The Hidden Past

Stonetalon Mountains

Nathos, the leader of the Alchemist Association, hasn't walked in the sunlight for a long time. He now immerses himself in his research on potions every day, rarely even talking to anyone, let alone participating in any operations. Peaceful days are not a time for the dead to rest.

The Forsaken face new enemies every day, and those who do nothing are digging their own graves. We have no right to stop.

These words were spoken by the Witherer before they went to the Eastern Kingdoms, and they also served as a small comfort to the Forsaken when they were weary of their endless work.

Nathos closed his eyes and meditated for a while. When he opened them, he saw several Terror Guard carrying a stretcher toward him. "How is it?" he asked.

The wrinkles on the soldier's face became more pronounced. "It's bad," the leader said, glancing at what was covered by linen on the stretcher. "Only half a face is recognizable, but he has this on him."

The apothecary leader accepted the insignia from the soldier. He didn't know how the Horde's military ranks were divided, but his intuition told him that the insignia was exquisitely crafted and could only be worn by people of high status.

"That must be him, King Kargath, the Horde commander of the Stonetalon Mountains." Nathos walked to the stretcher and lifted the covering. The Terror Guard was right; Kargath was no longer human. "I heard he was executed by his own Great Chief, thrown off a high mountain."

"He deserved to die!" the Terror Guard said. "His bomb killed an entire village. Only the Scourge would commit such a despicable act."

The apothecary remained silent for a moment, pondering his next move. The Forsaken had been closely watching the battle in Stoneclaw Mountain; the Horde's massive deployment of troops there truly made them feel threatened.

"The Witherer will be happy to hear of the Horde's withdrawal," Nathos nodded. "But we can still surprise them. Quickly take Kargath's body back. We need to extract his soul and gather intelligence from within the Horde."

Feralas

Meryl stood atop the high walls of Dire Maul, gazing at the Night Elf's Feathermoon Stronghold. The mage was worried that the Sentinels might attack at any moment, which was why he had lingered in Feralas. Despite Ohan's presence, a few Stonemaul Ogre were no match for the Night Elf's arrows, and the Witherer strictly Forsaken and Horde the Alliance or the Horde.

"You can go to your master," the female Orcs wearing a wolfskin hood said as she approached him. "I can guard this place as long as Shandris doesn't order the burning of Dire Maul. Unfortunately, the Night Elf are a race that loves the forest."

"Even Nathanos wouldn't do that!" The mage tapped his staff. This clearly surprised the Orcs woman.

"Why? This is the best way to breach Dire Maul."

"Fire will destroy everything. What use is a city if you don't have resources?" Meryl shook his head. "Ohan, perhaps it is because you don't consider the consequences of your decisions that Nathanos sent me to take you with him."

"Ha! I think the master did this because he thought you were too long-winded," the Ogre Sword joked.

After a moment of silence, Meryl changed the subject, "When do you think the Forsaken will be able to settle in Dire Maul?"

"Before the master gives the order."

The simple reply, however, proved the absolute loyalty of the Blade of the Witherer to Nathanos. Meryl sometimes wondered why he shared the same identity. Perhaps it was because the Witherer respected him, or perhaps for some other reason. In any case, among the Blade of the Witherer, he was the special one.

Picking locks is an essential skill for any professional Stealth, though Belorell knew he wasn't Stealth. He felt much more relaxed without his mother by his side during this time. Since returning to Silvermoon City after meeting the Queen of Dragons, he had three times the number of servants and guards, with someone watching him constantly. In the past, the Elf boy would have been extremely displeased, but now he had learned to be patient; after all, what he needed to do couldn't be rushed.

Belorell could never forget that Gnome named Chromie. Nor could she forget the strange things she said.

After months of investigation, he finally found some clues. He discovered this one morning while washing up: he saw himself in the mirror as an Elf, except for his eyes. Belorell had never seriously examined his own appearance, but he had certainly never seen an Elf with such black pupils. Compared to those he lived with, his affinity for magic was far below the standard of an ordinary Elf.

This phenomenon even made him doubt his own identity, forcing him to start searching for answers to satisfy his curiosity.

He could roam freely in Silvermoon City, even visiting the Farstrider Square, a heavily fortified military location. The Farstrider forces included many veterans who had fought alongside his mother, Alleria. Belorell overheard his mother's past, including her marriage to a human.

A human? The Elf boy was taken aback when he heard this. He repeatedly asked Alleria who his father was, but his mother's answers were always evasive. Apart from that, almost no one knew what had happened in the past. Even those who knew were ordered to keep it a secret.

The Blood Elf are now part of the Horde, while the humans are part of the Alliance, and the two sides are mortal enemies. Belorell wondered if this was the reason his mother chose to hide. He then investigated and refuted this guess. Considering his age, Quel'Thalas had not joined the Horde before he was born.

More and more questions plagued him, and out of desperation, to find out everything, Belorell secretly opened the box his mother treasured most while she was away on campaign. Inside was an old map of Lordaeron, the land of Lordaeron, now the Eastern Plaguelands. The boy suddenly remembered Chromie, the Gnome who had taken him to a strange place and nearly captured by the Undead.

The same place. Chromie had also said that everything he saw was related to Alleria, and his mother's map happened to show a location. This was no coincidence, Belorell was convinced that his mother was hiding something from him, perhaps related to his father. Therefore, he now stepped into the Eastern Plaguelands with excitement and unease.

No amount of eyes could keep an eye on him; the Elf boy, his eyes hidden beneath his cloak, gazed straight into the distance.

Our destination is not far away.