Silver Arena (VII)

Cheers erupted once more in the arena. Tirion sat in the center of the stands, flanked by members of the Horde and the Alliance. Their leaders were present today.

It's quite remarkable that the leaders of Azeroth can take time out of the middle of a war to watch a horse-riding tournament.

Tirion ignored the sarcasm in Nathanos's words. King Wrynn didn't really care whether the league itself was held or not, but he knew the importance of unity when facing the Scourge; and Thrall had always shared his thoughts. Only Garrosh was as the Witherer had described.

The Highlord was recalling his conversation with the Forsaken when he noticed the Warsong Expeditionary Force Commander staring directly at him, and in his eyes, the Orcs's face was as emotionless as a mask.

"Tirion, I'm not here to watch beasts slaughter each other," the King of Stormwind's unnatural voice sounded from his left. Fordring didn't respond immediately; he was still pondering Nathanos's words:

We need a real competition, where the two sides appear to be mortal enemies to outsiders, but the outcome can only be one side defeating the other, not eliminating them.

The unpleasant pain temporarily left Tirion's mind; he needed to make the Alliance and the Horde see the importance of cooperation.

"There are no Alliance vs. Horde matches today," the Paladin said. "Today's matches are between the Argent Crusade and the Forsaken!"

This sudden news caused an uproar in the audience. The conflict had just broken out in the arena yesterday, and both the Alliance and the Horde were eager to seek revenge.

Ignoring the objections from the crowd, Tirion raised his hand, and the referee standing in the arena announced that the participants should enter.

The gates were pushed open, and the two contestants entered the arena simultaneously. To everyone's surprise, they were no longer on horseback, nor carrying shields and spears, but rather carrying their own weapons and entering on foot. Their white and dark blue battle robes formed a striking contrast.

Standing next to Jaina Proudmoore, Sylvanas was surprised to find that there were Undead among the members of the Argent Crusade. Although she had heard rumors that Undead had joined the Argent Dawn long ago, it was generally considered to be just a rumor.

The crowd in the stands began to whisper among themselves.

Tirion Fordring watched as the people below had taken their designated positions.

I will not go to those who remind me. The Forsaken need redemption, not killing, and I firmly believe that their minds will help them control their weapons. No matter how much the living reject them, they can surely retain their purest selves amidst insults and scorn.

After parting ways with the Witherer, Tirion would occasionally think about their conversation, and even he wondered if the Forsaken were really as their leader had said.

The referee, confirming that Forsaken and the Argent Crusade were ready, loudly announced, "The match begins!"

Nathanos paused for a moment to look around the arena. He saw the merchant stalls below, the wooden figures neatly arranged around the training ground, the candidates, warriors, and champions representing their respective factions dining together between battles, and the musicians playing music.

The earlier commotion seemed to have subsided, replaced by the relatively peaceful sounds of vendors hawking their wares and flags fluttering in the wind. However, an even stronger sense of unease stirred within Nathanos.

Perhaps it was the match involving the Forsaken that made him nervous. He told himself it was just a collaboration, a way for the Alliance and the Horde to see that the warriors of the Argent Crusade could stand shoulder to shoulder with the Undead, and that in battle against the Forsaken, they could distinguish each other as opponents, not enemies. Fordring hoped this match would serve as a model for future matches.

"I hope it will succeed," Nathanos murmured. Suddenly, his face twitched, and he felt a sharp pain in his brain, a splitting headache.

"The arena, up there!"

The Witherer lay on the snow, groaning laboredly. It took a long time for its pain to subside.

"What... is going on?" Nathanos propped himself up, and no matter what had happened, his eyes immediately turned to the arena above where the Forsaken were located.

The battle must have been fierce, the deafening roars saying it all. But the Witherer no longer cared who would win; instead, as the whisper had instructed, he stared intently at the arena above.

Something must be wrong...

The Witherer saw a pair of black wings inadvertently extend from the stone wall outside the arena, beneath a banner of the Argent Crusade. It was undoubtedly an Undead Gryphon, landing in a blind spot above the arena, almost impossible to spot.

Nathanos was certain that it wasn't a Forsaken Gryphon, and Tirion had stipulated that no flying mounts should appear above the arena to avoid interfering with the participants.

Perhaps the Knights of the Ebon Blade? No, Darion Mograine is the only leader among the many factions to refuse to participate in the Silver Tournament. The Death Knight haven't even established an encampment around the arena.

"It's the Scourge!"

The Witherer gritted his teeth. He didn't raise a warning, because it was still unclear how many of the Lich King's minions had infiltrated this place.

Looking around, Nathanos spotted the granaries used by the Argent Crusade for storing food. The buildings were tall and positioned at a suitable distance, perfect for firing from. The Witherer channeled his kinetic energy into black mist and ascended to the top of the granary. From his perspective, he could clearly see an Undead Death Knight behind the Gryphon, carrying a heavy sword and poised to strike.

"No matter who you are, you've come to the wrong place."

Nathanos drew his bow from his back, and as he charged, a ring of black energy appeared on his arm, slowly converging at the arrowhead. The skill was called Shadowflame Shot (described in the game as dealing shadow damage to enemies in a straight line in front of the caster), and although he hadn't used it much, its power was enough to send some overconfident fools to hell...

The match is over, with the Argent Crusade emerging victorious because the Forsaken had no members who could provide healing, and the use of medicine was prohibited during the match.

But the audience didn't cheer when the game ended; they just looked at each other blankly.

No one died; those knocked down saluted their opponents and then voluntarily left. The Undead and the living cooperated effectively. Most importantly, the process was thrilling and completely genuine.

Tirion was overjoyed; this was the kind of match he wanted. He noticed a boy and his merchant father jumping for joy at the prospect of watching the game.

The author posted the wrong title for the previous chapter.