Concealment

The commotion outside the room woke Nathanos. He smelled blood. The scent of the living.

Enemies?

He snapped his eyes open, seized Sulfuras from beside the bed, and warily scanned his surroundings. No sound could escape his ears.

Yet aside from him, the room was empty. Only a figure leaned against the doorframe, twin swords in hand dripping with blood. "You were sleeping?" the man asked in surprise. "This can't be real, can it?"

"Even if I wanted to sleep, I wouldn't have had the chance." Nathanos lowered his sword and gave an evasive reply. He truly had been sleeping. After undergoing the ritual, he had discovered that he could enter dreams, though it was not a way to restore his strength—merely sleep in its purest form.

How strange. His heart did not beat, and his entire body was cold, yet he had regained many of the habits of the living.

He seemed to exist in a state between life and death.

Nathanos rose from the stone bed and walked toward him. Dawn was breaking, and the sky had already brightened. "It seems everyone who came to attack me is dead."

Saurfang wiped his weapons with a red scarf. "Two Crusader spies. They infiltrated the city and even found your room."

The Witherer snorted. "That's new. The Crusaders have started playing spy games too?"

"Don't underestimate the Crusaders. Whitemane may be a fanatic who acts without thinking, but Durand, their commander, is quite cunning. The fact that he sent people to Alterac to gather intelligence proves it."

Nathanos noticed several drops of liquid on the Death Knight's black armor that had not yet fully dried, and his expression turned thoughtful. "Since the enemy sent people to spy on the Forsaken, it means my plan has worked. Worry and fear are