Anomaly in Northrend

After the Cataclysm, the master gradually began to live a secluded life. Belmont stared at the other end of the corridor, carefully recalling the woman's words and trying to banish them from his mind. But he couldn't; a thought terrified Belmont: he had the same question in his mind.

Not all the Forsaken are satisfied with the status quo, never have been.

He held the top-secret letter in his hand, and its contents inevitably aroused curiosity. Only the master was allowed to view its contents. Belmont reminded himself again.

They were getting closer and closer to the room where Nathanos was. Then, Belmont noticed a figure standing in front of the door, like a guard on duty.

Onyxian? Belmont almost called out the other's name, but this Twilight Dragon was quite arrogant towards anyone outside of Nathanos. Just like now, even though Belmont was standing right in front of him, he didn't utter a word.

"I have important matters to discuss with my master."

Twilight Dragon didn't respond; the voice that answered him came from behind the door. "Come in, Belmont."

Onyxian immediately stepped aside, making room for him. The door opened automatically. The leader of the Shadowblade stepped inside.

Nathanos's black armor blended almost perfectly with the room's color scheme as he studied a three-dimensional map of Kalimdor by the light. It was an invention of Gizzlok, the foreman of the Artisan District.

"A message from Orgrimmar, top secret, Master."

The Witherer nodded, took the letter from Belmont, opened it, and began pacing back and forth in the room, as if his eyes were scanning the lines on the letter. Soon, he spoke, "I heard that the Wyrmrest Accord has disbanded."

"That was news a month ago, Master," Belmont echoed, though he didn't understand why Nathanos brought it up.

"What's unusual about the Borean Tundra in Northrend?"

"No."

"No?" Nathanos's voice carried a direct reproach. "Looks like we need to give those spies over there a talking-to. The long period of peace has made them numb to their work."

The Witherer returned the letter to Belmont, but this time, he was granted permission to view its contents.

Within minutes, the head of the Forsaken intelligence organization understood why his master was angry. He bowed slightly in shame, "I promise to punish those lazy fellows, Master. But I'd like to know if we should take action in Theramore beforehand regarding the contents of the letter. After all, your father..."

"It seems that woman's words have had a great influence on you, otherwise you wouldn't have come to test your leader."

Belmont's pupils dilated, and he was convinced that if he was still alive, he would be drenched in a cold sweat.

"Please forgive my rudeness, Master," he said immediately, no longer looking up, awaiting the punishment that might follow. His mind was filled with questions: How did his master know what had just happened so quickly?

"Listen carefully, immediately send Orisus and his Sky-Coverer to the Borean Tundra to await orders," Nathanos said. But Belmont did not immediately accept the order. He glanced at the Shadowblade leader, who was still deep in thought. "Do I have to order you to step down?"

"I'll take care of it right away." Belmont, regaining his composure, hurriedly jotted down the order and left the room. This was truly the worst experience. He thought to himself, and when he saw Onyxian outside the door again, he suddenly understood something—a mixture of surprise and fear.

Is it him? Belmont kept wondering. Can the Twilight Dragon's ears hear all the sounds in Maraudon?

Onyxian watched the terrified Undead depart, then stepped through the door to face Nathanos. "I sense your inner desire, Father. Should I go to Northrend myself?"

"Can your ability block the connection between the Prism of Focus and the Blue Dragons?"

Twilight Dragon smiled confidently. "With me here, they'll never know who took their treasure."

The revelry in Orgrimmar had finally come to an end. Tauren Chieftain Baine sniffed uncomfortably; the lingering smell of fireworks still hung in the air. He glanced up at the forged iron spiked fortress above. Grommash Hold stood majestically, but its gates were now tightly shut; all faction leaders were instructed to await the arrival of the Great Chief before entering.

Baine had a subconscious thought: if Grommash knew how to value his allies, he should let them wait inside the fortress.

The Tauren chieftain quickly forgot about the idea. Before coming, his most trusted advisor, Archdruid Hamuul Runetotem, advised him that it was best not to clash with Garrosh, as no one could guarantee what the chieftain would do to punish those who defied him.

"Congratulations on your victory in the Western Plaguelands, Regent."

A familiar voice reached Baine's ears, instantly calming the Tauren's heart. He looked up eagerly, and even with his back hunched, the Darkspear leader Vol'jin was still able to keep his eyes level with Alleria Windrunner.

"Thank you, Vol'jin." Alleria nodded slightly. "I regret what happened to the Echo Isles, and I wish you a speedy recovery of your lost territory."

"That's natural."

Baine overheard their conversation. Not long ago, a rebellion broke out within the Darkspear Tribe, the Echo Isles fell, and the Darkspear Troll were now forced to live in a small village on the coast. However, Great Chief Garrosh had not helped the Troll reclaim their homeland. This also indirectly proved the internal discord within the Horde.

The Tauren approached Vol'jin with the same expectation, and saw him coming. The Blood Elf regent nodded slightly and then turned away. Vol'jin smiled at Baine, "Blood Elf prefer to stay out of things, please don't mind."

"If I could, I would wish for that too," Baine sighed.

His concerns were Vol'jin's concerns: at today's leadership gathering, would Grommash have some terrible strategy to execute? The battle in Ashenvale was at a stalemate, and this would only weaken the Horde in the long run. The Troll leader patted the Tauren's broad shoulder and whispered, "Nobody likes his orders."

"Not necessarily." Baine turned his gaze to another unpleasant fellow. Trade Prince Gallywix of the Bilgewater Cartel, was talking to his entourage, his large belly protruding. "Some people are just hoping for war."

"War may not necessarily bring any benefits, especially for the Alliance..."

Vol'jin's words were interrupted by the heavy creak of the fortress gates. Several Kor'kron Orcs emerged, led by Malkorok, the chieftain's right-hand man from the Blackrock Clan. He raised his hand, which had only three fingers remaining, and arrogantly gestured to the faction leaders, saying, "Your chieftain summons you."