Night fell, and the guard camped, surrounded by silence.
The atmosphere within the camp was somber; priests quietly tended to the injured, using the Holy Light to pray for the healing of their wounds.
Outside the camp, due to the plague infection, there was an even more profound silence, a suffocating darkness.
Arthas personally penned a letter detailing his observations and judgments from the journey, his inner anxieties growing more intense.
The closer he got to Stratholme, the more uneasy he felt; he had a premonition that it would be a turning point in his destiny.
Footsteps sounded from outside.
Mograine and Fordring arrived with the paladins; they had previously been ordered to gather paladins and inspect village provisions along the way, using the Holy Light to detect any plague-infected grain.
"Fordring, I need you to go to Stratholme and gather the local Silver Hand to inspect the grain; the plague is spreading through the grain."
"Once found, destroy it immediately. You must be careful; members of the Cult of the Damned have already infiltrated. The local Baron Rivendare is problematic, so be extra cautious."
"I will continue to track Kel'Thuzad and destroy the plague-infected grain along the way. Finally, we will rendezvous in Stratholme."
"After the plague is resolved, I will request the King to restore your status as Grand Lord. May the Holy Light be with you!"
Fordring was the most devout paladin, and also the most powerful; with him stationed in Stratholme, things should improve.
If he unfortunately died in battle, it wouldn't matter, as he was the one who ultimately brought an end to Arthas' own descent into the Lich King; in a sense, he was also an 'enemy.'
Trust this Grand Lord!
Fordring's expression was solemn as he knelt on one knee, his right hand over his chest, speaking with the highest reverence.
"Tirion Fordring, I obey. May the Holy Light be with you, Prince Arthas."
Mograine smiled, thinking that with a wise prince leading, Lordaeron would surely overcome this disaster.
Suddenly, on a whim, he unbuckled his sword and handed it over.
"Old friend, the forging of ashbringer also owes much to your efforts. Stratholme is the second most important stronghold and cannot be lost!"
"Take it, and in the name of the Holy Light, complete prince Arthas' mission at all costs."
Skipping the middleman and handing ashbringer directly to its ultimate owner?
Fordring hesitated. He looked at the weapon, gleaming with pure Holy Light, having seen it carve through the undead like slicing vegetables along the way.
"It's too precious, I cannot accept it!"
Mograine burst into laughter, then suddenly cursed loudly.
"What are you dreaming of? I'm just lending it to you! You're already thinking of keeping it for yourself? Are you even a paladin?"
After a moment of surprise, Fordring also smiled knowingly.
He was merely afraid of Fordring being overly modest, so he found an excuse.
A weapon is a warrior's second life, to be cherished like a wife; how could there be any reason to lend it out?
He solemnly accepted Ashbringer, and a beam of Holy Light descended from the heavens, so dense it made it impossible to open one's eyes.
At this moment, Fordring was elevated, recognized by the Holy Light, this was the old man who would lead the crusade against the Lich King and fearlessly fight on the Broken Shore!
"Please rest assured, as long as I live, the city stands!"
Seeing Fordring's renewed breakthrough, Arthas changed his mind again; a king cannot be narrow-minded!
Such excellent combat power would be a pity to waste.
From a king's perspective, Arthas also needed such an upright and loyal paladin.
"Fordring, your mission is to gather uninfected soldiers. Do not trust anyone inside, not even paladins."
"If the situation becomes untenable, try to consolidate your forces and withdraw outside the city to await support."
"Do not dwell on temporary gains or losses; the enemy we face is very cunning. They are using my people, transformed into undead, to fight us."
After discussing several plans in detail, Arthas also granted him the authority to make decisions on the fly, even allowing him to execute traitors on the spot, even if they were nobles!
This stance made Fordring even more certain that the situation in Stratholme had reached an extremely critical point.
"Prince Arthas, please rest assured, I will definitely complete the mission."
Late at night, the camp returned to quiet.
Fordring departed that very night, and Mograine was responsible for patrolling the camp and keeping watch.
Arthas, however, couldn't sleep; he was still thinking about the future.
The undead Scourge was severe, but if handled properly, even a severely weakened Lordaeron could recover.
Instead of considering these things, it would be better to think about how to marry Sylvanas.
Quel'Thalas' demands were somewhat excessive, requiring Lordaeron to help clear out the forest trolls and conquer the troll city of Zul'Aman.
To find a troll city in the vast forests and hills and then conquer their main city, how easy could that be?
Fighting on foreign ground, with difficult supply transport and arduous marches, it's no wonder the conflict had lasted a thousand years without a resolution.
Unless, unless Quel'Thalas experienced a major upheaval!
In a crisis of national destruction, then perhaps their minds could be changed.
Arthas' first thought was the undead Scourge, and a daring plan slowly emerged in his mind!
Accompanied by a fragrant breeze, Sylvanas stood behind him.
"That Necromancer retreated to Andorhal, which is already overrun with undead."
She had gone scouting earlier and returned with not-so-great news; there was no better scout than an elven ranger.
"I know. Those damned undead, one day, I will make them pay a price worse than death!"
"Care for a drink together?"
Arthas became a little bolder; in times of frustration and anxiety, there were two ways to relieve the bitterness in his heart.
One was women, the other was cigarettes and fine wine.
The perceptive Sylvanas immediately saw through Arthas' intentions, turned around, and left him.
"Talk to me about that when we're married."
You rascal!
Did she not know what he was thinking?
A moment later, Arthas slipped into the tent.
Jaina, who had just closed her book and was about to rest, was startled; she had, after all, set up a magic barrier.
Seeing who it was, she smiled brightly.
"Something wrong?"
Arthas nodded, sat down with a flask of wine.
"Father said that once this plague is resolved, we will marry."
At these words, Jaina's face flushed, and her already joyful heart fluttered like a trapped deer.
To walk down the aisle with her childhood sweetheart, whose romantic relationship had long been established, what a romantic thing that would be!
Their breakup a few years ago had left her heartbroken, but she also understood that Arthas had been equally pained, not pursuing other women but dedicating himself entirely to training, which led to his current achievements.
She, too, had transformed her longing for Arthas and the sorrow of their separation into motivation for studying magic, hoping to forget the anguish of her broken heart.
Now, both had achieved much; she had become a High Mage, and Arthas an excellent paladin.
Surely, all of this had been worth it!
Her eyes looked at the flask of fine wine, then at Arthas; being as intelligent as she was, she couldn't possibly miss his intentions.
It would be perfectly normal for something to happen after a drink, wouldn't it?