Silver Arena (IV)

The Horde is lagging behind the Alliance! Garrosh gritted his teeth, wanting to remind the Warchief of this, but Thrall looked around with a childlike curiosity and surprise.

You have disappointed me!

Despite his best efforts to avoid thinking about it, those words lingered in his mind. No matter how many times he heard the proud cheers of "Welcome, Commander!" as he passed other Horde, no matter how long he stared at the Alliance encampment, nothing could drown out that sound. Walking behind the chieftain, he could hear every word Thrall spoke to him, each word accompanied by the sound of his footsteps on the snow.

Perhaps it was because the Great Chief had always been by his side that these words had lingered in his mind.

Thrall decided to bring Garrosh to the Silver Arena. If the Horde leaders were here, then the Alliance would be too, and the two sides would face off, inevitably resulting in sarcastic remarks. What Grommash couldn't understand was, if Thrall didn't want conflict with the Alliance, why bring him along instead of Saurfang? He would definitely humiliate the Alliance, he definitely would!

The chieftain's behavior only made Thrall feel like he was being watched; there was something about him that Thrall didn't trust. His contempt for the Alliance was only one aspect, but what angered him most was that before coming here, Thrall had temporarily handed over command of Warsong Fortress to Saurfang in front of him, explaining that the troops must always receive instructions from their superiors.

This rhetoric would only make Garrosh think it was hypocritical; both he and Thrall knew this was an opportunity. The Lich King wasn't a fool; he wouldn't stand idly by while the Argent Crusade trained Azeroth's most powerful warriors right under his nose. So he would definitely take action, perhaps already underway, and the Horde could take advantage of Arthas's lax vigilance outside Icecrown Glacier to intensify their invasion of Northrend.

This is what a chief should do. This is what he wants to do; only victory on the battlefield can demonstrate the Horde's strength.

Garrosh stared at Thrall's retreating figure, wondering if Thrall knew he was watching him. Perhaps the elements would tell him that he was, after all, a Shaman, and always needed to seek guidance from the elements.

Therefore, some of his visions were not his own Will!

Garrosh spat, walked through the area called the Novice Arena, and then to the entrance leading to the Silver Arena. Someone was already waiting for them.

"Welcome, Chieftain Thrall, and... Commander Grommash."

Garrosh looked at the old man who spoke, the self-proclaimed Ashbringer Paladin. He really did resemble Varok Saurfang!

"Lord Fordring," Thrall said with a smile, addressing Tirion with the same respect. "We look forward to a great match."

"Don't count me in, Thrall," Garrosh said reluctantly.

It was truly incomprehensible why Thrall would treat this old man this way. He had heard the story of Eitrigg; perhaps Tirion Fordring did indeed have more merits than other humans, but he was, after all, still a human...

Garrosh's eyes swept toward the long corridor behind Fordring, where statues of different races lined both sides, but none of them were Orcs.

"I hope you understand the situation, Garrosh," Fordring said. "I heard about the conflicts between the Horde and the Alliance throughout Northrend long before I landed in Howling Fjord. It's fortunate that the Alliance's Fortress of Courage is still standing."

"It will be gone soon!" Grommash grinned.

Thrall glared at him fiercely. "Enough, Garrosh."

Tirion sighed and said coldly, "If we continue arguing like this, we can forget about defeating the Scourge."

"Nonsense." Garrosh stepped forward; if Thrall hadn't blocked his way, he might have already grabbed Tirion by the neck. "The Horde can easily kill that Undead; we don't need you, nor do we need that arrogant King."

"Garrosh, that's enough!" Thrall shouted at him in a commanding tone this time.

Just then, Fordring's somewhat hoarse voice rang out, stopping the two from arguing. "Here I am, men. I trust you won't do anything reckless." He deliberately spread his hands, and Thrall noticed that fully armed Argent Crusade Warrior stood on either side of him.

"I apologize for his Recklessness. I promise it won't happen again."

Tirion nodded and waved for his guest to follow.

"Pah!" Grommash spat on the ground in mockery.

Veronalara had never been to the territory of the Argent Crusade, which made her more uncomfortable than staying in Alterac, far from the battlefield against the Scourge. Nathanos always gave her strange and awkward tasks. The Forsaken's ranks had disbanded, and in fact, she didn't remember how many people had come; she had only reminded the participants to be careful, and then she appeared in a tavern run by Taunka.

The tavern was dark, shabby, and filthy, filled with an unpleasant odor. But those who need alcohol often don't care about the environment. The Dark Ranger noticed some people secretly mocking her, wondering if her sip of alcohol would leak out from the holes in her clothes.

Regardless, the scene was certainly comical, until yet another person appeared. She stopped at the tavern entrance, her slender figure blocking the sunlight streaming in. The patrons in the lobby were raising their glasses in a toast. They all looked up at the newcomer.

Veronalara glanced over. She sensed it was an Elf. At first, she didn't pay much attention, but then, coincidentally, the person sat down beside her. Only then did she get a clear look at their appearance.

She was wrong, she regretted it, and she cared a lot about who the other person was.

This Elf had pale golden hair, the same color as the setting sun, and spotless white skin. Although she wasn't on a battlefield, she was still wearing a simple suit of armor.

Trouble is brewing!

Veronalara said to herself.

The Taunka owner who ran the tavern approached the Elf, about to ask what she needed, when she tossed him a bag of gold coins. "Make sure her glass isn't empty."

Veronalara's heart skipped a beat; it seemed she couldn't leave.

"Sylvanas, the Regent's sister from Silvermoon City! Are you here to sweep my grave? The urine in the chamber pot tastes better than the wine sold here. It is cheap, though, and quite potent. I can't get drunk, but you might want to try it."

Sylvanas smiled. Veronalara didn't like her at all.

"There is no Regent's sister here, only Ranger-General of the Silver Covenant." The Female Elf slapped Veronalara hard on the back, almost making the Dark Ranger choke on his drink.

"I heard that you led a group of Quel'dorei who were unwilling to join the Horde to Theramore. Congratulations, you can finally openly outwit your sister. But I must say, your identity seems rather out of place here."

Sylvanas's eyes were fixed on Veronalara. "No way, I've been to worse places," the Ranger-General replied, narrowing his eyes. The tavern owner had already refilled the Dark Ranger's drink.

"Maybe, perhaps," Veronalara said, "But why aren't you with Ms. Proudmoore?"

"The smell of the corpse helped me temporarily sober up from the smell of the seawater."

The atmosphere had become quite tense. Veronalara seemed taken aback at first, but she quickly burst into laughter.

"It seems your taste is so unique it's hard to compliment. I heard the reason you and Alleria are like this is because of a man?"

Sylvanas was slightly surprised by such a blatant insult. But Veronalara had already made a grave mistake; she shouldn't have brought the topic up.

"You're right, but not entirely," Sylvanas said. "I have other reasons for leaving Quel'Thalas, and they're related to Nathanos."

Veronalara's pale face froze, her hand holding a wine glass, water droplets falling onto the table.

"If you're smitten, you might want to visit Marius Farm. It's just a pile of ruins now, but perhaps Nathanos's bones are still there," Veronalara said, recovering from her shock. "You need to be careful; the Undead still roam there." Then she lowered her head and went back to drinking.

"Absolutely," Sylvanas agreed. "Has the Witherer arrived?" she suddenly asked.

Once again, Veronalara felt the wine in her throat becoming difficult to swallow. The Forsaken's publicly acknowledged leader was the Witherer, but no one knew his true identity. Was Sylvanas here to gather information?

"No, Master isn't here," Veronalara replied. Nathanos's identity was special and must not be exposed. The Dark Ranger wasn't worried about how the outside world would treat Nathanos, but rather how Nathanos would treat her. "If you want to speak with my leader, then unfortunately, he's not here."

Sylvanas let out a long sigh, seemingly somewhat disappointed. "Really? Nathanos didn't come?"

"Yes," Veronalara said, for a moment without even doubting that Sylvanas's question itself was amiss. "Wait, what did you just say?"

"I said Nathanos didn't come, and you said yes."

The Dark Ranger frowned. "What do you mean? That person has been dead for many years."

"You've been dead for many years too."

"That's not right. Perhaps I should say he's been laid to rest."

Do you know what happened to Hoxbyr?

Seeing the Dark Ranger suddenly freeze in surprise, Sylvanas knew exactly what she was about to say. Veronalara's eyes trembled violently. It was too late; by the time she realized the situation was dire, it was already too late.

The unfortunate Forsaken prepared to leap to her feet and run towards the inn's entrance. The ice that burst open on the floor caught her feet, pinning her firmly to her seat. The sound of the Freezing Trap being triggered was drowned out by the shouts of the other drinkers. At that moment, a short dagger pressed against her left abdomen.

"You haven't finished your drink yet, sister," Sylvanas said with a smile to Veronalara. "So we haven't finished our conversation yet."

"What do you want to do?" Veronalara felt she could raise her voice to warn the patrolling Argent Crusade soldiers. But doing so would mean her meeting with Sylvanas would no longer be a secret. Soon, rumors would circulate throughout the Silver Arena that a dispute had taken place between the leader of the Argent Dawn and the commander of the Forsaken Dark Ranger. Nathanos would know all about it.

"I only need you to answer one question." Sylvanas's voice suddenly turned cold, coiling around Veronalara like a snake. "Your master... is he Nathanos?"

She found out!

Veronalara's eyes widened, and she said in a trembling voice, "No... no."

Sylvanas chuckled, sheathed the dagger she had been holding against Veronalara, and said to her in a victorious tone, "You shouldn't have hesitated."