As Arthas muttered to himself like a sleepwalker and approached the Runeblade overflowing with sinister energy, Muradin tried to hold him back. But Arthas merely glanced back at him, and the dwarf released the prince's arm.
It was not because Arthas had already become powerful enough to oppose a dwarven Mountain King who had lived for five hundred years. It was because of his eyes. The coldness, the ruthlessness, the indifference in Arthas's eyes at that moment-those were absolutely not the eyes of someone who cared for his people.
Muradin felt fear deep in his soul. He took down his battle axe and warhammer. Now, only weapons could give him a sense of security. The dwarf could feel that beneath this shell, the soul was no longer Arthas's. It was someone else! No, it was a monster!
A monster had awakened!
"Don't go near it!"
Just as Arthas's hand was about to touch the Runeblade's hilt, Muradin finally overcame the terror in his heart. The dwarf thrust out his thick left arm and hurled it forward, sending the warhammer in his hand hurtling toward the Runeblade like a thunderbolt wreathed in lightning.
Mountain King was the dwarves' honorific for their mightiest warriors, and Muradin was a veteran Mountain King. Even in the Azeroth of seven years later, his strength would have ranked among the very best. At the very least, he would not have been much weaker than the current Uther. He was truly the strongest of the dwarves.
If that hammer struck, the Runeblade, without a wielder's will to reinforce it, would undoubtedly have been knocked far away. Unfortunately, just as the warhammer was about to strike Frostmourne's blade, a surge of dark magic suddenly tore through space and appeared beside Arthas. As it blocked the warhammer, it gently pushed Arthas, who was on the verge of awakening from his nightmare, forward.
His palm-Arthas could feel his warm palm touching a block of freezing ice. A trace of hesitation flashed across his face, but determination and persistence immediately replaced it. He stopped resisting and gripped the hilt tightly instead.
"Aah!!"
Arthas wanted to tame this unruly Runeblade and use its ability to command the undead to save his kingdom. But when his mental power touched the sword, he knew he had been deceived!
This was not a sword with a soul at all, so there was no question of taming it. In truth, the sword was like a cage designed specifically for Arthas. The moment he touched it, his soul was forcibly torn in two by the demons' cunning, mysterious magic.
Justice, light, persistence, determination, kindness, honesty, honor, protection, mercy-these fine qualities were drawn out of Arthas's soul, forming a faint human figure.
Meanwhile, anger, evil, gloom, malice, ferocity, darkness, brutality, slaughter, destruction-these negative traits were rapidly amplified. The dark soul formed from these dark aspects took over Arthas's body at that moment.
His golden hair instantly turned as pale as bone, and his blue eyes became an indifferent gray. Shrouded in the black smoke surging from Frostmourne, his golden knight's armor was transformed into the skeletal battle armor unique to Death Knights. The reborn Arthas tilted his head and looked at the golden figure beside him, which kept shaking its head.
He stepped forward, and the Runeblade in his hand mercilessly pierced his other self.
When the Runeblade was raised, Arthas became its first victim.
"You!... Give Arthas back!"
Muradin witnessed the entire despairing, chilling scene. Gripping his battle axe in both hands, he leaped high and brought it down toward the newly born King of the Death Knights' head with all his strength. The blow was so ferocious that even the hard, frozen ground behind Muradin tore apart beneath the dwarven Mountain King's fury.
Clang!
The Runeblade and battle axe collided. Arthas blocked Muradin's strike with one hand, and disbelief and horror appeared on the dwarf's face. But since he had already thrown away the warhammer he used for defense, when the Runeblade suddenly changed its attack, Muradin could only thrust out his left arm to try to block the blow.
Bang!
Mountain Kings possessed such high magic resistance that they could drive any spellcaster to despair. But none of that meant anything before Frostmourne and the endless cold it radiated.
A terrible wound was slashed across Muradin's body, exposing even his internal organs. But the moment the first drop of blood flowed out, the cold following the blade froze it. The force of the strike was tremendous. It sent Muradin flying, smashing him through the distant entrance of the Forgotten Ice Cave and into the howling blizzard outside.
Whether the Mountain King lived or died was unknown.
Whoosh!
The moment Arthas sent Muradin flying, a great swarm of purple bats appeared behind him. They gathered together with shrill cries, finally forming someone Arthas knew very well.
Mal'Ganis, the culprit behind the source of the plague!
Yet the Dreadlord showed no desire to fight at that moment. It extended its sharp claws and scratched its ugly chin, looking at Arthas as though appraising a piece of merchandise.
"Tsk, tsk, tsk. Look at this sword. It was one of the most perfect weapons my brothers and I forged on our homeworld back then. Even that wretch Ner'zhul's soul-draining ability only barely matched this beautiful weapon's capabilities. But you... tsk, tsk. Look at you. So feeble, so foolish. How could you possibly deserve this artifact?"
Mal'Ganis grumbled, then snapped its fingers. A purple gateway appeared inside the Forgotten Ice Cave, which was on the verge of collapse. The Dreadlord did not even look at Arthas.
"Hey, follow me. We're going to see that prisoner, Ner'zhul. It's time to carry out our master's great plan... Ah, I've had enough of this damned planet's cold. I'm going to draw out the magma underground. Now that would be warm enough. Hahahaha... Aah!!"
Mal'Ganis's wild laughter suddenly turned into a howl of agony. A black-and-blue blade, seemingly encased in eternal ice, pierced its chest from behind. As one of the most mysterious Nathrezim vampiric demons, its demonic body could not be harmed by weapons of the mortal world. But Frostmourne was no mortal weapon. It was one of the evil artifacts painstakingly crafted by the previous generation of Nathrezim, with the abilities bestowed upon it by the Lich King Ner'zhul added on top.
In fact, by the time this sword had been buried here, it already possessed the power to kill Mal'Ganis.
"You... you dare... Aah!!"
Suddenly grievously wounded, Mal'Ganis was about to transform into bats and flee. But the expressionless Arthas opened his other hand, and a violently spinning storm of ice appeared around Mal'Ganis, interrupting its transformation. Then it heard Arthas's icy voice.
"No one... can control me. You... you can't. Neither can the Lich King! And did you really think... I'd forgotten how you made a fool of me?"
Corrosive dark power poured from the blade piercing Mal'Ganis's body. Before long, the howling Dreadlord became a black skeleton, along with a suit of ornate, menacing purple armor that crashed to the ground.
"That was far too rash!"
An aged voice sounded in Arthas's mind. He did not respond. He knew who it was.
The Orc grand shaman imprisoned in Icecrown Glacier for betraying the demons, the chief culprit who had orchestrated the destruction of a planet-the Lich King, Ner'zhul.
"Nathrezim demons cannot be killed completely. Still, it takes them some time to resurrect in the Void, so we can just about keep this from Archimonde. Although you've caused me a great deal of trouble, I still have to say, well done! I've had enough of that damned fool!"
Ner'zhul's aged voice was filled with delight. He conversed with Arthas, and although Arthas said nothing, that did nothing to dampen the old Orc's eagerness to talk.
"The demons thought their crude plan was flawless, but I made a few little alterations. I served them for decades, only to end up like this, so I've come to see things clearly. Demons are certainly not good partners. Rather than groveling in their service, why shouldn't we have this world all to ourselves? Look, you now possess the power to control the undead too. Best of all, from the moment you gripped this sword, we were linked together."
"Well then, after all I've said, my dear King of the Death Knights, can you tell me what you intend to do next?"
Faced with this question, Arthas spoke in reply for the first time.
"Go back! The other half of my soul always wanted to save Lordaeron, because it was the kingdom he would inherit. I think I probably have the right to inherit that kingdom too."
Ner'zhul was not surprised by this answer.
"Hmm, not a bad idea. An undead kingdom to throw the world into turmoil. Oh, right, you wouldn't mind doing a little something for me while you're at it, would you?"
"Speak!"
"Kel'Thuzad is an excellent subordinate. I promised him 'ascension,' so I'll leave that to you! In exchange, I'll give you control of the Crypt Fiends I recently subjugated. Go, overturn this foolish world!"
Arthas seemed not to have heard Ner'zhul's words. In silence, he walked step by step into the blizzard. Even the drifting snowflakes seemed to fear this man, scattering in every direction as though trying to get away from him. But the white-haired prince did not care.
He reached up and pulled the hood behind him forward, slung Frostmourne across his back, and vanished step by step into the white expanse of ice and snow.
Thirteen days later, a special fleet docked at Southshore. It was nighttime. As Arthas looked at the silent, peaceful scene before him, the eyes hidden beneath his hood no longer held the determination and persistence they had possessed when he left. He was as indifferent as a dead man.
Falric and Marwyn, also wearing hoods, guarded Arthas from behind, one on either side. They were silent as well. Behind them, pale-faced soldiers emerged from the cabins, one squad after another, and the quiet docks grew even colder.
Clink!
A spinning gold coin landed before the dockmaster, who was already trembling with fear.
"Go to Lordaeron. Tell the citizens their prince has returned! He will save this kingdom!"