Amid the wretched ruins, the surviving knights faced the undead packed around them with despair on their faces. Just then, the undead parted to open a path. Arthas strode into the encirclement, runeblade in hand, the figures of the dozen or so remaining knights reflected in his gray eyes.
"Excellent! Those who survived my undead army... you are all the Holy Light's finest champions!"
Arthas laughed wildly and raised his runeblade, which had begun to radiate purple energy.
"But from this day forward, you will be my champions! I need you to wage war for me, for the mighty Undead Scourge!"
"In your dreams! Arthas, you madman who destroyed his own country! Don't imagine we'll ever submit to you!"
Covered in blood, the old knight leaned on his warhammer and stood in front of the others, roaring at Arthas.
But Arthas did not grow angry. Looking at these steadfast, unyielding knights, he extended his left hand and made a contemptuous gesture.
"Come, try to defeat me! As long as you can beat me, you may leave. But the price of failure will be your souls!"
The knights looked at one another. None backed down. One after another, they took up their weapons, summoned what little Holy Light they had left, and charged at Arthas.
But courage could not bridge the enormous gap between them. A few minutes later, the runeblade pierced the last knight's body. Watching a small fragment of soul enter Frostmourne, Arthas raised his left hand in satisfaction. As his palm slowly rose, the corpses of the knights slain by Frostmourne slowly stood.
Blood-red light shone in their eyes. The Holy Light within them had been dispelled, replaced by an infusion of even stronger evil power.
They all dropped to one knee before Arthas. These Death Knights, granted power by Frostmourne and personally transformed by Arthas, were dark champions whose intelligence and consciousness dwelled within cursed bodies.
Arthas turned and spoke to the loyal guard behind him.
"My faithful Falric, prepare the equipment my champions need, then assign them enough soldiers. Have Marwyn and Thassarian lead them to plunder and slaughter. West Darrowmere... this land belongs to me!"
"As you command, Your Highness!"
Falric was just about to turn and leave when Arthas's voice suddenly sounded within his cold heart.
"Once they leave, Falric, bring the finest soldiers and accompany me to Crusader's Hold! There is something I must retrieve!"
Falric froze for a moment, but his entire face was hidden inside his nearly fully enclosed helm, leaving his expression unseen. After only a brief pause, he continued forward.
Arthas looked toward West Darrowmere, and that incessantly chattering voice slipped into his mind.
"Aha, my ashes are in Crusader's Hold? Destroy it! Then your army can march straight into Eastweald. Wonderful, isn't it?"
"I'm only going to retrieve your ashes... didn't you say the Sunwell of Quel'Thalas could make you stronger? There... that's where the real fierce battle awaits!"
A savage look appeared on Arthas's face.
"But... Uther, he... will take my place as the sharpest blade of darkness to scour Lordaeron! Oh... how wonderful!"
A day later, in Crusader's Hold, Uther stared gravely at the five battle reports in his hands. The situation had deteriorated faster than he had imagined. In just one day after Arthas entered West Darrowmere, all five outposts apart from Hearthglen had fallen! Fewer than one in ten knights had escaped!
More than one knight had seen groups of Death Knights sweeping past, as well as insectoid undead that could travel through the ground.
These were all things Uther had not considered before. Combined with the insignia Dick had brought back earlier, the Barov Family had probably already met with disaster as well. If the undead occupied the island in the middle of Lake Darrowmere... Uther scarcely dared imagine that terrifying sight. Crusader's Hold and Chillwind Camp would both face enemies from front and rear!
"Alexandros, how are your injuries?"
Uther looked at his most faithful comrade. The old lord grunted.
"I can move out at any time! It seems these old bones of mine will be scattered here in the end!"
"Don't be so pessimistic, Alexandros. The Elven Rangers have arrived. Once the Wildhammer Dwarves' Gryphon Squadron finishes resting and refitting, we should at least have no trouble holding Crusader's Hold."
Uther offered reassurance, but just as he was about to continue, a knight stumbled into the office. He looked at Uther and Alexandros in panic. The two Grand Knights, both sticklers for etiquette, frowned and were about to rebuke him when the knight stammered out his words.
"Grand Knights... the undead, the undead have blocked the entrance to the hold! It's... Arthas!"
"What!"
"What did you say!"
The two Grand Knights rose one after the other, each seeing the surprise on the other's face. Uther grabbed his warhammer and was about to head out when Alexandros caught his arm.
"Wait, Uther. You're no match for him. You haven't seen that dark power! I'll go with you, and we need Dathrohan and Gavinrad too. They both happen to be here!"
Uther turned to look at his old friend, his brow deeply furrowed.
"Have you gone mad, Alexandros? Four Grand Knights against him at once?"
Alexandros's expression was grave as he picked up the longsword beside his chair.
"No, Uther, I'm not mad! Once you see your former student, you'll understand. He... he's a true monster! I've experienced that power myself... knight, notify Grand Knight Dathrohan and Grand Knight Gavinrad. Tell them we're in trouble!"
Five minutes later, horns blared within Crusader's Hold. Its gates swung open, and Uther, Alexandros, Dathrohan, and Gavinrad emerged, four fully armed Grand Knights leading hundreds of paladins. On the open ground a short distance opposite them stood a figure with his back turned, wearing a black cloak and blue-black skeletal armor, a blue-black frost-covered longsword in hand.
Behind that figure, densely packed ghouls, abominations, skeletons, and even several enormous, monstrous insectoid beasts guarded Arthas like an orderly army. The arrival of this black army sent the temperature around Crusader's Hold plunging several degrees.
"Arthas... my student... you... what happened to you?"
Though he had prepared himself, when Uther truly saw the white-haired, gaunt-faced Arthas, he still could not help taking a step forward. His trembling voice was filled with gravity and loss.
At the sound of Uther's voice, Arthas turned, forcing a smile onto his stiff face.
"Oh, look who it is... Uther the Lightbringer, Lordaeron's last guardian? Come... step forward and meet your death!"
"Such arrogance!"
Dathrohan cursed angrily, drew the Crusader's Longsword from his back, and was about to charge when Uther caught his arm.
"Let me put an end to the mistake I made with my own hands!"
Uther closed his eyes, put on his helm, and grasped the warhammer on his back. At that moment, his eyes opened, filled with resolve. A vast, seemingly endless quantity of Holy Light began gathering around his body. Though Uther loved to say that Dick was the one favored by the Holy Light, at this moment, that Holy Light, nearly ten times greater in quantity than Dick's, silently declared which warrior it favored most.
Uther walked toward Arthas step by step, and Arthas, gripping his runeblade, advanced toward Uther in turn. Their auras surged rapidly. Two pairs of wings of Holy Light appeared behind Uther, making him look like an angel, while black, green, and red light surged over Arthas's body. These were the powers of death, plague, and blood. Even the knights merely standing near the battlefield could feel the blood boiling within them.
"I will purify you myself, Arthas!"
"Oh... are you capable of that?"
Clang!
The runeblade, surging with endless cold, crashed into the warhammer wrapped in Holy Light.
Despite Uther's unwavering courage, after the first exchange, he knew Arthas had grown so powerful that even he would have to fight for his life. The paladin retreated three steps and flexed his numb, aching arm. With his left hand, he drew the Holy Book hanging at his waist, casually opened it to a page, and brushed his fingers over it.
The next moment, four auras formed entirely of Holy Light rose around Uther.
A clenched fist, a radiant crown, a heavy shield, and a cross within a ring.
These Holy Light spells, representing Blessing of Might, Blessing of Kings, Blessing of Protection, and Blessing of Wisdom, settled over Uther, instantly strengthening his already dense Holy Light energy even further. Dick also had blessing skills among his talents, but he had chosen auras. From the look of things now, Uther probably specialized in Blessing Spells.
Aura spells strengthened groups, while blessing spells effectively increased an individual's combat strength.
Uther... was fighting for his life!
At the very moment master and apprentice fought to the death, Dick, who had just returned to Chillwind Camp, walked wearily out of Herod's tent. The man was tough, and with Dick having treated his wounds in time, he would only need a period of quiet rest to recover his fighting strength.
Dick had also heard the news of the Death Knights' appearance yesterday. He was pondering how to stop this wave of frenzied attacks when an unexpected quest triggered.
"Beep... quest triggered: 'The Holy Light Fades'!" "Due to your intervention, the battle between Uther and Arthas has begun ahead of time. But under the present circumstances, the unprepared Uther will find it difficult to escape death's pursuit. It's your turn to take the stage! Completely change Uther's fate!" "Description: This quest is the first milestone of 'Major quest-The Halt of History's Wheels.' It cannot be abandoned. Failure will result in the major quest being deemed failed!"
"Whew... damn it!"
Dick froze for three seconds, then rushed toward the stables. The battle between Uther and Arthas had caught him completely off guard, but now was no time to think about that.
Uther! Whatever you do, don't die before I get there!