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He was just a Mogu, and probably just an ordinary soldier. Nathanos observed the chaotic battle. He threw his secondary sword forward.

The Elemeini he held plunged into the back of another Mogu. The colossus staggered a couple of steps, then clutched his chest, gasping for breath. He knelt, then collapsed heavily to his side. His hands were on the ground, his body still trembling, before he let out a final cry, his eyes almost instantly dimming. The Pandaren Monk, who had been subdued by this Mogu, bowed to Nathanos after being freed.

Saving him was just a gamble; Nathanos's real goal was to use the main sword Shalator. He only had one hand and couldn't reassemble Sulfuras.

Perhaps having witnessed Nathanos's actions, a Mogu strode over, his footsteps echoing across the ground. He stared intently at this extraordinary being.

As he approached the Undead from behind, Nathanos suddenly turned around and slashed a hole in the Mogu's body with his sword.

The Mogu trembled and collapsed at his feet. Now the Witherer was certain that the first Mogu he had killed was not an ordinary soldier.

What Nathanos witnessed next sent a chill down his spine. Among the crowd, he saw that not all the Mogu were Warrior wielding massive weapons; some were cloaked and resembled wizards. And Nathanos could clearly see the spells they were casting.

Several Monk were suspended in mid-air by some evil, shadowy force, struggling in agony. They were being choked. If that were all, Nathanos wouldn't have felt disgusted; he had seen spells a hundred times more terrifying. But he never expected that the opponent's methods would go so far, and the most painful scene from the depths of his heart was replayed.

The Pandaren who were captured appeared to have blurred forms, not because of visual impairment, but because their souls were being extracted.

Nathanos angrily helped a Pandaren kill an enemy, then pointed to what he saw and asked, "What's that?"

The Witherer desperately wished that it was Old Wu standing before him, someone who could quickly answer his questions. Unlike this Pandaren, who was too terrified to utter a single word when he saw his kin suffering inhuman torment.

"Answer me now." Nathanos threw the sword on the ground and shook the Pandaren with his only hand.

"They are the Soulbinder," the Pandaren Monk finally spoke. "They are the Mogu of the Ten Thunder Terrace, led by a wizard named Dan Jitong. He knows a spell that extracts a person's soul from their body and then binds those souls to a stone statue, bringing the statue back to life to help him fight."

Frostmourne? Upon hearing the Pandaren's explanation, Nathanos's mind replayed the image of his own death and resurrection. He was like those lifeless stone statues, his soul forever imprisoned within them. Of all magic, his most ruthless was the spell that lashed out at the soul—the most depraved act. He understood better than anyone the pain of a soul deprived of rest.

An enemy can be killed, but the bottom line is that you can only kill their body.

"Why are there still... here..."

Doubts plagued the Witherer. It turned out that the Scourge in the world wielding inhumane and evil magic.

The Monk, his soul extracted, kept turning his head and screaming as shadow energy seeped into his body. Then, like crushing a grape, he was completely finished. His soul was placed into a special container bag by Dan Jitong.

"Dan Jitong is a powerful wizard." The Pandaren beside him was still uttering fearful sounds.

The Witherer didn't care what the Mogu was called; eight out of ten names on this continent sounded strange anyway. He only felt anger, anger that the Mogu had made him feel that pain again.

Perhaps to eliminate any possibility of the Monk's survival, the sorcerer called Mogu gave his guard a signal. The guard understood, aiming his blade at the Monk's throat and delivering a fatal blow. Blood dripped from his weapon.

Anger breeds hatred, but his hatred isn't directed at the Mogu; it's directed at himself. Rassuvios, the Forsaken's instructor, was originally destined to become a Scourge, but Nathanos freed him from control. However, the Witherer later did what the Lich King wanted to do: Rassuvios was forcibly resurrected to help train the Forsaken's forces. He felt no remorse whatsoever; the goal of making the Forsaken stronger had numbed his senses.

"Me too..." The Witherer stared at his hands in disbelief.

"Sir, I've captured another prisoner."

Dan Jitong was still savoring the memory of the soul he had just encountered, a sudden report from his subordinates filled him with delight. He looked down and saw a Pandaren in a red vest being forcibly brought to his feet. A hoe was tossed aside with it.

"Old Wu has been arrested! You have to go save him!" the Pandaren exclaimed.

Nathanos felt a splitting headache, tormented by three different sensations of amnesia. He heard the voices of the Pandaren and knew he still had to act, but he forgot how, and even the thought of wielding a sword had vanished.

"How could there be such evil magic here?"

"He actually reminds me of Frostmourne."

How could I do this?

Suddenly, as if an electric current surged through his body, he tensed up. He felt something enter his body, invade his heart, and make his cold body boil. A surge of powerful energy was grasped by him, like a raging tide that blotted out the sky, unstoppable.

His blood and flesh transformed into a crimson-black whirlwind, scattering in all directions, leaving only the Order of the Cloud Serpent robes of the Undead still fluttering. The rhythm of this dance subtly mirrored the blowing of the wind.

The Pandaren watched his transformation and retreated in fear.

Dan Jitong prepared to cast his spell again. He was already imagining the Pandaren screaming in agony.

What is that?

Another Mogu voice interrupted him. The Soulbinder looked over. He saw a black sphere emitting a dim light.

The swirling red and black light drew increasing attention and grew brighter. The halo pulsated like breath, intensifying, and a pair of eyes enveloping it began to burn.

Then, accompanied by a series of explosions and cracking sounds, the whirlwind suddenly stretched out, forming pitch-black wings.

The terrifying roar was like lightning and thunder. Nathanos howled towards the sky, "Enough!"