"Uther, you've come at just the right time. The orcs are contacting their Dreadlord masters. I just fought their Blademaster.
I found that he also mentioned the plague of the undead. Please contact the mages of Dalaran to investigate this portal.
Additionally, I need the help of the Silver Hand. I want to meet the Warchief of the New Horde. If he can get the orcs to leave the Eastern Kingdoms, we can focus our efforts on the plague."
Arthas felt a little apprehensive. The renowned Stratholme was not far, and he still had no clue how to proceed.
Now, he could only put his trust in the mages of Dalaran. If that didn't work, there were still the Night elves to the west.
Druids combined with Dryads should be able to purify the plague once more.
Uther, being pedantic, would agree to any reasonable request. To trick such an old man, one needed some special methods.
"You've done very well, crown prince. You have excellently completed the trial. I will write to the other members of the Silver Hand to have them assist you."
"Now, leave this place to me. You should return to the camp to rest. Tomorrow, we will return to Lordaeron to report to King Terenas."
As things stood, it was best to wait first.
That night, in the camp.
The elven priests were still treating the wounded. Even fractures could heal faster with the use of Holy Light healing.
A human prince and an elven ranger-general rarely sat down to drink together.
Wood burned in the fire, occasionally crackling.
The yellowish flames reflected Sylvanas's face with a sunset-like beauty. Her hood was removed, revealing long golden hair in waves, and slender elven ears, exuding the charm of a beautiful woman.
"Sylvanas, you still haven't told me, how can I get you to fight alongside me?"
Arthas put down his wine glass, a hint of curiosity in his eyes. With her help, his military assistance would truly advance by leaps and bounds.
Aside from his appreciation for beauty, Sylvanas was an excellent helpmate in both military matters and combat.
No matter how powerful one person was, he was still alone.
Many things could not be accomplished by one person alone. He could maintain the strongest combat power and lead others to fight for it.
As the backbone, he must have followers to handle the dirty and arduous work, rather than having to do everything himself.
No servants, no three wives and four concubines, was this truly the crown prince experience?
"Heh heh, it's not difficult, nor is it easy. The key is the King's approval."
"And once something happens in Silvermoon Woods, as the ranger-general, I must be present."
Sylvanas spoke these words without complaint, only pride!
This was the sense of mission from the Windrunner family. If she had to be freed from it,
either the plague would destroy the high elf kingdom, or Silvermoon City would banish her.
Neither seemed very likely.
Wait!
The plague? Silvermoon Woods? Silvermoon City, the Sunwell!
Arthas seemed to grasp something. The Lich King was also monitored by Dreadlords, and his ultimate goal was to open a portal to summon the Burning Legion to Azeroth.
Then there were two unavoidable places: one was the Sunwell, which contained powerful magical energy, and the other was Dalaran, the convergence point of the magical network.
"Now, after the plague spreads, it also has the ability to turn the dead into undead to attack the living. If left unchecked, it will eventually spread to Silvermoon Woods."
"I will write to Silvermoon City in the name of the Alliance, requesting your assistance. The instability in the north will cut off food and materials, and this will also affect the high elves."
Sylvanas's eyes flashed with a hint of admiration. He understood how to act in the name of the Alliance; handling private matters officially was not impossible.
None of this was something a young crown prince could fully grasp. Although as a high elf, she sincerely hoped that the Alliance would be led by humans.
Humans were a race that always gave rise to miracles.
"If there's no recall, I'll most likely assist you here."
"Do you believe in fate?"
"I don't!"
"I don't either!"
The two exchanged a smile, more so about the dream that was indistinguishable from reality.
He had intended to get Sylvanas drunk, then half-coax her into his bed. Would she still run away then?
The result was that Sylvanas didn't get drunk; Arthas himself ended up completely intoxicated.
Watching Arthas being carried away, Sylvanas merely smiled kindly. Such a tactic was truly laughably clumsy.
What an adorably foolish blockhead!
The next day.
Arthas examined the rewarded camp system.
It allowed him to recruit peasants and choose an area to establish a camp for operations, such as mining gold and lumber.
The subsequent series of buildings resembled human structures, but they were all grayed out. Currently, only a blacksmith could be built.
After returning to Lordaeron, he would choose a place for experimentation; this location wasn't suitable.
The Kingdom of Lordaeron, Southshore.
Arthas arrived here on a gryphon. Accompanying him, besides Sylvanas, were Fordring and Mograine, summoned by Uther.
Fordring had been stripped of his Holy Light and exiled for saving an orc, so he was no longer a knight of the Silver Hand.
But when Uther's letter arrived, he still unhesitatingly ended his reclusive life.
For no other reason than that the crown prince had specifically requested his assistance.
A summons from the crown prince was something no great lord could refuse.
Many years had passed since the incident, and even Uther deeply respected Fordring's character. Having him assist would prevent the crown prince from making mistakes due to youthful impetuosity.
As for Mograine, the famous ashbringer's hot temper was well-known. When it came to charging into battle, he could help handle all matters.
Besides this, Uther had returned to Lordaeron ahead of time to report on his duties and deliver Arthas's personal letter to the King.
A hearty laugh rang out as Admiral Daelin, with half-black, half-white hair and beard, approached.
"Prince Arthas, I hear you won a victory in Strahnbrad. Well done! Those damned orcs deserve to die!"
Even though his son hadn't died in the orcish wars, Daelin hated those damned orcs as much as ever.
Arthas performed a paladin's salute, nodding slightly.
"You flatter me, sir. It was merely the soldiers fighting bravely. To the point, where are the orcs?"
At the mention of orcs, Daelin let out a hearty laugh.
"Yesterday, I just defeated a group of orcs and captured their chieftain! These fools, who don't know their place, actually tried to attack my fleet!"
Hmm?
So reckless. It seems it was none other than Grommash Hellscream, the chieftain of the Warsong Clan.
To Arthas, he was just a tool. All orcs were tools.
"Perfect. The New Horde will come to rescue him. I'll take this opportunity to speak with the Warchief of the New Horde."
"Admiral, our current problem is to deal with the plague and the undead. Eastweald is the Alliance's granary; if something happens there, the consequences would be unimaginable."
"There will be plenty of opportunities to deal with these orcs later. After all, if you kill them all at once, you won't have any fun, right?"
Speak to people in their own language, and to ghosts in theirs.
Undoubtedly, his future father-in-law, Jaina's father, laughed with great satisfaction.