"Try this axe!"
Herod approached Alex from behind as the Death Knight traded sword blows for Dick's hammer strikes. The shadow power surging around the Death Knight made Herod's skin sting. Not daring to linger, he poured all his strength and Holy Light into his war axe and swung viciously at Alex's neck.
The Death Knight sensed the threat, but Dick launched a relentless offensive at that very moment. Several savage wounds had appeared on Dick's body, the result of Alex's counterattacks. He was a rare monster, after all. Though his greatsword was slow, paired with the Death Knights' signature skill, "Death Grip," its damage and threat were immense. In particular, the special Death Knight inscriptions on the blade could slice through Dick's armor with the slightest graze.
Under Dick's relentless attacks, Alex had no way to turn and defend himself. He could only spread the shadow power within his body behind him, forming a dark green barrier at his back.
Herod's full-powered strike landed on the shield with a clang of steel, but failed to break through the "Anti-Magic Shell" Alex had unleashed at full strength. The tremendous recoil even sent Herod flying.
Bang!
Herod crashed awkwardly to the ground, his blood churning. Though uninjured, he had truly witnessed the power of a Death Knight. Even the fine steel war axe in his hands had been left pitted by the corrosive power in that clash.
This was what made Death Knights so powerful. They fought with shadow and evil power, their physical attacks carrying magical damage just like a Paladin's. Combined with the highly aggressive death attribute, this turned these dead souls into true monsters.
But the instant Dick saw the green shield rise behind Alex, a sharp gleam flashed through his eyes. In the game, Dick had fought more Death Knights than he could count. The tactics players devised were so bizarre that a Death Knight like Alex would never even imagine them. He had spent his lifesaving ultimate so easily, and Dick, who had been seeking an opening, seized his chance at once.
"Judgment of Order!"
"Consecration!"
"Retribution Aura!"
All three skills activated simultaneously. With his attention behind him, Alex was struck by the Holy Light Flail once again. In those few seconds of stunned helplessness, Dick swung his Holy Hammer and hammered the defenseless Death Knight four times. Holy Light energy penetrated his body. The instant Alex regained his senses, he saw Dick remove the steel gauntlet from his left hand, rest the Fire of Justice on his shoulder, and press his silvery-white palm against his chest.
This was an attack Dick had wanted to try for some time.
He gathered the Holy Power in his body into the Silver Hand. This relic of the Titans was sensitive to energy and allowed very little to dissipate. Together with the ceaselessly spreading order power it contained, the two energies, both highly lethal to Undead, converged and gradually intensified. When Dick could no longer control them, they burst from the Silver Hand's palm.
"Holy... Shock!"
Bang!
A dazzling creamy-yellow light flared where the Silver Hand touched Alex's black armor. The strike was like a bullet punching through a body, like a shell blasting from a cannon. The instant the highly compressed Holy Light energy struck Alex's body, tremendous kinetic force sent him flying. The enhanced Holy Light had become extraordinarily penetrating, piercing straight through in a single shot.
Alex screamed as he flew backward. A palm-sized hole had opened in his chest, piercing him clean through from front to back. The black mist around his body swiftly gathered there, rapidly repairing his wounds. But Herod, who had been searching for an opening to strike, seized this perfect opportunity too.
"Ah! Take my Blade of Light!"
The surface of the pitted war axe,
was once again filled with blazing Holy Light. Twisting his exhausted body, Herod sprang from the ground and hacked at Alex as he flew sideways, with nothing to brace against. This time, the Death Knight had no death power protecting him. The sharp axe split Alex's armor and bit into his already dead body. The energy it carried rampaged inside him, but amid the agony tearing through his soul, Alex opened his left hand. A strand of black-and-red energy caught Herod like a chain, dragging him back as he was already retreating. Alex thrust his runeblade at him in the same motion.
Dick had no time to help. He could only watch Herod fall to the ground clutching his wound, his fate unknown.
"Die!"
Herod's identity was not actually as simple as it appeared. A few years later, when the Order of the Silver Hand split, he would serve under High Knight Alexandros and become the "Scarlet Champion" at the Scarlet Crusade's headquarters, renamed the "Scarlet Monastery." In the game, he was also a fairly well-known minor boss.
He had enough potential that Dick had personally promoted him to Champion of the Stratholme Regiment. He was a decidedly forthright warrior, about Dick's age, and one of Dick's few friends. Seeing Herod gravely wounded, Dick ignored the shortage of Holy Power in his body and rushed forward. After Alex landed, he raised his warhammer and smashed it down on the helpless Death Knight again and again, like a blacksmith hammering iron.
Alex's struggles grew weaker and weaker. Powerful as Death Knights were, the evil energy within them was not inexhaustible. Panting, Dick took a bottle of highly concentrated holy water from his backpack and kicked Alex's helmet away. He bent down, pried Alex's mouth open with his left hand, and cruelly poured the holy water into the barely surviving Death Knight's mouth.
"Aaaaah!"
Having holy water poured into their bodies was almost the most terrifying torture the Undead could suffer. It was as though Alex had been set alight from within. Black vapor seeped from beneath his constantly twitching armor.
He was finished!
Dick turned and hurried to Herod's side. He lifted his head and poured the last bottle of holy water into his mouth, then poured what little remained over Herod's wound.
The holy water seared the wound, releasing the same black vapor. Herod stirred and opened his eyes.
"Commander... cough, cough... did we kill him?..."
"Don't talk, Herod. I'll take you back right now!"
With difficulty, Dick lifted Herod, wrapped him in his red cloak, and laid him across his warhorse's back, securing him with the Dragon Hook. He walked over to Alex's remains and found a grotesquely warped fragment of the runeblade among the ashes. This was the spoils he and Herod had won.
"Pallid Greatsword (damaged)" "Blue" "Sharpness +30, durability +30, powerful magic conduction, additional damage +20" "Additional effect: bleeding" "Description: a powerful weapon personally crafted for Alex Barov by Lethas Frostwhisper, made from saronite from Northrend. Though damaged by the searing Holy Light, it would be a dream material in the hands of a master smith."
Dick placed the heavy chunk of metal in his saddlebag and found the Barov Family Crest on Alex's body. Then he mounted, took the reins of Herod's warhorse, checked his bearings, and hurried toward Crusader's Hold.
Shortly after Dick left, the endless ranks of hideous Undead attacked once more at the front stretching from Tirisfal toward West Darrowmere. Defended by a handful of Silver Hand knights and the West Darrowmere garrison, the line immediately began to waver.
On a small hill no one had noticed, a dark figure appeared beneath Tirisfal's dim Darkness Veil.
Arthas watched the battlefield below with merciless gray eyes. He tilted his head, studying the defensive line that had held for nearly seven days.
"Without High-ranking Undead commanding it, the Undead Sea loses far more than half its strength! These creatures have no minds. They only know how to attack by instinct. Far too inefficient!"
Arthas shook his head and spoke to something behind him, though there was clearly nothing there.
The next moment, a dry voice rang out in the empty air.
"Heh heh, with the Burning Legion keeping such a tight grip on the crucial steps, the master has no way to mass-produce conscious High-ranking Undead except through your Frostmourne. But never mind. Once I complete my ascension, I'll have my own unique way of granting those powerful creatures consciousness."
Arthas frowned and replied with some impatience,
"That had better be true! I went to such lengths to rescue you from that abyss, wasted seven whole days, and lost twelve Crypt Fiends. If you're not as powerful as you claim, I'll be very troubled!"
The voice chuckled, brimming with cunning and smugness.
"Shouldn't you know better than anyone how powerful I am? Arthas, never underestimate a mage, especially one like me. Kel'Thuzad... that name will surely make the entire world tremble. And of course, there's Little Jaina and that damned bastard. Let me think, just how should I deal with them?"
"Isn't it a little early to think about that?"
Arthas drew Frostmourne from his back, the black-and-blue runeblade as beautiful as a work of art. At that moment, every Undead halted its attack, like soldiers ready to march, waiting for their commander's orders.
Arthas raised the runeblade, his bone-white hair streaming behind him. The King of the Death Knights spoke lightly,
"Don't forget, your ashes are still with Uther. I've already wasted far too much time. Now, let us begin 'saving' this hopeless kingdom!"
Frostmourne slowly swept downward. Empowered by Arthas's will, the once-chaotic Undead Sea began changing rapidly. The weakest Risen formed the front, while the swiftest Ghouls took the flanks. The towering Abominations stood behind the Risen as the assault force. The well-armored Skeleton Warriors formed ranks, while the Skeleton Mages and Skeleton Archers gathered a short distance away.
This Undead Sea, which had no command structure whatsoever, became a true army in an instant. Worse still, as this army of death advanced, four enormous black insects, like beetles enlarged hundreds of times, burrowed out of the ground behind the battlefront and emerged in the middle of the defensive line. Accompanying their buzzing, terrifying little black insects poured from these Crypt Fiends like a storm, covering the entire line.
Soldiers screamed, the living wailed, and Lordaeron's tattered war banners were dragged down by the surging tide of death. Twisted corpses fell into pools of blood. Death came howling from the sky. Run, run! There was no hope!
The line that had struggled to hold against the Undead for seven days was breached in less than half an hour under Arthas's command.