Red

"Broxigar has a good brother," Nathanos remarked, though he was somewhat displeased that the intelligence report included Hawkins' personal assessment. The Witherer pondered that he should remind Belmont to ensure his men took the intelligence reports seriously and ensured their legitimacy.

After reading Silithus's report, Nathanos breathed a sigh of relief. The Qiraji problem was solved, and now he could focus on the Forsaken. Sure enough, the next intelligence report was about the progress in Veronalara.

The situation doesn't seem good...

The Dark Ranger launched several attacks on Shadowfang Keep, only managing to capture the Pyrewood Village of Shadowfang Keep surrounding it, while all assaults on the fortress itself ended in failure. Meanwhile, fear of Worgen spread among the Forsaken army. Nathanos had never seen Worgen, and after Meryl's warning, he knew the chances of success were slim, but Shadowfang Keep was indeed the most suitable stronghold for the Forsaken in the Eastern Kingdoms.

"Has Meryl still not found the Moon God Scythe?" Nathanos murmured. According to the mage, the Moon God Scythe was last seen in Duskwood in the Eastern Kingdoms; it was a weapon used against Worgen. For convenience, Nathanos had given Atiesh to Meryl, instructing him to teleport directly back to Karazhan. Twisted Corridors wasn't far from Duskwood; Meryl should have found the artifact long ago, unless something unexpected had happened—after all, a month had already passed.

The Witherer began to worry, not about Meryl, nor about the battle for Shadowfang Keep, but about Silverpine Forest, which was, after all, Lordaeron territory, a complex place where any faction, even the Argent Dawn, could potentially pose a threat to Veronalara. If the stalemate continued there for too long, it might attract the attention of others.

Retreat? Nathanos thought to himself, but quickly dismissed the idea. Retreat was not an option. This was the only battle he had fought outside the main battlefield. If he were to send his soldiers back to the Wailing Caverns after one or two setbacks, it would severely damage morale and undermine the confidence of Veronalara and Tatsel.

This was not in the best interest of the Forsaken. The Witherer closed his eyes and set aside the intelligence. There was nothing Nathanos could do now but offer support and trust.

The third intelligence came from Theramore: Anduin been rescued, but the Black Dragon Princess's whereabouts were unknown. The chaos within the Alliance had ended.

"Belmont thinks this is bad news?" Nathanos asked. In the Shadowblade leader's view, the end of the chaos in Stormwind City wasn't beneficial to the Forsaken. But what about external threats? The Witherer sneered. The Defias Brotherhood hadn't been eradicated, Duskwood was fraught with danger, and in Blackrock Mountain on the Burning Steppes, although Rend Blackhand's "Horde" had been defeated, including his master, the black dragon Nefarian, the remaining forces still threatened the safety of Lakeshire Redridge Mountains. Even if Varian returned to the throne, it would take him a long time to restore order in Stormwind City. Meanwhile, the other Alliance forces— the Dwarf and Gnome— were busy dealing with the Troggs and Leper Gnomes, and the Night Elf and the Horde had just emerged from the Silithus War and desperately needed rest, unable to focus on other threats.

Now is the best time for the Forsaken.

The fourth intelligence report concerned the Eastern Plaguelands. Nathanos's hand trembled slightly. Taelan had died before his Tirion Fordring, and Isilien had been killed...

"May your son's soul rest in peace, Fordring." Nathanos sighed silently, thinking that Tirion must have seen his son, and that he must have gained Taelan's approval. But when would he be like Tirion?

Nathanos frowned upon seeing the fifth intelligence report, then flared with rage. It was a report about the Blood Elf. He had planted spies in many places, but Quel'Thalas was the only place without his informants—not because infiltration was difficult, but because he personally refused to.

"What's going on?" Nathanos stood up. "Why is there intelligence about them?" he asked, but quickly realized something was wrong. The intelligence indicated that the location was not Quel'Thalas, but Orgrimmar.

The Witherer quickly realized something; he unfolded the parchment and read it word by word:

Ambassador Kremal from the Elven Kingdom was invited by Chieftain Thrall. The two talked for a whole day in the Chieftain's Compound in the Valley of Wisdom, after which Kremal was taken to the Spirit Valley to rest.

Warchief Thrall, Vol'jin, and Tauren Chieftain Cairne seem to have reached a consensus to accept the Blood Elf's request to join the Horde, and will announce this news soon!

These two short paragraphs nearly made Nathanos tear the paper in his hand to shreds, but he suppressed the inexplicable urge and showed no displeasure whatsoever. He simply laughed, laughing heartily as he sat back in his armchair, feeling utterly powerless. He had no tears, unable to reveal his sorrow; his trembling lips prevented him from speaking. The rise and fall of his chest and his regular, rapid breathing made him appear as if he were breathing.

Anger is bound by a frozen body, unable to be released, and with no way to be released.

No wonder Belmont came in timidly; if anyone were in front of him right now, Nathanos would definitely use him as a target and a slicing board.

The Witherer tilted his head back, his body instantly relaxing. He closed his eyes, wanting to fall asleep, but the dead do not sleep. However, when his emotions dominated everything, he could no longer feel his body and fell into the deepest meditation. He wanted his soul to rest for a moment, just a moment.

"Why, Alleria? Why..."

"Why!" Sylvanas, in a fit of rage, grabbed something and threw it at Alleria. It was an exquisitely crafted patterned vase that hit the Regent's left shoulder and elbow.

"Elder sister!"

"Vareesa," Alleria stopped her sister and said calmly, "Let me speak with her alone." She looked at Sylvanas, whose composure only fueled the enraged Female Elf, meaning the Blood Elf's decision to join the Horde was irreversible.

After Vareesa left, Alleria spoke up, "I'm sorry for keeping this from you, Sylvanas. But I hope..."

"I don't care what you want, I just want to know why, why!" Sylvanas roared, her voice carrying all the way to the outside of the Sunstrider Court. The Spellbreaker on guard broke out in a cold sweat, especially when they saw the Ranger-General emerge from inside, his face pale.

"We need outside help, Quel'Thalas is not getting any..."

"To hell with your explanation!" Sylvanas interrupted Alleria. The Regent was utterly astonished. She saw Sylvanas staring at her through gritted teeth, tears streaming down her face. In the past, when she and her sister had disagreements, they would at most have a big argument, and then it would be over. But now, Sylvanas's eyes held something Alleria had never imagined—hatred.

"Inside the Horde ..." Sylvanas glared at Alleria, her eyes taut as if she wanted to crush her. Scratches were left on the table, and splinters cut her fingers. Alleria felt a pang of heartache, but nothing compared to the question her sister was about to ask—a question Alleria could never answer, a question she dared not even think about. "Inside the Horde ... there are Orcs." Sylvanas's hand tightened suddenly, the wooden table cracking, reminding Alleria of the Orcs invasion of Quel'Thalas, the Red Dragon dragonflight burning the forest, and the tragic deaths of her parents.

"And the Troll!" Visible cracks had already appeared on the wooden table, but Sylvanas continued to exert force, the cracks gradually spreading to the edges of the table, and also spreading into the deepest prison of hatred in Alleria's heart, where the ancient hatred of the High Elf bloodline was imprisoned. The Regent remembered the cruelty of the Forest Troll, and those brethren sacrificed to the Troll gods.

"You're actually willing to associate with them now."

"They're different!" Alleria roared, furious. She didn't want Sylvanas's words and actions to influence her, but her sister had already succeeded. "The Orcs of today value honor, have long since regained their reason, and are no longer affected by Demon Blood. The Darkspear Troll don't have cannibalistic tendencies, nor do they commit the heinous act of human sacrifice. They understand humanity better Amani Troll!"

"Reason, humanity?" Sylvanas countered, having been waiting for Alleria to utter those two words. A slow, sinister smile crept across the Female Elf's lips, filled with an eeriness and chilling dread. Her eyes were vacant as she approached Alleria and whispered in her ear, in the softest yet most terrifying voice, "You can accept those beasts, why? Why can't you accept him?"

Alleria blinked, stunned by the question posed by Sylvanas. How could she answer? How else could she answer? Alleria realized she had never thought of this question before, but Sylvanas had, Vareesa had, and Windrunner had warned her before: Sylvanas was the biggest obstacle.

The Regent stared silently at Sylvanas, who had lost her initial composure, and every word her sister spoke next felt like thorns lashing at her.

"Have you thought about how Belorell will feel when he grows up? What will you do when he asks you this question?"

"You disgust me, Alleria. You claim to be thinking of the people, but you've forgotten who you were."...

Sylvanas spoke at length, then slowly backed away, finally getting a clear look at Alleria and memorizing her image. "Not everyone will support you; some will stand up and condemn you, but I will not let you crush them all. I will lead them away; I will leave this place of injustice. You are no longer my sister, and I am no longer a member of the Windrunner family. My name is now Sylvanas." She turned and angrily left, but after a few steps, she turned back to scrutinize Alleria's attire. The once vibrant and agile Ranger's clothing had been replaced by colors symbolizing royalty.

That was a color unfamiliar to Sylvanas, and that person now looked just as unfamiliar.

"I hate red!"

She's gone! Alleria couldn't believe it; she stared blankly in the direction Sylvanas had disappeared. And there was that wooden table, the cracks on it clear and obvious. Just a hair's breadth away; one more touch, and the table would have collapsed.

You can accept those beasts. Why, why can't you accept him?

"Why?" Alleria stared at the crack. "Why?"

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