CHAPTER 737: ARCHIMONDE

On the desolate city road of Dalaran, Arthas rode as usual upon his loyal mount—his beloved horse, Invincible, now an undead warhorse. He had endured an unpleasant experience in Quel’Thalas. That bastard Dath’Remar, restless even in death, had not attacked him directly but had instead made a despicable move against Invincible, severing one of its legs with the Sunwell’s intense heat. This had forced Arthas to expend a great deal of energy to refine the leg bone of another undead warhorse using the power of darkness, then graft it onto Invincible. When Invincible was alive, it had died from a fatal injury caused by a broken leg. This incident reluctantly brought back that terrible memory from many years ago, a truly dreadful feeling. However, in the battle with the former Elven King, the icy rage ignited by this event had proven very helpful in defeating his opponent and successfully resurrecting Kel’Thuzad.

Kel’Thuzad’s arrival piqued Arthas’s interest further. He watched the Lich float before him. From the Sunwell back to Lordaeron City, then to Dalaran, the Lich seemed remarkably serene throughout the journey—if such a word could even be used to describe a Lich. A few days prior, it had been Kel’Thuzad who conveyed the Lich King’s order, instructing the Scourge to return to these ruins, so full of Arthas’s memories. Although Arthas was somewhat perplexed by the command, he never questioned it. It wasn’t until yesterday that Kel’Thuzad revealed the Scourge’s true objective: to directly summon Archimonde the Defiler, one of the two commanders of the Burning Legion, into the world of Azeroth.

After increasingly tedious wars, the former Prince of Lordaeron was filled with both curiosity and excitement upon hearing this news. Due to Duke’s sudden appearance, the Scourge’s sweeping momentum had been disrupted. This left a sense of loss, a feeling of incomplete triumph even in victory. He suddenly wondered, now that he was unable to completely overwhelm Duke, if Archimonde, the legendary strongest warrior of the Burning Legion, stood behind him, would Edmund Duke still be able to stand so proudly before him?

Although both were Eredar, Archimonde and Kil’jaeden the Deceiver possessed entirely different styles. Kil’jaeden preferred strategic cunning, willing to invest considerable time to achieve his and the Burning Legion’s goals at the lowest possible cost. Archimonde, however, was pure, unadulterated violence! Even as a commander, his greatest pleasure lay in personally entering the battlefield, inflicting the most horrific destruction upon the enemy, and reveling in the sight of everything crumbling before him. This was why, despite the demon lord Sargeras, a former Titan, being more powerful in combat, and the Deceiver Kil’jaeden being formidable in his own right, their rare direct interventions over the past ten thousand years led many other races to widely believe that Archimonde was the strongest in the Burning Legion!

Lost in thought, the corner of the fallen prince’s mouth curled into a smile: "Take me there, Kel’Thuzad!"

"Yes!" The great Lich replied with utmost respect.

Arthas was very satisfied with the Archlich’s demeanor. Although, by chance, the Scourge theoretically possessed three Sun-class Archliches at its peak, he still favored Kel’Thuzad above all others. Antonidas lacked awareness of his status as a Lich. Anasterian still clung to his airs as a former king; the fallen elven monarch was not yet accustomed to being a servant... In fact, Arthas himself sometimes wondered if it was a grievance for him to be subservient to the Lich King, Ner’zhul. The Lich King’s power was immense, and Frostmourne constantly and subtly influenced Arthas’s will, ensuring the Fallen Prince never pondered such thoughts for long.

Suddenly, an idea sparked in Arthas’s mind. "Yes!" he said teasingly, "You don’t hold a grudge against me for killing you?"

"Don’t be silly," the great undead Lich replied. "His Majesty the Lich King told me what the outcome of our meeting would be."

Arthas seemed surprised: "Your Majesty knew that I would kill you?" He frowned, glancing at the sword resting on his knees. It lay quietly, without whispers, and its runes did not pulse with power.

"Of course!" Kel’Thuzad’s hollow voice carried a hint of superiority: "He chose you as his champion long before the Scourge launched the Wrath."

Arthas felt a little uncomfortable. It was the unpleasant sensation of being manipulated. No one had ever asked about or revealed his fate. If he had known this earlier, would he have gladly accepted his own degeneration?

No! He firmly believed it. Arthas never liked to be controlled, but he understood that since he was destined to become a terrible weapon, he had no choice but to adapt.

The fall was complete! Life was gone! Whether it was his, his father’s, or his master’s... If there hadn’t been a massacre at the orphanage, perhaps he would still be with Uther, his father, and even Jaina... Unfortunately, all of this had become an unrealistic fantasy. Since the moment he pulled out Frostmourne, his fate had become irreversible; he could only continue down the dark path, step by step!

The road seemed endless, but soon it reached its conclusion: a colossal altar, converted from Dalaran’s central square. According to Kel’Thuzad, this blood altar, inlaid with skulls and constructed from countless corpses, possessed the same function as the Dark Portal in the Blasted Lands.

"Why don’t we just attack the Dark Portal?" Arthas frowned.

The Archlich was silent for a moment, then finally answered: "The Dark Portal used to be a good choice. But it is not now. The Edmund family spent ten years fortifying almost the entire Swamp of Sorrows and the Watchtower area in the north of the Blasted Lands. In addition, the ground near all the fortresses has been treated with holy magic. We can’t resurrect anyone who died there as a Scourge soldier. And..."

The Archlich spoke at length, but Arthas no longer listened. In just a few moments, Arthas felt the malice of fate for the second time. His intuition seemed to tell him that Duke was blocking him again, that he had foreseen everything in advance.

"Tsk..." He spat harshly.

It was a brutal ritual, completed with the sacrifice of 10,000 people. As the ceremony progressed, in its final stages, Arthas could see with his own eyes that the mist rising from the side of the altar began to shift from a foul-smelling red to a strange green. The green cloud continued to swirl. Then, Arthas found that he could already discern the shape of a giant. It was not just an ordinary giant, but truly colossal, far exceeding all his imagination. It was Archimonde.