Lost Hope

The Alliance and Horde have deployed a large number of war machines at Icecrown Citadel. Are they planning to use those machines against the Scourge? However, this is unlikely to defeat them.

A catapult might eliminate hundreds... even thousands of enemies, but it cannot bring victory. For every enemy you kill, more will rise from the dust to take its place.

They didn't yet understand the kind of enemy they faced. They thought themselves powerful enough to sweep away the Undead and easily defeat them with their war machines. But the force that created these Undead was far more powerful, something I know all too well; compared to it, the power of the Alliance and the Horde was utterly insignificant.

I've seen Arthas do this before, in an old military camp north of the Valley of Lost Hope in Icecrown Glacier, the last place the Northrend Alliance Expedition stayed...

Weeks passed, and time was no longer measured by the number of sunrises, but by the total number of snowfalls. Although Luke Valenfoss was very frugal with his rations, the jerky he brought from Lordaeron didn't last long. Traps laid in this icy wasteland occasionally succeeded, but the deeper they ventured, the fewer prey they caught.

Fortunately, drinking water wasn't a problem. All around were icy snowmelt and knee-deep white ice shards. More than once, the camp was besieged by sudden blizzards, forcing them to huddle in their tents under their blankets, waiting for the storm to pass. At those times, Valenfoss could only pray that he would survive.

The harsh, icy environment was becoming increasingly torturous. His senses were dulling, and several times he tried to get out of the tent, but he was too weak to stand. Food was running out, and no marmots were foolish enough to step into his trap. The only clue he had of any living creature nearby was the footprints left by the camp's soldiers and the terrifying howls of wolves echoing in the distance in the dead of night. They began chewing on grass and bark to soothe their burning stomachs, often resulting in indigestion.

The weather was capricious. A heavy snowfall had just passed, and soon hail began to fall, followed by an even fiercer blizzard. Valenfoss began to feel disheartened. He had no idea what would happen next, nor whether Farek and Saurfang, who had left, would be able to find the missing Prince. He only knew that if they didn't return soon, those left behind would eventually freeze to death in this cold wasteland.

"Valenforth?"

His tent was pushed open by a familiar person, followed by a cold wind and snow.

"I can hear you even outside the tent, Marvin." Valenforth reluctantly sat up from the covers. His armor was still on, creaking loudly.

Marvin didn't say much, but pulled him out of the tent and lit a warm campfire for him. However, just as Valenfors reached out to warm his hands, the flames were instantly extinguished by the cold wind. Valenfors couldn't help but complain and scold him a few more times. Without a fire, Marvin could only hand him a thick, warm coat.

"This is terrible," Valenfoss said, his eyes fixed on the direction where Farek and Saurfang had disappeared. "Why are we still here? Why did the Prince leave us?"

"Prince Arthas has his own duties, and he may return soon, along with Farek and Saurfang."

These words came from Marvin's mouth time and time again. Valenforth didn't want to offend the Prince's lieutenant, especially since he was a rank lower. Many times he wanted to speak his true feelings, believing that Marvin and the other soldiers shared the same thought: to abandon the Prince and leave alone.

They dared not speak out, for it would be a betrayal. But if someone did speak out, they would surely gain the support of others. Survival was more important than anything else, and this was not considered betrayal, but rather a last resort.

"We... are..."

"The Prince has returned!"

The entire camp erupted in cheers. Valenfort and Marvin stood up simultaneously. The adjutant, still possessing strength, had already run over, but Valenfort felt his legs go weak. He struggled to take one step forward, desperately hoping to follow with a second, then a third, a fourth... but his body slumped forward uncontrollably. His Will desperately tried to lift his weary, frozen body, but it was cruelly rejected. The snow that touched his cheek was no longer so cold, but rather... warm and soft.

He saw three black figures emerge from the shadows in the distance. Valenfoss had never seen such attire before; they were covered from head to toe in thick fur, looking incredibly warm. Even so, it couldn't compare to the intense warmth Valenfoss felt. Their faces were obscured by fur hoods, but their chins were vaguely visible, and their figures unmistakably revealed human features. But everyone recognized the sword wielded by the one in front—it was the Rune Sword that had defeated Mal'Ganis.

Valenfoss was angry with himself. He should have stood tall and proud before the Prince like Marvin, instead of collapsing to the ground from hunger. He worried that he wouldn't be able to hold on much longer and complete the Prince's next orders.

"Your Prince," Marvin greeted warmly, his voice a little hoarse.

"I'm glad you're still holding the camp. You are the most loyal soldiers of Lordaeron, and the most loyal to me," Arthas said. His voice was smoother and more melodious than Marvin's, as if it were completely unaffected by the cold air.

"We have been waiting for you, Prince Highness. You disappeared at first, then Farek went to look for you, and then he disappeared too, and then Saurfang decided to go looking for you. Thanks to the Holy Light... you have all returned safe and sound."

The other soldiers were just as happy as Marvin.

"I'm sorry to have worried you, Marvin." Arthas took a step closer to him, and the lieutenant felt the air grow even colder. "What I want to know is, will you continue to follow me?"

"Of course, Prince. We will always..." Marvin's pupils widened in shock and pain, a groan escaping his lips. When the Prince brought Frostmourne back, Marvin had sensed the sword must be incredibly cold, but he hadn't imagined it would be this cold, especially when it pierced his own body...

In those few minutes, Valenfoss witnessed two extremes: the once-blonde-haired Prince was now white-haired, and the future king of Lordaeron, who had vowed to protect his people, was slaughtering his fellow citizens who had fought alongside him in Northrend with two other subordinates...

"I'm sorry to disappoint you," Arthas said as he approached Valenfoss. Frostmourne struck, and yet another soul fell.

With a sigh, Valenfoss closed his eyes, and then knew nothing more.

"Enough!"

The image froze at that moment.

"I've seen enough!" Nathanos, his face ashen, walked toward the illusions of Arthas and Valenfoss, and with a wave of his hand, the two vanished without a trace. The neatly erected tents were either yellowed and brittle, or torn to shreds by the wind and snow; the only clearly identifiable object was a cart half-buried in the snow.

"You see," the ghostly boy approached. "The Prince's true power doesn't lie in the vast army he controls...that's easy to do. What's truly terrifying is his ability to abandon his men at any time, even those who once fought alongside him... The Prince's true power lies in his ruthlessness." The boy's eyes were fixed on Nathanos. The Witherer's fists clenched, angered by his inability to refute these words, for he had experienced Arthas's betrayal many times, both in Hearthglen and Quel'Thalas.

"Do you understand now? Sending your people to deal with the Lich King will only send him more soldiers. I don't expect you to understand. The next stop is the Sindragosa's Fall. Hopefully, we'll be able to complete this journey by the time Arthas comes knocking on our door."