According to the rules of the duel, Arthas allowed half of the Warsong Clan members to return to the Horde, while the other half, along with Grom, were to stay and help deal with the plague.
Once the matter was resolved, they could return to the Horde; until then, they would be part of Arthas's personal guard.
Grom had been beaten into submission; continuous beatings, followed by continuous healing and then more beatings, were more than even an iron-willed man could endure.
The physical torment was one thing, but the spiritual humiliation was what he found truly unbearable.
Yet, his skill was inferior; a loss was a loss. Though orcs were not intellectually advanced, they valued traditional dueling rituals more than life itself.
The Horde's issue was perfectly resolved, and another paladin of the first Silver Hand, Dathrohan, was entrusted with supervising the Horde.
He was to ensure the orcs continued to mine resources until the Horde departed.
Before leaving, he had a detailed discussion with Dathrohan, asking him to ensure that the Alliance would not proactively instigate war.
Everything was to proceed according to the current plan: peacefully escorting the orcs away, so the Alliance could focus its efforts on dealing with the rampant plague and food shortages in the north.
If anyone else had said this, Dathrohan would not have paid them any mind. What a joke!
All orcs must die!
However, Arthas was the crown prince, and his strategic policy was to first consolidate internal affairs, then deal with the orcs later, without any pedantry.
This convinced everyone; everything was for the Alliance!
Given his absolute loyalty to the Lordaeron royal family, Dathrohan would not hesitate to charge into Stratholme and purge it, even if its inhabitants were infected with the plague and beyond saving.
He would not even let Arthas, the crown prince, dirty his hands, purifying and saving the residents of Stratholme in the name of the Holy Light!
He had a guard, but the orcs' enormous appetites would significantly increase the logistical pressure.
He needed to find a way to cultivate land. Others lacked the skills for farming, but the night elves on the continent of Kalimdor to the west had them!
Especially the Druids, who lived in harmony with nature, they would make perfect farmers!
Rice and wheat yielded two harvests a year, but in their hands, four or five harvests would be no problem.
The only obstacle was that those long-eared folk didn't trust outsiders much, making them hard to find, let alone persuade.
On the way back to Lordaeron, Arthas would challenge several Warsong Clan orcs to duels every day, euphemistically calling it 'getting to know each other'!
And they truly did get to know each other, covered in bruises, not a single spot untouched.
The good news was that all the bruises had merged into one large contusion, wasn't that 'getting to know each other'!
Reasoning with orcs was useless; only fists would make them listen, and with free food and lodging, it was a done deal.
If they couldn't even defeat the prince in a duel, then for the strength-worshipping orcs, as long as the fist was big enough, governing them would be very straightforward.
The city gates opened wide.
The streets were lined with commoners cheering, flowers falling, praising their prince returning victorious.
Royal Palace, Council Hall.
In the presence of many great lords, Arthas respectfully reported to his father.
"The southern orcs have been cleared. The Horde is confined to Southshore, helping the Alliance mine ore. Once enough wealth is accumulated, they will be sold ships to cross the sea and depart."
"The southern orcs are the Blackrock Clan, who came from the Burning Steppes and colluded with the troublemakers in the north."
"They attempted to overthrow the Alliance with the plague and necromancy. I humbly request Your Majesty to dispatch elite mages to assist in the investigation."
Terenas nodded with great satisfaction. He didn't have many years left to live, and now, in his old age, his son had grown up so outstandingly.
The old father's heart was comforted.
"Arthas, you have done very well. You are the crown prince of Lordaeron; the plague in the north will be yours to investigate, and the Alliance will dispatch elites to assist you."
"Tonight is a celebration banquet hosted by the Alliance for you. Enjoy yourself, and depart to investigate in seven days."
These words were meant to tell the great lords present that the crown prince now needed help, and it was their turn to show some filial piety.
Terenas had secretly arranged for the control of food distribution, with Uther leading the Silver Hand stationed in Andorhal, firmly blocking the crucial transportation routes.
With the orcs' concerns resolved, he could now fully focus on the plague incident in the north.
This time, it also had to be handled brilliantly, so his son could gain immense prestige and face less resistance when inheriting the throne.
Everything was for the kingdom's succession. Even if the plague incident wasn't significant enough, it had to be hyped up and exaggerated. Otherwise, how could the prince's achievements be highlighted?
It could be said that Terenas truly poured his heart into his son, even finding ways to mitigate the infamous impact of the Stratholme purge. This debt of gratitude could never be repaid!
Do your best, and leave the rest to fate.
Arthas returned to his manor and comfortably took a bath, washing away his fatigue.
He wasn't sure if he could resolve the plague.
If not, he could always take his people and hide elsewhere.
The Burning Legion would not rampage through the Eastern Kingdoms; their target had always been the continent of Kalimdor.
Only there was there enough energy to support opening The Legion's portal; the Eastern Kingdoms simply weren't enough.
Lost in thought, he eventually fell asleep until night.
He only vaguely awoke when a guard knocked on the door.
He shook his head, almost forgetting to ask his father for a piece of territory.
His camp system still needed to be implemented to provide a continuous supply of resources and enhance his strength.
The upgrades in the blacksmith's shop alone were tantalizing, offering a crude and simple increase in attack power and damage reduction.
As long as resources were in place, killing an orc with bare hands would no longer be a fantasy!
And he was also coveting the heroic abilities of other races!
The night elf hero Illidan's Evasion, which could make attacks miss.
The Pandaren's Drunken Haze, which allowed for evasion while also dealing several times the damage, a complete combination of evasion and critical strike.
If combined with the Pit Lord's passive Cleaving Attack from The Legion, he would be able to hit a large area, a complete human-shaped harvester!
Looking at his own skill panel, he sighed, realizing that he had a long and arduous journey ahead.
Calia walked in, helping Arthas change into his exquisite prince robes.
"Arthas, you've grown up. I'm so happy for you. Many beautiful young ladies are eagerly awaiting you tonight!"
An elder sister is like a mother. Terenas didn't have much time to care for his son, so he let his daughter do it.
With a delicate face, soft golden hair, and a graceful demeanor, this was Calia, the eldest princess of Lordaeron.
Arthas was momentarily lost in thought, then a good idea struck him.
"Sister, I need your help."
Calia doted on her younger brother the most. After the failed black dragon marriage scam, she had wholeheartedly dedicated herself to being a Holy Light nun.
"What is it?"
"I've taken a liking to Sylvanas, the ranger-general of the high elves. Can you help me find a way to marry her and bring her home?"
Arthas had been thinking about this for a long time; what was wrong with a prince having a few more women!