Arthas, riding his warhorse, galloped alone on the road to Andorhal, a major town in Westwealde. The scenery around him quickly receded, and in the evening sunset, Arthas could already see the buildings of Andorhal.
Arthas pulled on the reins, spurring his horse to a faster pace, intending to enter Andorhal before night completely fell.
But as the scenery moved past, Arthas suddenly detected a subtle sense of unease, and his warhorse, under his control, began to gradually slow down.
An extremely bizarre scene appeared before him; the road to Andorhal in Arthas's vision became dim, as if it were a scene from a faded painting.
The verdant forests and grasslands were stained with a withered, yellow decay, exuding traces of death, just like returning to the Undead Scourge-ridden Icecrown Glacier.
Andorhal's once rich and fertile soil had become barren and dry, animal remains were everywhere, and the land was lifeless, like a person infected with a terrible disease, on the verge of death.
Broken corpses and charred wagons gradually appeared on the road. Some of the dead had extremely distorted faces, indicating they must have experienced immense fright and pain before their demise.
The wide main road couldn't even accommodate Arthas's warhorse. Arthas, who was riding, had no choice but to dismount. But when he was about to lead his warhorse forward, he found that the horse, which had just been standing beside him, had vanished into thin air.
Such an anomaly surprised Arthas slightly, but he quickly calmed down—what he was seeing was not true reality, but some kind of illusion.
Arthas bent down, pulled up a few withered blades of grass from the ground, rubbed them in his hands a few times, and the dry grass immediately crumbled into dust on the ground.
With the whistling wind, Arthas could clearly smell the pungent stench of decay. The entire Westwealde was shrouded in a terrible plague and death; this was no longer a home where people could live in peace and contentment.
Who created such a realistic illusion? Could it be the Dreadlords resorting to their old tricks, trying to break through his defenses?
But when he examined his mind, he found that he was not magically deceived, but that the world he was in had undergone a real change.
A multitude of questions filled Arthas's mind: What exactly happened? Why did he mistakenly enter a seemingly real plane?
Andorhal was just ahead. Arthas checked his equipment, preparing to go into the city to see what had happened.
The further Arthas walked, the more familiar the scene before him became. When the ruins of Andorhal fully entered Arthas's sight, he finally remembered.
"This is the future… the Western Plaguelands occupied by the Undead Scourge?"
Numerous skeletons and Ghouls roamed the ruins of Andorhal. This once prosperous town was now a hellish sight, and its residents had long since become minions of the Scourge.
Moreover, standing outside the city, Arthas had a vague premonition that the source of this abnormal illusion was within Andorhal, and he had to go inside to see what was happening.
But the undead blocking his way clearly wouldn't let a living person like him enter Andorhal. As Arthas appeared in their sight, countless greedy and bloodthirsty gazes turned towards him.
Arthas originally intended to draw Frostmourne, but his hand gripping the hilt paused, then re-gripped the handle of his warhammer.
A faint holy light gradually enveloped the warhammer. Arthas stretched his body, then strode into the ranks of the undead.
...
Thirty minutes later, guided by an inner impulse, Arthas arrived in front of the abandoned Andorhal Inn, behind him a mountain of undead corpses.
These low-level cannon fodder could no longer pose a threat to Arthas, not even managing to deplete his stamina.
And when Arthas stood before the entrance of the abandoned inn, the previously frenzied undead suddenly lost their target, aimlessly wandering in place for a while before slowly retreating.
Only then did Arthas re-sling his warhammer, stained with undead putrid fluid, onto his back and push open the inn's main door, which was covered in dust and cobwebs.
After a grating "creak," Arthas waved his hand, covering his mouth and nose. The entire interior of the inn was assailed by the smell of rotten mildew and choking dust.
Overturned tables and chairs, and a chaotic counter, indicated that during the disaster, the inn had simultaneously plunged into panic and chaos.
In the corner, Arthas also saw a complete human skeleton. For some unknown reason, it had not been reanimated by the Undead Scourge; perhaps it had been too thoroughly consumed by the undead.
The entire first floor of the inn, apart from the sound of Arthas's war boots on the ground, was utterly silent, exactly like a haunted house in a horror novel.
Yet, in this inn, which should have been silent for many years, Arthas heard the clamor of clinking cups and boisterous chatter coming from the second floor. But when he ascended the creaking staircase to the second floor, he found nothing but a few cobweb-filled rooms.
"Here…"
A sudden voice made Arthas sharply turn his head, looking towards the closed guest room at the end of the hallway.
Arthas frowned, quite suspicious, and strode towards that guest room. As he passed a room in the hallway, a dark shadow lunged out.
It was a hideous Ghoul! Arthas, however, showed no panic, as if he had long known this would happen, and his steel gauntlet met it head-on.
The fragile wooden wall could not withstand Arthas's strength. The lunging Ghoul was pinned beneath the fallen wall. Arthas lifted his foot and stomped on its head, and the miserable Ghoul immediately fell silent.
Shaking off the unknown liquid from his hand, Arthas pressed the doorknob and pulled open the closed door.
However, this room was not old and messy like the other abandoned guest rooms; instead, it was clean, comfortable, and tidy, like a normal guest room that was regularly cleaned.
But what truly captured Arthas's attention was not this peculiar room, but a small figure seated at the room's desk.
Upon hearing the door open, the figure turned around in the chair. When she saw Arthas, the small Gnome excitedly jumped up from her chair.
"Whoa! Thank goodness, I finally succeeded!" The female Gnome had a distinctly different appearance from other female Gnomes, looking more like a human girl.
Her golden hair was tied into two buns, and she held a gem-encrusted staff in her hand. She wore a peculiar yellow, white, and black striped robe, which was not the uniform of any human mage organization.
Upon seeing this figure, who was almost etched into his soul, Arthas's first reaction was to pull out Frostmourne, and the runes on its blade instantly lit up.
The little Gnome's face stiffened. She quickly waved at Arthas, "Hehehe! Don't be so tense. Could you first put away… ahem, that sword? Nice to meet you, my name is…"
"Chromie, you'd better give me a reasonable explanation."
Arthas now fully understood that his entry into this strange future scene must have been this fellow's doing!
Chromie, outwardly a cute female Gnome, was actually a Bronze Dragon whose true name was Chronormu, a member of the Bronze Dragonflight. Her appearance immediately put Arthas on high alert.
Sensing Arthas's intense hostility, Chromie chuckled dryly, and subtly took a step back, intending to distance herself from Frostmourne.
"Ahem, I'll explain clearly, but could you please put Frostmourne away first—you're a bit scary like that."
That sword was a cursed weapon that even dragons would fear, and combined with the Prince of Lordaeron before her, he was definitely the most abnormal one across all timelines.
His power exceeded that of his counterparts at the same period in any other timeline, and he had embarked on a path that had never occurred—which was also the main reason she was here.
"I'll give you one minute to explain, otherwise I think Frostmourne would be very happy to taste a Dragon."
Chromie rolled her eyes, but her words were very honest, "Please don't, I have no ill intentions, I merely want to talk with you."
"Talk? What do we have to talk about? You are the lofty Time Guardians, and I'd rather avoid you."
"I knew this would happen, but, Arthas, do you know, there's a huge problem with the timeline you're on!" Chromie gestured a large circle with her hands, trying to convey how serious the problem was.
"Problem? I don't think there's any problem. Everything is fine now, maybe the Burning Legion won't even be able to descend."
"That's just what you see as no problem. In our view, it's not like that." Chromie sighed, "Do you know why I pulled you into this world? This is the history of the so-called 'correct' world."
"At this time, you, merged with the Lich King, are still sleeping on the Frozen Throne, and the lands of Lordaeron have completely become a paradise for the undead."
"You should know these things, so I won't say more—normally, even if your timeline deviates from the correct history, we wouldn't forcibly interfere, because every timeline has its reason for existing."
Chromie's expression became strange. "But it's precisely here that a problem has arisen. The time you are in cannot be interfered with. I tried everything to pull you from there, but it can only last for a very short time."
"Cannot be interfered with? What do you mean? Aren't you Bronze Dragons free to come and go in the river of time? Do you take me for a fool?"
Arthas asked, but he probably understood why he hadn't encountered the Bronze Dragons and the Infinite Dragons; it was very likely as Chromie said.
"Interference is impossible because the timeline you are in is gradually beginning to merge with many other possibilities that ended at a certain stage, causing the cost of interference to be unbearable even for Lord Nozdormu."
Nozdormu, the Bronze Dragon King who received the power of time and space, could see the future at different points in time and even foresee his own death, but such an existence couldn't even interfere with the time he was in?
"The Bronze Dragonflight is not as mortals imagine. There aren't countless Bronze Dragonflights in countless worlds. In fact, after Lord Nozdormu received his blessing and authority, the entire Bronze Dragonflight became a very special existence among the Dragon Legion."
"We are both the past, the present, and the future."
"And precisely because there is so much we can observe, all sorts of paradoxes and destinies can easily twist our minds. Even Lord Nozdormu himself uses his power very carefully, not daring to overly interfere with the flow of the river of time."
"Because if time is excessively interfered with, the side effects are enough to drive even the most powerful Dragons insane and irrational."
"So we have no choice but to emphasize 'correction,' precisely to avoid the severe impacts of certain special circumstances. But we are also simultaneously pondering a question: What truly is the destiny of Azeroth?"
As Chromie spoke, her body became ethereal. She realized her time was running out and quickened her pace of speech.
"Listen, Arthas, your appearance is a very special turning point. At least the automatic feedback of the river of time proves this. I can't tell you too many things, because merely knowing some things will lead to immense chaos."
"I am only here to deliver a message: The Sands of Time have turned once more—."
Chromie's words were cut short. She was like a paused video, her voice stuck, her movements frozen. Arthas only felt a blur before his eyes. Chromie's body seemed like a stretched image, becoming distorted and ethereal.
"Pop!"
With a soft sound like a balloon popping, Arthas shuddered, recovering from a sense of weightlessness. He was still on his warhorse, galloping on the main road towards Andorhal.
Chromie's appearance and sudden departure left Arthas completely bewildered. The doubts in his heart not only didn't dissipate but increased.
However, her arrival did confirm one thing for Arthas: the Bronze Dragons couldn't influence his choices. They might know, but they couldn't take actual action.
But Arthas always felt that Chromie had something important left unsaid, and the connection was severed by the side effects of affecting time and space.
Arthas suddenly wondered if he should proactively seek out the Guardian Dragons. Some things seemed not entirely consistent with what he knew.