Crimson Valley

The war was nearing its end. Nathanos understood it, and so did the Crimson Crusade, because their resistance was growing ever more desperate.

The Witherer leaned against the largest table in the Map Room, carefully studying the map of Lordaeron. His subordinates had marked the Crusaders' latest movements and the locations of numerous forces across the northern Eastern Kingdoms.

Alterac's walls were impregnable, the defensive line cutting off the Crusaders' retreat had not budged, and Finnis Island's garrison was no less determined. Judging from the map, the last flicker of resistance from the Crusaders on Strahnbrad's northern highlands was on the verge of collapse.

Most importantly, the troops stationed at the various strongholds in Silverpine Forest had finished assembling and begun advancing north to attack Lordaeron.

The Forsaken had already taken this kingdom. Nathanos did not voice his thoughts to anyone. Until the dust had settled, he would not believe victory had arrived.

For instance, the Crusaders were still fighting to the death.

The Witherer could hear the clamor of countless battles in the distance. Whether it was the cheers of the victors or the wails of the dying, from far away they sounded the same. He chose to ignore them. He only needed to wait for the result.

A hand squeezed his shoulder. In all of Alterac, only Saurfang dared make such a gesture toward him. "It's almost over," the Death Knight said.

The sounds of slaughter were fading. Nathanos nodded.

They arrived at Strahnbrad to inspect the battlefield in person. The sun still hung low. After days of continuous fighting, the snow had been stained red. The stench of blood filled the entire highland valley. Corpses lay piled like mountains. It was already quiet; only the wind still echoed across the battlefield.

"This place is hemmed in by