Bang!
Just as Alexandros and Dick exchanged looks, Dathrohan braced himself on his longsword, trying to block Arthas's ferocious slashes. But Dathrohan failed to notice the blood-red glow that surfaced on Frostmourne during the final flurry of blows.
"Death... strike!"
Bang!
Gripping his sword with both hands, Arthas struck a savage blow that severely wounded both Dathrohan's body and soul. Even the Holy Light within him nearly collapsed!
His body slammed into the gate like a cannonball.
Dick's eyes narrowed at the sight. He stepped back, swung onto his warhorse, and looked at Alexandros.
"I've said all I can. Make your own choice, Highlord. Also, if you're going to Karazhan, you'd best bring Miss Jaina Proudmoore. She'll make a good guide!"
"You... where are you going?"
Alexandros shouted as he watched Dick tear open the Holy Light seal on the black jar in his arms with one hand.
"Me? I'm going to lure Arthas away, before he really destroys this place!"
Dick slung the Fire of Justice onto his back and gave Alexandros one final look.
"Highlord, Arthas won't return here for at least three months! Before he comes back with an endless, even stronger army of undead, you'd better have become the 'Ashbringer.' Otherwise... otherwise we're all finished!"
The next moment, Dick pulled on the reins. His warhorse neighed and charged out through the entrance of Crusader's Hold. Holding the last bit of the Holy Light seal in one hand, Dick rode far beyond the battlefield where Arthas and Gavinrad fought, then swept his hand out, stripped away the final trace of the seal, and shouted at Arthas.
"Arthas! I've got what you want! Follow me! Or I'll pour it into holy water!"
At that moment, Kel'Thuzad's voice screamed frantically inside Arthas's mind.
"Damn it! Damn it! That bastard again! He's holding my ashes! Damn it!"
"Shut up!"
Arthas roared in his mind, forced Gavinrad back with a swing of his sword, and beckoned casually. The smallest and fastest Crypt Fiend thundered toward him. The King of the Death Knights leaped onto its head, and the bizarre pair raced straight after Dick.
After Arthas left, Falric, serving as Battle Commander, glanced at the departing prince and whipped the Soul Reaper from his waist.
"Charge! Soldiers of the Prince! Destroy this place! In Prince Arthas's name!"
Coming to his senses, Dathrohan propped himself up with his longsword and shouted to the paladins, who had raised their weapons and were preparing to advance into melee.
"Close the gates! Defend! Have the priests raise the barrier! Don't let them get up here!"
Only then did the paladins seem to wake from a dream. The first wave of elven rangers, already atop the walls of Crusader's Hold, drew their great bows and fired five consecutive volleys. They finally suppressed the undead vanguard's advance, allowing the knights to close the fortress gates.
The priests, who had long been ready, gathered together. Led by the old clerics from Light's Hope Chapel, they chanted protective spells of the Holy Light. Soon, a thin yet resilient Holy Light Barrier rose around the fortress. It effectively prevented the undead from entering the fortress grounds, powerfully suppressing, burning, and weakening any undead that dared approach.
With the undead hastily assembled and lacking any siege weapons, breaking through this barrier that weakened their strength would be impossible unless they gathered every undead in West Darrowmere, especially with Crusader's Hold having made thorough preparations beforehand.
Leaving aside the brutal siege for now, elsewhere,
Dick clutched Kel'Thuzad's urn and galloped toward the Thondroril River on his warhorse. Crusader's Hold was not far from the river, but time had become his most precious resource. The Crypt Fiend had eight legs, and its body was built like an enormous beetle's, making both its sprinting and traveling speeds far greater than those of Dick's warhorse. Though its endurance was somewhat poorer, with Frostmourne driving it without regard for the consequences, the fiend could at least maintain this speed until its body collapsed. That was an advantage Dick simply could not match.
The distance between him and Arthas was shrinking rapidly. Once he entered Arthas's attack range, given Arthas's current strength and the power of his abilities, a single hit from Frostmourne would end everything.
Moreover, the stretch from Crusader's Hold to the Thondroril River was entirely flat ground, without any forest to obstruct pursuit. However much Dick increased his speed, he had no chance of escaping in a straight line.
Amid all this misfortune, his greatest good fortune was that once his warhorse reached the towering banks of the rushing Thondroril River, he would no longer need to run.
Panting, he dismounted, patted the warhorse's neck, and released its bridle. These warhorses bred by the Order of the Silver Hand were exceptionally intelligent, so after Dick waved it away, the horse sensed the increasingly terrifying presence behind it, neighed, changed direction, and darted into a nearby grove.
Dick took the Fire of Justice from his back and planted it before him. Holding the urn in one arm, he watched Arthas and his fiend draw closer. Even the ground began to shake, like a mild earthquake. Dick knew a single fiend could not produce such an effect; this was entirely Arthas using the fiend's innate abilities to put psychological pressure on him.
But he gritted his teeth and gathered every bit of Holy Light in his body into his left hand. The Silver Hand grew warm. Dick removed his steel gauntlet, aimed toward Arthas, and fired a Holy Shock.
The strike targeted the fiend. Arthas had brought these creatures from Northrend to Lordaeron, and the lord-level fiends were too heavy to cross the sea. In other words, this Crypt Fiend was elite-level at most, and this Holy Shock was already enough to wound it.
"Aaaooow!"
Blazing Holy Light mingled with order power. The distance was a little too great, so the attack missed the fiend's head, but it still blasted a fist-sized hole through its foreleg. Green, foul blood and a piercing howl hindered Arthas's rapid approach. Standing atop the fiend's head, he frowned slightly.
Watching the fiend beneath him endure its pain and keep moving, Arthas's expression turned cold. With a thought from him, the fiend halted its labored charge and lowered its enormous head to the ground. Arthas walked down from the curved horns atop its head, step by step.
Like a king descending from a palanquin, he took a few steps and stopped before Dick. His gaze settled on the urn Dick held against his chest, then shifted to Dick himself.
After traveling from Chillwind Camp to Crusader's Hold, then galloping out of the fortress, Dick's armor was already in complete disarray. Coupled with his breathlessness from tension and exhaustion, his appearance was undoubtedly dreadful compared with the silent Arthas.
"Arthas, we meet again!"
Dick looked at the impassive Arthas. Though he had seen him countless times in the game, only when he truly stood before him did the biting wind hitting his face tell him just how powerful this fellow was! Dick felt his body begin to tremble. This was not fear or panic, but the instinctive awe of prey facing a higher being, facing a predator.
"Dick... I remember you..."
Arthas looked at Dick standing before him. His voice was cold and clear, like a wisp of chill air squeezed out of the howling north wind. This dark soul had once retained all of Arthas's memories and convictions. As he looked at Dick, a flicker passed through his indifferent eyes, but they immediately returned to their coldness.
"Give me the ashes! I'll grant you a dignified death!"
"Heh, and keep serving you after I'm dead?"
Dick pressed his lips together. When the negative emotions within him reached their peak, much of his panic had already dissipated. He looked at Arthas and raised the warhammer in his hand.
"Unfortunately, I refuse!"
When he saw Arthas raise Frostmourne, surging with an icy aura, Dick made a move. He held the urn beyond the cliff's edge, with the endlessly surging Thondroril River below.
"Death Grip can pull me to you quickly, but unfortunately, I know it only works on a single target. So you can only choose one: me or this!"
Dick took a step back, leaving one foot hanging in the air. Looking at Arthas's impassive face, he suddenly realized that once you resolved to die, no one could control you anymore.
Death was always the fairest thing of all!
"I'll kill you, kill your brothers and friends, kill your lover... Jaina, isn't it? To think Her Highness would fall for a vulgar soldier. Hehehe, you'll kill her right before your eyes! I swear!"
Arthas pointed Frostmourne's blade at Dick. Clearly, Dick's actions had angered this Death Lord, but Dick merely smiled freely.
"Arthas, I know you're going to Quel'Thalas! You'll resurrect your evil deputy there, but I won't let you succeed so easily! You bastard, there, at the Sunwell! That's where our final battlefield will be!"
Dick extended a finger and drew it across his neck in an arrogant throat-slitting gesture.
"Come on! Come find me in Quel'Thalas! Arthas! The game has begun, and you can no longer refuse!"
"Hahaha! The Holy Light will never fade, and justice will never die!"
Dick tossed the urn with one hand, and it and his body fell in two different directions toward the rushing Thondroril River below. For the first time, a genuine expression appeared on Arthas's impassive face. He rushed forward several steps and thrust out his left hand. Black-and-red death energy surged from his palm like a black viper, accurately caught the falling urn, coiled around it, and finally brought it safely into his hand.
But on the other side, where was any sign of Dick in those turbulent waters?
"Hehehe... I take back my earlier assessment. This bastard is an interesting little bug!"
Kel'Thuzad's voice rang out in Arthas's mind.
"Look, he's extended you an invitation. Will you play this game?"
"He's merely buying the knights of West Darrowmere time to cling to life!"
Arthas sheathed Frostmourne on his back, gave the Thondroril River one final glance, and turned to leap onto the head of the fiend, whose wound had already been mended with shadow energy.
"But you're right. Since the game has begun, what reason is there to abandon it? I want to see just how far this bug can go, too! The Silver Hand? Hmph! Uther is as good as dead. Let them cling to life a little longer!"
The King of the Death Knights urged the fiend onward, but this time, not toward Crusader's Hold. Instead, he headed the other way, upstream along the Thondroril River. Beyond the mountains there lay the sea. Arthas had no intention of entering Eastweald, and the paladins would not let him enter so easily, either.
Light's Hope Chapel... As a former paladin, Arthas knew very well what lay buried beneath that chapel. It was... something powerful enough to threaten his life!
Whether or not Arthas acknowledged Dick's words, at that moment, a game between the two of them, revolving around the survival of an ancient kingdom and even changes to the situation across the entire Northern Frontier, had already begun!
The game between Dick and Arthas had begun, with a kingdom as the pieces and the Northern Frontier as the stakes. Brothers! Send some recommendation votes and add this to your collections!