Since the camp function hasn't been activated yet, the blacksmith's Shop remains unusable even after being unlocked.
However, the ten-point increase in attack power genuinely made up for a significant amount of damage.
Arthas: Light of Lordaeron
Attack Power: 40-60
Damage Reduction: 40%
Health: 900
Mana: 400
He was decent, neither too strong nor too weak.
As Arthas took the black dragon egg, a colossal black dragon, dormant in the Burning Steppes to the south, slowly opened its slumbering eyes, an immense fury flashing within them.
Half a day later.
Sylvanas looked at the bow enchanted with black dragon blood, seemingly unable to part with it; it would further enhance her attack power.
With the black dragon bone material in hand, after returning, she could also have the mages of Silvermoon City help forge and upgrade the bow, making it capable of forming arrow attacks through magic without needing actual arrows.
This expedition had clearly yielded immense rewards.
The elated Sylvanas, uncharacteristically, took the initiative. The idea of her taking the dominant position was out of the question; it was still far from happening.
She cast a spell with both hands, pinpointing the orcs' tracks, a unique reconnaissance and tracking skill of a ranger.
"Arthas, it's time to depart. Those orcs are performing some kind of ritual."
"They are sacrificing your people. You'd best hurry. Go up the eastern path; it will bypass most of the enemies."
"Let's go."
Arthas felt as if something was watching him. He shook his head, perhaps the Lich King?
On the mountaintop.
Arthas, who had fought his way up, encountered the enemy leader, a blackrock Clan orc Blademaster.
Orcs were not without combat skills; only elite warriors forged through blood and fire could aspire to become a Blademaster, which represented lofty honor.
'Optional side quest updated: Learn from the Barbarians to defeat the Barbarians.'
'Quest content: Win a one-on-one duel against the orc Blademaster.'
'Quest reward: Learn the Blademaster's passive skill - Critical Strike.'
Good stuff! This was a divine skill!
Arthas directed his soldiers to clear out the orcs and forest trolls, while he walked over alone.
"You foolish orc, if you still possess any orcish honor, then fight me one-on-one, to determine both victor and vanquished."
"By the Ancestors, I will cleave your head off!"
The two soon clashed. There were no fancy techniques, only straightforward, turn-based offense and defense.
The orc Blademaster indeed possessed unique skills, and his speed was considerably faster than that of ordinary orcs.
When the passive skill Critical Strike activated, there was also a chance to deal double damage.
Arthas was no pushover. With the orc Blademaster's attack power, it would take at least thirty blows to defeat him.
Whenever he was close to being defeated, he would cast a Holy Light spell on himself to restore his health, always maintaining a health advantage.
How could the orc blademaster have experienced the peril of a tank, especially one who could deal damage, tank, and heal? He was invincible in solo combat!
And you dared to duel a paladin?
You were simply lawless!
The poor orc Blademaster had no idea that this handsome, dashing prince had so many tricks up his sleeve, and his head was smashed in.
Below the cliff was a small demon portal, but after half a day, not a single demon had emerged.
"Summon Uther and have him examine this demon altar."
Arthas did not destroy it; instead, he called Uther.
Only by convincing him of the demon invasion could he gain the support of this old stubborn man in his subsequent actions.
Of course, he couldn't rely on him alone; Arthas's gaze was on the other first-generation paladins.
They had one advantage: absolute loyalty.
There were those who hated evil like poison, those who upheld absolute justice, and those who would fight if they disagreed.
With the orcs dealt with, he had to head north to investigate the plague. There was no time to lose; every moment of delay meant more people would be infected with the plague and converted into undead.
The undead were not terrifying; what was terrifying was having their minds controlled and being made to slaughter their former compatriots.
Human wave tactics, growing in number, and requiring no food, drink, or excretion, meant no logistical pressure, no fear, no cowardice.
Such a force would grow in number with every battle, no wonder it instilled such fear that people would set aside factional hatred and unite to fight it.
All living creatures needed to eat and excrete, experienced joy, anger, sorrow, and naturally felt fear and reluctance to fight.
None of these existed in the undead; they were pure tools, emotionless tools!
If he didn't have a way to control the undead, Arthas wouldn't mind playing the Lich King for a bit; it was simply too tempting!
Hmm, but even so, it wasn't as tempting as Sylvanas, so the Lich King could wait.
He subtly glanced at the undulating peaks of Sylvanas's chest as she breathed. No wonder she liked climbing mountains; he only regretted not being on that mountain himself!
Sylvanas seemed to notice the prince's gaze and rolled her eyes in annoyance. How many times had this happened?
Young men were always so hot-blooded. Could he be inexperienced?
Arthas immersed himself, focusing his attention on the new skill.
Level One Critical Strike: A skill of the orc hero Blademaster. Each attack has a 10% chance to deal 2 times damage.
It was decent, capable of providing unexpected burst damage, but it wasn't stable. It was very possible to have bad luck and never trigger it.
But upon seeing the growth curve, Arthas immediately retracted what he had just said. He admitted he had spoken a bit too loudly just now.
Level Ten Critical Strike: Each attack has a 100% chance to deal 10 times damage.
Each level added a 10% chance, which was the same as Bash!
One was stable burst damage, the other was stable control and minor burst damage.
If he could max out his skills, what Lich King, what Pit Lord, what Archimonde? He could truly punch them all into oblivion!
ONE PUNCH!
Let them know the harshness of society, know who the boss was!
Watching Arthas frown one moment and then grin foolishly the next, Sylvanas worried if he had been beaten senseless and turned into a simpleton.
"Hey, are you alright!"
As she spoke, she extended her delicate hand and pressed it against his forehead, wanting to check if he had a fever.
Cool and soft, the calluses on her fingertips, honed by years of drawing a bow, sent ripples through him.
Looking at her pretty face so close, her full red lips, he really wanted to kiss her.
"Cough, cough, I'm fine. I was just thinking about how to convince those old stubborn men in Silvermoon City. I need your assistance, perhaps for a very long time."
Upon hearing this, Sylvanas chuckled and crossed her arms, a pose that further showcased her assets.
What was pure bliss?
This was pure bliss!
"It seems you've become dependent on me? I am the ranger-general and responsible for guarding the Silvermoon Woods. I can't accompany you on adventures."
As she said this, her eyes showed a hint of disappointment.
"Is there really no other way?"
"There is, unless..."
Just as Sylvanas was about to say something, she heard Uther and two other paladins arrive together.