Plaguebringer North

Two years later

"Long ago, on the coast of Lordaeron, there stood a magnificent manor. Living there was a noblewoman of unparalleled beauty."

"A vicious black rose?"

Belmont's face clearly showed his embarrassment. He assumed Lilian Voss hadn't heard the story before, which was why he had recounted it to her with such emotion.

"So you knew."

"I doubt anyone with even a basic understanding of the nobles of Lordaeron has missed her legend." Lilian glanced at Belmont. "Farina, that noblewoman. I still remember what a certain upper-class figure in Lordaeron once told me: 'Don't underestimate Farina just because she's a woman. All those who belittle her go to hell!' What do you think?"

Belmont roughly guessed that the nobleman Lilian mentioned was her father. "You ask me this because you must have some doubts about what I'm saying, Voss. But I can assure you, it's not an exaggeration at all. This isn't alarmist; it's the truth," the Forsaken the way answered very formally. "This former noblewoman of Lordaeron, relying on her stunning beauty and skillful concealment, married six young noblemen in succession, eliminating them all without a trace, like a black widow spider. By inheriting her deceased husband's fortune, this wicked woman became one of the wealthiest people in Lordaeron at the time."

"And her seventh husband was Nathos Abraham?"

"Exactly." Belmont nodded.

The conversation between the two men both pointed to a noblewoman, but they both knew the key was the name Lilian mentioned at the end.

After months of searching, they finally found Nathos Abraham's manor. Although Belmont had imagined its desolation along the way, seeing it with his own eyes, he found things were far worse than he had imagined. He and Lilian spent a considerable amount of time clearing away the Scourge Undead.

Nathos's former residence was ransacked; someone didn't want to leave any trace. But clever searchers always manage to find a valuable clue.

"Voss, look at this." Belmont held up a red book with a burnt hole in it.

Lilian took it and opened it. The contents were very blurry, but from a few words, it was still possible to make out that it was the diary of a farmer on the manor:

Nathos is the kindest and friendliest gentleman. In his territory, we live in peace, singing praises to our approachable master...

... This was the first time I'd ever seen my master so devoted. When he, who had always been single, saw Ms. Farina, he stood there, stunned, for a full five minutes...

... It was truly astonishing. Two days later, a grand wedding was held at the master's manor. As I warmly welcomed the beautiful hostess, I inadvertently noticed that her dazzling blonde hair had turned completely white...

... It's a ghost! They've all gone mad!! Just one month, only one month, and the rumored cursed power has descended upon this Tranquility place. Souls wander the night, unclean Undead creatures appear in the fields, and dark monsters attack us constantly. Meanwhile, Master Nathos and Lady Farina haven't stepped outside their villa. We suffer through these dark days, waiting for our master to save us, but instead, we are met with plague and death. When the villa gates opened, Nathos reappeared on his territory. His appearance struck me like a thunderbolt; he wore a black skull uniform. Behind him, I saw Lady Farina standing naked at the villa gate, watching everything unfold before her, a smile playing on her lips...

"... Arise, and serve your master once more." As he uttered these words, countless skeletons emerged from the graveyard, rose from the houses, and stood atop the fields. By the Holy Light, it was all a dream, all a dream...

"The only fate for any man who becomes Black Widow's prey is destruction." Lilian Voss closed her diary, sensing the immense danger posed by the woman named Farina. However, the numerous handwriting entries in the diary indicated that she had already sided with the Scourge. "But I truly don't understand why Nathos the Witherer would seek out North, who has already joined the Scourge and is known as the Plaguebringer by the Argent Crusade. I don't believe he will join us."

"Your concerns are not unfounded, but the Master's base in Maraudon lacks a supervisor for the Alchemy District. Looking across Azeroth, among all known races, humans are the most advanced in Alchemy. However, Dalaran, the kingdom with the most advanced Alchemy, is almost extinct, as is Lordaeron, which is close behind. As for Stormwind City and Kul Tiras, the former's alchemy experts only serve the royal family, and the latter..." Belmont shook his head, "A year ago, after Jaina Proudmoore joined forces with the Horde to kill her father Daelin Proudmoore, Kul Tiras declared its withdrawal from the Alliance and immediately closed itself off from the outside world, making it impossible to infiltrate. In desperation, the Master turned his attention to the Scourge."

"Does the Witherer ever have moments of helplessness?" Lilian teased. "I get the feeling he's quite confident about this operation."

"My master never does anything without being sure." Belmont retrieved the red book, thinking that another document had been added to the Shadow District's Archive. "Do you know Nathos's previous identity?"

"Isn't he a nobleman?"

"Not all nobles are good-for-nothings." Belmont looked up at Lilian Voss. "The Witherer told me that Nathos was once the president of the Lordaeron Necromancers' Association."

"A psychic?" Lilian frowned. "I thought it was a creation of the Scourge."

"That's not the case. Every kingdom harbors a group of unknown individuals. Spirit mediums are one such group; they are beings who study souls and can communicate with them. Long before the Scourge appeared, they had already gained the approval of King Terenas. Their roles are wide-ranging: by summoning the souls of victims, they help sheriffs identify the true culprits; historians seek out spirit mediums, hoping they can communicate with those who experienced historical events firsthand to uncover the truths hidden in the annals of time."

"But what does this have to do with what we're supposed to do?"

"Nathos is the president of the Necromancers' Association. He was once very loyal to King Terenas, but he suddenly joined the Scourge. Don't you find that strange?"

"You mean... he's being controlled?"

Belmont's eyes darted westward across the Plaguelands of Stratholme, Eastern Plaguelands the eerie and sinister floating fortress of Naxxramas sat atop the Poisonous Forest. "Whatever his reasons, we must try. Just hope that Nathos... he still retains a shred of humanity."

"Such a dangerous mission, where is our master now?"

He said he was going to see an old friend and asked us to wait for him in his old hometown.

If there is any paradise on earth in the Plaguelands, it must be the Light's Hope Chapel. The Argent Dawn, leveraging its ability to embrace all races, has successfully established itself in the Eastern Plaguelands, bordering Haven County and New Avalon counties, which are controlled by the Crimson Crusade. The leader of this organization is Maxwell Tyrosos.

Isolated and without support, the Argent Dawn must remain constantly vigilant against the Undead threats from Naxxramas and Stratholme. Villages dozens of miles from the chapel have long been deserted. Some soldiers on patrol have not returned. From time to time, the sounds of crows—not crows, but sounds that are not quite crows—can be heard from the surrounding forests and mountain passes.

Darion Mograine prepared his horse under the midday sun. He secured the last small bundle to the saddle. Each bundle was filled with various daggers, Bearskin, and smoked meat.

He should be able to make it back to the Light's Hope Chapel.

The setting sun cast a rosy glow on the horizon. A gust of cold wind howled through the rotten straw and roadside weeds. Moldy haystacks were ruthlessly dismembered like corpses on a battlefield. In the distance, in the abandoned farmland, only a crude scarecrow made of rags and weeds stood guard over the wasteland, its two thin willow legs maintaining its balance. The tattered strips of cloth on its body fluttered in the wind.

The sword on his back hummed and vibrated, the skull on its blade seeming to speak to its wielder, but Darion made no response. He simply murmured, "Soon, Father. Soon."

Crossing the wilderness and entering a jagged, withered forest, Darion trudged along, pulling his horse forward. He didn't sit on the back, because his father, Alexandros Mograine, had said that treating one's warhorse well was treating oneself well.

Darion recalled seeing his father riding on the back of Undead warhorse, Ashbringer in hand, alongside three other Death Knight. All of Darion's companions were dead: one fell to the scythe-like claws of the Anub'arak Anub'rekan, another perished in the battle against Grobbulus, another fell before Thaddius, and finally, there was the Four Horsemen, the ones his father was with.

"Frellin, Branigan, Glennhold, and Castrian ..." Darion named his companions one by one, all of whom had perished. Darion silently prayed for the Holy Light to bless their souls and grant them peace.

After a moment of silence for his companion, Darion began to ponder Tirion Fordring's words again: If there is anything that can save your father's soul, it must be "love".

"What does this mean?" Darion murmured. He had hoped to get answers from this once highly respected Paladin, but instead, it had only raised more questions. Darion was somewhat annoyed; it had taken him several days to find Tirion's hermitage. The elder had told him many things, and they had talked for a long time about many topics, including how to save Alexandros's soul and the matter of Tirion's son, Taelan Fordring.

He had long been forgotten by the world. Exiled with him near the Thondroril River, only his warhorse, Mirador, remained. Beneath Tirion's demeanor lay a fervent concern for the world; continuing his exile under the shadow of the Scourge was merely his way of persevering. But for some reason, ever since meeting him, Darion felt he still possessed the ability to unleash the Holy Light.

The once fertile land had become a bizarre, desolate hellscape, Plaguelands. Every time Nathanos set foot on the land surrounding Marius Farm, a complex emotion would linger around him, trying to make him forget what kind of creature he was, even giving him the urge to search for survivors. Whenever this thought arose in his mind, he would berate himself for being foolish, and then he would stop thinking about it.

Several years passed, and as the power of the Forsaken grew stronger—though the world had yet to notice—a glimmer of hope finally appeared in his heart. But it wasn't enough. To expand the power of the Forsaken, Nathanos tried every possible method and made choices beyond his own imagination.

His body was burdened with a curse, and in order to end the curse, he had to use it.

That's why he came here. He heard the neighing of a horse, but it wasn't the hoarse voice of Undead warhorse; it came from a strong, vibrant horse. It appeared behind a small hill, standing beside a wooden house, its head bowed as it nibbled on the still-edible flowers and grasses on the ground.

"This is it!" Nathanos's voice was low, but the horse heard it and became uneasy, whistling an alarm to warn the people living there that a stranger had arrived.

Footsteps were then heard from inside the house. Judging from the sound, the person was a soldier, and their steps were steady.

"An Undead dares to appear here." The man had white hair and beard, hidden under a brown hood, dressed in a mix of leather and chainmail, and held a gleaming warhammer in his hand.

"If there is any peaceful place in the Eastern Plaguelands, it must be where you live in seclusion, Tirion."

Hearing the other person call out his name, Tirion was quite surprised. "You know my name? Who are you?"

"We faced the threat of the Horde together. I witnessed the unjust trial that befell you. I sympathize with you, but I have lost all compassion for the living. The Lich King has transformed me..." The Witherer removed his cloak, "But cannot control me!"

"Nathanos!" Tirion's eyes widened, and he slowly lowered his weapon. "You too..."

"I'm sorry, I couldn't stop Arthas."

"You..." Tirion stared at him warily, after all, he was still an Undead. "Are you here representing Arthas?"

"No, I am here only on my own behalf."

"So you're not a member of the Scourge?" Tirion's tone still held some suspicion, but the hostility had lessened considerably. "That's surprising! So what brings you here to find me?"

"You're as straightforward as ever, Fordring." Nathanos chuckled, but he wanted to get straight to the point. "Have you heard of Nathos? Nathos Abraham?"

The storyline of Nathos, the Plaguebringer, is somewhat complex and will take another chapter to complete.