Dense Fog

Previously, Frederick had never dared to walk alone on the dark streets of Maraudon. Of course, there was no need to worry about danger in Maraudon.

However, Frederick was not among the first to join the Forsaken, nor was he a true Forsaken; not even his name was real. Only a handful of people knew his true identity.

It was precisely because he did not belong to this land of the dead that he had to be extremely careful. The eyes and ears of the Witherer were everywhere.

He donned this wretched skin to deceive others. He now serves a new master. Having signed the contract, Frederick must obey his master's commands; in return, he will gain honor, protection, and power.

Emerging from Maraudon's underworld, a breeze carried Shali and waves of heat. Frederick glanced around, checking if he was being followed. At the Magnus Tavern, he hadn't told the truth: he hadn't experienced abandonment, nor did he hate humans, for he wasn't of that race. His actions were driven by the quest, and also by revenge—revenge against the Witherer.

But his power was far too weak. Left with no other choice, he went to Kalimdor and made a deal with someone.

Tonight, he was ordered to go to the tavern and spread provocative statements. He had never dared approach such a place before. The more crowded a place was, the more likely it was to have spies from the Darkblade Organization. He preferred to stay far away, avoiding them at all costs.

Fortunately, the mission was successfully completed.

A moment later, Frederick cast a teleportation spell in a secluded corner. The Witherer's Fortress was heavily guarded, but most of the guards were focused on monitoring any unusual activity in the desert; no one paid attention to what was happening inside the fortress.

Teleportation is an extremely laborious spell, and the longer the teleportation distance, the more arduous it becomes.

Making sacrifices is worthwhile in exchange for the reward. Thanks to the reward, he can even boldly go to the tavern for drinks.

Salen the Songweaver stood atop Razor Hill, overlooking the land below. Even after the Blood Elf joined the Horde, he never imagined he would one day live among Orcs.

Although Razor Hill was Orcs territory, it wasn't a place Salen wanted to stay. The conditions there were far too poor, inferior to Silvermoon City. Of course, he couldn't go home now. After the Battle of Theramore, his identity as a henchman of Grommash was exposed, and both Regent Alleria and Archmage Aedass disliked him, even ordering his secret capture. Forced by circumstances, Salen had no choice but to leave the Blood Elf's territory.

At that moment, a teleportation light flashed, and the person he was waiting for finally appeared.

"You're late." The Songweaver's words were filled with undisguised reproach.

Frederick patted his trouser leg, giving the Blood Elf a cold look. "Why a Blood Elf? I thought it was an Orcs I was meeting."

"Don't you know the reason yourself?" Salen snorted. "The Great Chief said that it would be more... intimate for you and me to meet."

"Hmph, you're more disgusting than a dead man," Frederick sneered.

"Say whatever you want, now report the situation: have you done as the Great Chief instructed?"

"Yes." Frederick realized his voice was a little high-pitched and felt a little embarrassed. He quickly cleared his throat and lowered his voice. "I did everything he asked. When I mentioned the evils of humanity, almost everyone in the tavern agreed."

"Almost?" Salen stared at Frederick. "Do you think the Great Chief would be happy to hear that word?"

Frederick disliked the threat implied in the word. "They are all more or less opposed to humanity, just to varying degrees."

"This is... acceptable."

Frederick shook his head. "I don't think so." He hesitated for a moment. "Their loyalty to Nathanos is hard to shake, and when I tried to sow discord between them, I became the target of everyone's criticism."

"Your cleverness isn't entirely useless. It doesn't matter if they verbally support Nathanos; as long as they harbor some resentment, they have value to you."

"Perhaps, but what's the next step in the plan?"

"Oh? You seem very positive."

"I just want to get paid a little faster," Frederick roared. "The sooner the better. If Nathanos returns at this point, all our efforts will be in vain."

"This is also what the Great Chief was worried about, so he asked you to investigate where Nathanos went."

"What?" Frederick blinked, feeling like he'd been played. "Infiltrating the Forsaken and stirring up trouble was dangerous enough. Now you want me to find out the whereabouts of the Forsaken leader?"

"Can't do it?" The Songweaver crossed his arms and looked at him mockingly.

Frederick clenched his fists; he longed to drink the blood of this Blood Elf. "No, I will complete any task, no matter how difficult, as long as the Great Chief grants my request."

"The reward will come when it's due. But you'd better hurry, the chief has already made arrangements for the next step, there's no turning back now, De..."

A dark aura interrupted the Songweaver's words, and Frederick stared at him with murderous eyes.

"I'm sorry," Salen smiled, "I always find myself calling you by your real name."

"If I'm exposed because of you, you idiot, then I'll make sure you take my place before I die."

The Blood Elf's expression turned serious at the threat. The two glared at each other, but neither made a move.

"I must say, this fog is very strange?"

"It's strange that you can't see what's behind the fog, isn't it?" Captain Harkel of the Witherer, peering through binoculars at the white expanse of the sea, casually teased her Goblins, Bolilake.

The Goblins shook his head, continuing to look at the instruments and flight path map in his hands, muttering formulas to calculate distances and ranges. He increasingly felt that something was wrong.

In response to Captain Harkel's words, Bolilake replied leisurely, "Captain, I think you should take this matter seriously. We seem to be trapped in the fog. The instruments in my hand indicate that we should have already turned back to Razor Ridge, but we are still at sea."

Harkel glanced at the short, green-skinned man, then refocused his attention on the sea. "Your broken instrument is useless."

"This is Boss Gizzlok's latest invention," Bolilake exclaimed. "It's specifically designed to help ships navigate in fog and detect other vessels at sea to prevent collisions."

A thick fog enveloped the area, allowing almost no sunlight to penetrate. The captain asked, "We've been sailing in the waters of Kalimdor for several hours now, constantly shrouded in this fog. What's causing this?"

Bolilake's face stiffened, sensing the reproach in Harkel's voice. "This... it was my instrument that led the way. But Captain, please trust it's not wrong—our crew technicians checked it several times before reaching this conclusion. It must be this fog... it's fog."

Harkel rolled his eyes at his first mate, Goblins's ability to find excuses, using the anomaly of natural phenomena to shirk responsibility.

"We just don't know why yet," the Goblins continued. "After all, we really don't know what's behind the fog."

"It's already caused us trouble." Harkel angrily tossed the binoculars to the observer, telling him to keep monitoring. "Today, we're already an hour late, and that time is dragging on. Captain Tatsel won't be happy; she'll blame me for delaying the delivery. The supplies in the hold are meant for repairing the dock fortress!"

"Yes, it is. It's terrible. But complaining won't solve anything now."

"Thanks, you've finally said something sensible, though it's still nonsense." Harkel shrugged and continued, "We can't even see a hundred meters ahead in the telescope. You'd better make sure your instrument's alarm is working properly, otherwise we won't have time to react if other ships get close."

The instrument, which had been running smoothly and quietly, immediately started beeping as soon as the words were spoken, and the green light on it turned into a flashing red light.

"See, there's no problem, Captain."

"You idiot!" Harkel kicked Bolilake aside and yelled at the crew on deck, "Everyone, get ready! There's an emergency!"

The Forsaken crew immediately sprang into action. It was a first-rate ship, with an exceptionally wide deck designed to minimize the risk of collisions between crew members.

Harkel climbed to the highest point, keeping a watchful eye on the situation in the thick fog. Bolilake's instruments were still beeping, indicating that there was definitely something suspicious around the Witherer.

Just as she feared, if a ship were to crash into them, they would have absolutely no time to react.

"There's nothing there, Captain," said the crew member with binoculars.

Harkel angrily descended the platform, rushed to the Goblins, and snatched the instrument that had been used to torment her. With a piercing scream from Bolilake, Harkel threw it into the sea.

"No, that's a lot of money!" Bolilake ran to the edge of the deck to look for the instrument.

Harkel clapped his hands, thinking that the world was finally quiet.

"Captain."

The Goblins's voice rang out again.

"You'd better keep your mouth shut until I decide to throw you down too, First Mate."

"But I don't think my instruments are malfunctioning. I've already seen something unusual, and I suggest you take a look too." Bolilake didn't turn around; his head remained fixed on the bottom of the ship.

The ship was making faint creaking noises and rocking violently. Harkel frowned and approached the Goblins. When she saw the scene before her, she couldn't help but regret her impulsive decision.

A thick fog enveloped the surroundings, so dense it could practically be cleaved with a sword. But thankfully, they could still see what was on the surface of the sea.

Damaged planks and rotten wood floated on the sea. Some of the soaked wooden crates were intact, while others were broken, with pieces of smelted steel dangling inside. The remains of countless Forsaken corpses drifted with the current, their blood altering the color of the sea.

"In the name of the Witherer, what's going on here?"

Bolilake shook his head. "It's easy to tell. They were attacked, and their ship sank."

Harkel's heart tightened; she knew these victims were her own people. The Forsaken's sailing regulations were extremely strict. Because seafaring was unsafe, captains needed to ensure their ships reached their destination within three hours of the allotted time. If they exceeded this time, the dockworkers would use magical artifacts to contact all ships departing that day, warning them of potential dangers along their routes.

However, Harkel did not receive any news, indicating that the ship's accident occurred within the time limit.

"Captain, look over there!"

The Undead captain looked over, and a tattered flag came into view. "Damn it, it's the Shadowfang! They're the ship that's ahead of us."

Bolilake nodded in agreement. "They haven't been in trouble for long. But why didn't we hear any artillery fire? At least we should have realized they were in trouble..."

"There's a boat!"

Harkel immediately looked up at the front of the Witherer, but she saw nothing. Then another voice reminded her.

"A ship is nearby! A human ship! The Alliance flag!"

"Alliance!"

"It was just here a moment ago, but I can't see it now! It's probably still nearby!"

"Sound the bugle!"

"Yes, sir!"

"Bow and arrow!"

Upon hearing the warning, Harkel cursed. Seeing the bow and arrows meant only one thing—a fierce battle was inevitable.

Arrows rained down and landed on the deck next to the cabin stairs. There were probably many more around, but the thick fog prevented Harkel from seeing them.

Immediately afterwards, the harpoon was fired, and the rope attached to it was immediately tightened.

"Prepare for battle!" Harkel shouted.

Suddenly, as if descending from the sky, a large number of humans rushed out of the thick fog, interrupting the cries of the Undead on the deck. Harkel discovered that these men were all wearing military uniforms, some with many tears and dents, indicating that they had just been in a battle.

Thinking of what had happened to the Shadowfang, the captain felt an overwhelming rage!

"Kill these Alliance scum!" she shouted. Without his prompting, the crew had already joined the battle. Harkel drew his slender sword and thrust it at the nearest human soldier. The human dodged the attack and swung his sword back.

Harkel parried the sword with his backhand, then raised his musket with his left hand and pulled the trigger at the soldier's abdomen.

With a "bang," the man, in unbearable pain, coughed and fell off the deck.

At that moment, two more humans leaped in front of Harkel, surrounding her. Although the Witherer had decreed that the Forsaken could not directly clash with the Alliance Horde, now that they had openly attacked them, and seeing so many Forsaken sacrificed, Harkel vowed never to show mercy to any enemy again. She also hated the Alliance even more for attacking their ships without any reason.