At the entrance to Grim Batol, now a ruin, Arthas transformed from a red dragon back into his human prince form, looking somewhat lost at the abandoned camp.
He lowered his head to examine the skeletal remains, which had long turned to white bones. They were indeed orc corpses, with some regrettable red dragon remains among them.
Judging by the degree of weathering, a very, very long time had passed.
Vereesa was gone, Chromie was gone, and Krasus had also vanished, his whereabouts unknown.
The good news was that he could sense he had returned to his original timeline, and from here, he could anchor himself to the City of Hope.
This was the Twilight Highlands, and in the distance, some Horde ogres were still wandering, having migrated here to settle.
Name: Arthas Menethil
Identity: Special Hero (Balanced All-Rounder)
Level: 10
Attack Range: 100 meters
Strength: 388
Agility: 388
Intelligence: 388
Health: 9780 (recovers 388 per second)
Mana: 9780 (recovers 38.8 per second)
Attack Power: 776
Defense: 50% damage reduction
Attack Speed: 30 / S (capped)
Movement Speed: Extremely fast
Skill Cooldown reduction: 38.8% (10 / Intelligence)
His attributes had grown stronger, he had gained several more skill points, and most importantly, his attack range had increased.
From close-quarters combat, he could now extend his reach by one hundred meters, allowing him to do more things and be even more unpredictable.
He casually threw a punch at an ogre in the distance, and two numbers popped up: a red number representing additional Bash damage, and a yellow number representing critical hit damage.
The ogre didn't even know what had happened before it was instantly blown apart!
The scene was a bit bloody, with a feeling of punches landing squarely.
Even from a great distance, it felt as if his fist had truly struck the body, with a clear tactile feedback.
"This is also good news. The next time I encounter Deathwing, I won't have to rack my brains to rush into melee combat."
Arthas exhaled. His damage at the time was truly just like giving Deathwing a pedicure. If not for the extremely overpowered Bash skill, which allowed for unlimited stunning,
He would probably have been just a buzzing fly, easily swatted to death with a casual slap.
Even with numerous damage reduction effects, he couldn't withstand the massive damage. It was like pulling a boss in The Motherlode with all the trash, and none of the mobs skipping, Retribution paladins felt great, but healers just wanted to curse!
A familiar power surged into him, and in the ethereal realm, his connection with this world seemed to deepen.
He could see the clouds drifting in the far reaches of the sky, feel the changes in wind direction, and the ants crawling through the grass on the soil.
Opening his hands, at this moment, he seemed to merge with the world; he was this world.
Gradually, the elements diffused in the air, normally invisible to the naked eye, could only be communicated with and captured by mages and shamans through unique methods.
Yet he could see the leaping elements, those unruly elements that possessed no reason, but were willing to listen to his voice.
This state was somewhat incredible. Beyond the power of the system panel, he was also a part of it, feeling the wind, fire, water, and electricity of nature.
Lightning was hidden in the clouds; those leaping thunder snakes were merely volatile lightning elements.
Seeing the subtle, understanding all changes, this was the Natural Way of a demigod.
To become a demigod of Azeroth, one must first resonate with nature.
This resonance was not the order set by the Titans, but the World Soul's own primal, wild conception.
The next second, a terrifying whisper came.
It was the voice of the Old Gods. They were sealed, but still parasitized the world of Azeroth, spreading the power of the Void and Shadow to the World Soul.
To make him fall, to make him one of them, to abandon groundless suspicions and preparations, and to open his hands to embrace the Void!
"Damn you! I, Arthas, will never become one of you ugly tentacle monsters, die!"
The sudden burst of mental power drove away the whispers, granting a moment of peace.
But it wasn't long before the whispers began again, omnipresent. Even covering his ears, they would appear directly in his mind.
Chattering endlessly, the continuous whispers were like a mosquito flying around his ear, very irritating, yet he couldn't swat the mosquito, driving his emotions to the extreme.
Calming down, Arthas tried to listen, treating it with a normal mindset.
If the Old Gods could use an unknown power to influence every living creature, then was there a possibility
That he could, in turn, decipher and learn this method, and then, using the Old Gods' own tactics, nag them in their minds?
To use their own methods against them!
You dare to use my magic against me?
He acted on the thought; perhaps this was also one of the trials for demigod advancement.
Demigods can fall, but they can also possess extraordinary abilities to resist these Old Gods who only know how to hide in their prisons, using despicable, underhanded methods to corrupt and erode other creatures.
"What you are doing is meaningless. Give up. Walk into The Great Sea and embrace endless darkness."
"Delicious little human prince, come to Northrend. I am much stronger than N'Zoth. Become my servant, and together we will conquer this world!"
"Though I don't want to say it, I can tell you that I can already leave this prison. Cooperating with me is the most valuable thing you can do."
There were three surviving Old Gods.
Yogg-Saron, the Fiend of a Thousand Maw, in the northern continent of Northrend.
C'Thun, the Fiend of a Thousand Eyes, deep beneath the southernmost part of Kalimdor.
And N'Zoth, the Fiend of a Thousand Maws, deep within The Great Sea, beneath Nazjatar.
It seemed all three Old Gods had their eyes on him, believing this human prince had great potential as an ally, and were doing everything they could to win him over.
But they weren't foolish; they all used whispering mental attacks, with no substantial help whatsoever, all talk, no action.
Arthas was unmoved. He could not ally with such disgusting creatures. If anything, he would become the master, enslaving these Old Gods to do his bidding.
If it truly came to that, besides the World Soul, which race in all of Azeroth would be his match?
By then, if he asked a naga witch to perform a pole dance for him, she would have to bring her own pole to dance.
Light of Lights?
More like the light from the neon signs on the stage!
Who knew how long had passed, one day, two days, ten days, half a month?
Arthas used the experience gained from his previous natural enlightenment to, in turn, simulate the whispers of the Old Gods.
His powerful mental energy, aided by his understanding of the Natural Way, could extend infinitely, spanning endless distances.
He delved into the ocean, saw Great White Sharks roaming the deep sea, giant sea snakes preying with lightning speed, and the city of the naga.
He saw the former socialite, now the naga queen Azshara.
And even deeper, he saw a pair of gigantic orange eyes, N'Zoth!