Silver Arena (II)

Someone once asked me what I hate most, and my answer was that I hate it most when someone whispers in my head, because the person whispering is always trying to control my actions.

Besides myself...

At the Silver Arena, they traversed the walls, climbed the towers, and toured the blacksmiths and tanneries. Back in their large tent for rest, Sylvanas spent a long time mentally mapping the arena. This mental map detailed all the known strongholds and Alliance positions, both friendly and enemy.

Jaina noticed that Sylvanas was staring intently at a Hawkstrider tied to a pen.

"Perhaps Theramore should withdraw from this competition," the mage suddenly said. "Without competition, there will be fewer conflicts."

"Withdrawing from the competition will only embolden our enemies," Sylvanas replied. "They'll just think you're weak." She gestured to another large tent opposite, the Horde's territory, though it was empty at the moment. "I heard the Warchief will be coming too," she said, looking at Jaina. "Hopefully he can keep his men in line."

Proudmoore's heart suddenly tightened. She realized that she was the only one in the entire Silver Arena who trusted Thrall, which meant that when the Alliance and the Horde clashed, she would be unable to control herself and speak up for the other side.

"It seems that the participants are not only from the Alliance and the Horde."

Between the Alliance and the Horde lies a large area, which Tirion Fordring cleverly uses as a buffer zone. Besides dummies, the buffer zone also includes riding arenas. Those training here are the Argent Crusade and the Knights of the Ebon Blade, as well as...

To Jaina's surprise, she saw there a hunched, cracked Undead. He was trying to communicate with a Death Knight; both being dead, they were having a pleasant conversation.

"The Forsaken have arrived too?"

They shouldn't have come! Fordring trusted them too much! On the first day, when Varian asked Kolfax, who was hosting them, who would be participating in the tournament, he was told that the Forsaken were among them. The King nearly went berserk on the spot and uttered the words above.

"I heard they've conquered Naxxramas." Sylvanas took a deep breath. "To do that shows they're well-trained and that they're not just small fry when they're together. They're more powerful than people know."

"Varian says they have captured Alterac."

"Our King also said he would destroy them," the Female Elf joked. "Perhaps we should keep an eye on him, otherwise the Alliance will be the one to start the conflict."

"Varian will only demand that the Alliance's warriors win games," Jaina said. "At least on occasions like this, the Alliance cannot lose."

"What good would winning do?"

In Sylvanas's eyes, victories in the arena were utterly insignificant. The competition would only exacerbate the conflict between the Alliance and the Horde. She understood Tirion's intentions; the Ashbringer wanted to foster cooperation between the two sides, as the attack on Icecrown Citadel required the Alliance strength of Horde. But Tirion forgot that not everyone is Paladin, not everyone is Eitrigg. Some are blinded by hatred, while others have completely forgotten it. Sylvanas disliked both. Looking back, perhaps being there was a mistake, or perhaps Jaina was right; Theramore shouldn't have been involved.

"...above!"

The Witherer one was in a daze for a moment, stood there for a few seconds, and then suddenly asked Belmont, "What did you just say?"

The leader of the Shadowblade blinked. He hadn't spoken, remaining silently by his master's side, waiting for him to finish his meditation. "I didn't say anything, Master."

Nathanos nodded. He knew Belmont was right, because he had just realized that the voice wasn't from Belmont, nor from Meryl or the Lich King, but from... himself.

A voice that sounded exactly like his was speaking to him. It wasn't spontaneous; it was more like a whisper.

He hated the whispers, his mind screaming: Stop! Get out of here!

"Is there a problem, Master?"

"Nothing!" Nathanos said. "Are our warriors ready?"

"They have already assembled at the port and are awaiting your inspection." Belmont laughed. "I'll take you to see them now."

Moa'ki Harbor, controlled by the Tuskarr, is the only port in Dragonblight that leads directly to the Silver Arena. These honest and simple natives will help you by providing them with supplies or by helping them eliminate invading Vrykul. A giant sea turtle will carry those who wish to sail to their destination.

"All rookies?" The Witherer asked again. All his followers were in an uproar after the Forsaken announced his participation in the Silver Tournament, seeing it as an opportunity to demonstrate his power.

Indeed, but this opportunity does not belong to the Forsaken's high command. According to the rules of the Argent Crusade, faction leaders cannot participate in the competition. Secondly, it is Nathanos's own order that all commanders, such as Rassuvios, who enjoyed a reputation in their respective kingdoms during their lifetimes, cannot participate.

So, to avoid trouble, they simply sent Forsaken Newcomers to participate.

"They are all elites, Master." Belmont led Nathanos to the harbor. Many Forsaken had already gathered there, and as they saw the Witherer and Belmont approaching, they reminded each other and stood in neat rows on both sides of the harbor.

Nathanos stopped in front of the first person; he recognized him as a Deathstalker.

"May I have your name?"

"Viseri, Master," the Deathstalker replied.

"Deathstalker are lurking blades, but this time you will face the challenge head-on. In the arena, your opponents will know of your existence. Tell me, Viseri, what makes you think you can win?"

The Deathstalker wore a mask, but anyone looking directly at him could see he was smiling. "Once the tournament begins, everyone will witness the Forsaken's victory. That's an unchangeable fact."

Everyone else laughed, Nathanos nodded in satisfaction. He took a few more steps forward and stopped in front of a mage in robes. To best demonstrate the Forsaken's commitment to the tournament, the participants were all equipped with the finest gear.

"No one will protect you in the arena, mage. Tell me your name, and what do you intend to do?"

The Forsaken mage appeared very serious, and instead of being nervous in the face of Nathanos, he was remarkably composed. "My name is Keps, Master. I belong to Lord Meryl's Mage District, and I am his apprentice. I believe my mentor's knowledge alone is sufficient to handle my opponent."

Meryl's students were just like him.

Nathanos smiled. "Control your power well." He patted the other man on the shoulder, then walked the rest of the way. He turned around and said loudly, "I believe that each of you will obey my orders, but unlike the Scourge, you still have your own consciousness, so you will question the leader's decisions." The Witherer looked at the others, including Belmont, who were unclear about the purpose of the Silver Tournament.

"A massive attack mobilizing everyone will only result in avoidable heavy casualties. And every corpse will become the Lich King's next Warrior." Nathanos recalled the image of Arthas slaughtering the soldiers of Lordaeron, turning all the corpses into Undead. Fordring knew this, which was why he organized the tournament. "Every fallen soldier will become an enemy and rise again, and then there will be no power left to fight the Lich King."

These words resonated with some people.

"The purpose of this tournament is to build a small, elite force to deliver a fatal blow to the enemy. That is the way to victory." Nathanos paused briefly, giving the Forsaken time to understand his words. "In the Silver Arena, you will be tested. You must use your combat prowess to confront the most ferocious and dangerous forces in Northrend. Your courage, strength, and wit will be under the spotlight, and their gaze will witness who will become the strongest warrior in Azeroth. The victor will be the vanguard in the attack on Icecrown Citadel!"

The Forsaken cheered. Clearly, they all wanted a spot on the vanguard.

"The ship will be here soon, make the final preparations!"

Nathanos finished his sermon and beckoned Belmont over.

Who is leading them?

"It was Veronalara, Master. The Dark Ranger applied, and you approved it."

"Tell her to make sure these people are safe."

Belmont nodded and withdrew. Just then, the Tuskarr who managed the docks approached, gesturing strangely. In Azeroth, language barriers can make everything difficult.

"I can speak your language!"

The Tuskarr was so frightened that he almost fell into the sea, but the handrail saved him.

"This is quite unexpected." The race with long, sharp teeth wiped the sweat from his brow. "But things will be easier now. I've called your people; they should all be here by now." He looked down at the logbook in his hand, which recorded the number of people on each voyage.

"Can your sea turtles withstand these people?"

The Tuskarr immediately changed his expression and let out an angry howl, "Ten more wouldn't be a problem."

A few gold coins were tossed onto the booklet. "Don't mind bringing one more, okay?"

"You should know this is against the rules." The Tuskarr muttered, tempted by the gold coins, but his hands hesitated. "The Argent Crusade requires everyone going to the arena to register and report in advance, and your numbers have already been limited."

"The rules themselves are flawed." Nathanos tossed over two more gold coins. To avoid putting the Tuskarr in a difficult position, he pointed to a pile of supplies that were to be transported to Icecrown Glacier and said, "Make room for me in one box."