They are Elf? Veronalara and the others are too, and who else? Who else is?" A blurry black outline appeared in his mind, which also appeared to be an Elf. He felt this was important; the person beneath that outline must hold extraordinary significance for him.

His pain intensified with his stubbornness. It wasn't just his head, but also his limbs and chest. A agonizing, suffocating pain, the feeling of drowning, a paralyzing stiffness that rendered him immobile. It was as if something had ripped his soul from his body, and then a mysterious force was punishing and urging him on. Nathanos didn't cry out throughout. But not all perseverance pays off. He stubbornly persisted for a long time, unwilling to give up, until finally, he collapsed, overwhelmed. Before losing consciousness, he only saw a pair of sky-blue eyes and a slowly loosening fist. And he heard whispers.

'What a Will defective product.'