Shadow Trails in Azeroth

"No!!!"

In this messy monastery hall, watching the boundless darkness swallow up the shining holy coffin, the cold power began to burst out in front of the eyes, just like opening the passage to hell.

The desperate Varian felt an uncontrollable rage welling up in his heart, and he burst out with the most powerful holy light he had ever seen. The light was so intense that it even melted the hammer of Menethil's power in his hand.

The child king's eyes were red, and he took off the war helmet on his face. In an avenging manner, he knocked the rebellious Val'kyr away from him. He stepped on the ground with golden molten footprints step by step, and then jumped up again. , rushing towards Blake.

He's going to kill this bastard!

A blazing storm of light erupted behind him, blowing the pirate's blond hair flying. Black turned around and stared at Varian who jumped up with helpless dead fish eyes, grabbing the melted warhammer with both hands, roaring and smashing it on his head.

He curled his lips and said:

"If you were still a warrior, my dear Varian, I would be dead before I set foot here, but fate is so fickle, isn't it?

You still owe me a favor, angry child king, I saved you from the temptation of the light, but is this how the Holy Light teaches you to repay your favor? "

"die!"

Varian's only response to his malicious provocation was this sentence.

He will kill him at all costs!

No one can save him!

nobody!

But faced with this revenge blow, the pirate did not even draw his weapon.

Staring at the falling Hammer of Light as if he was willing to die generously, he saw little Jaina and Arthas rushing towards him in a flash.

Her little sister's face was full of shock and determination to save her stinky brother. She even raised the Ebony Cold in her hand to attack Varian.

Oops, my sister still feels sorry for giegie.

Blake also saw the spectators rushing in from the monastery gate behind him.

Well, the timing is just right

The enthronement ceremony of the Lich King is about to begin now.

"clang"

The pirate closed his eyes and spread his arms as if he was going to die but also like a priest celebrating mass, welcoming Varian's Hammer of Light and Fury, but then darkness erupted behind him like a huge shadow.

An ice demon blade pierced out of the cold storm that erupted from behind the stinky pirate easily blocked Varian's war hammer. The coldness of death and the blazing holy light exploded in front of the pirate's eyes, and countless broken lights were flying.

The sharp blade with shining runes was just a flick, and the angry Varian was knocked away. The holy light on the child king's armor was almost extinguished in the cold shock.

His whole body was covered with white death frost.

The Power of Menethil warhammer shattered into pieces the moment it was attacked. Arthas jumped up and held Varian in his arms as he flew over.

The two of them rolled and landed on the ground, and were caught by the Draenei garrison commander Maraad with both hands.

Everyone's eyes were looking at this moment.

Their expressions were ugly and disappointed. With so many people gathered, Black Shaw was actually allowed to complete his dark deeds. This was a huge blow.

But the most troublesome thing now is not to settle the sins of the stinky pirates, but the familiar figure standing up from the holy coffin behind the pirates.

He was still wearing the armor of the Commander of the Storm Kingdom that he wore when he was placed in the holy coffin. As his body stood up straighter little by little, the black lion on his left shoulder and the eagle shoulder armor on his right shoulder moved, and were filled with The battle-scarred armor collided with a low sound, and the lion belt around his waist was covered with frost bit by bit, as if this simple armor was covered with a special magic shield.

The blood-colored shabby cloak was the decoration he wore during the final battle in Dalaran. The scorch marks and holes on the edge of the cloak did not affect its flying posture.

Even the man's bald head does not affect his majesty.

The man's hands were spread out to his sides.

Just as he often did when commanding an army, he always said that his open hands would reward his friends and frighten his enemies.

Anduin Lothar awakens.

But it is difficult to say that he is no longer the Marshal Lothar that everyone was willing to follow, because in the left hand of this aging body, he is holding a death demon blade shining with boundless darkness.

Frostmourne screams.

It was a song of joy, and the control runes on its cold sword spine lit up one after another, letting the cold wind blow invisibly and letting fear breed in the hearts of the enemies.

She had never felt so connected to a soul.

It's like a perfect match.

After being forged from the cold core of the dead world, Frostmourne has been fantasizing about what his future sword-wielder will be like.

He or she needs to be firm enough not to become his or her slave at the moment of contact.

He or she must be strong enough, both in body and soul, to be worthy of his or her identity.

He or she must have great ambitions, and cannot be short-sighted or lie flat, let alone limit miserable dreams to mortal thoughts.

He or she must be majestic enough and must be able to command an army and conquer the world.

After all, he is a magic blade forged for the commander. He is not as immersed in melee combat as the rude Apocalypse. He is an elegant ruler, and his sword holder must also be able to control people's hearts.

Such souls are so hard to find.

But fortunately, Black Shaw found the most suitable one for her, so Frostmourne decided to give all her majesty to Anduin Lothar.

Come, Lich King Anduin Lothar, and begin your reign.

Lothar didn't show much response to Frostmourne's submission. He seemed to be still in a daze after a long sleep and then being suddenly awakened.

He raised his head, and his eyes that were already shining with a faint blue light scanned the people in front of him. He saw many old friends and some new ones he didn't know.

He saw Varian and Arthas in despair, and also saw little Jaina Proudmoore holding her staff tightly with a look of fear on her face.

Finally, in the dead silence, Lothar cast his eyes that were cold enough to freeze his soul on Blake in front of him, and he said:

"Maybe you should explain?"

The figure was dry and hoarse, with a hollow echo, as if countless souls were echoing following Lothar's voice.

At first glance, he sounds like an old villain.

Black's cheek showed the proud and relaxed smile that a destiny weaver should have. He stroked his chest and seemed to be really frightened by Varian's angry hammer just now.

He used standard aristocratic etiquette to bow to Marshal Lothar, who was holding Frostmourne in front of him, and whispered:

"Although it took a long time, welcome back, Your Majesty Lothar. After you fell asleep, many, many things happened in this land and this world, some good and some bad.

If you need, I can tell you them exactly as they are.

But we should get to the point.

The Burning Legion arriving from the stars has locked onto this miserable world. They are about to launch a devastating offensive in the near future. I don't think Azeroth can survive the catastrophic war now.

In order to give this world a little more life, I have to disturb your sleep.

But war beckons, my dear marshal. "

Blake whispered:

"I have prepared weapons for you that will scare the enemy, prepared soldiers ready to go, planned preparations for the war, and even prepared objects for you to practice on.

I'm honored to have witnessed and personally promoted the rise of the Lich King. "

"Weapons, Soldier"

Lothar glanced at the docile magic sword in his hand.

He could feel that his soul, which was missing and broken due to Deathwing's curse during the Battle of Dalaran, was being repaired. He could feel his will extending outward along with the sword in his hand.

He could feel every soul outside the monastery, and he could feel the dead paying their allegiance to him.

They are waiting for their orders.

Those cold souls return from the dead. They can level a country in one night. They can clear the land in a short time.

Their number is endless, they will not fear or flinch, nor will they bargain with themselves, and every will of theirs can be perfectly executed.

This is the regiment that every commander dreams of.

He can call for more

As Lothar's thoughts moved, in the cemetery behind the North County monastery, the graves began to stir one after another, and at the call of the marshal, hands with corrosive gauntlets tore open the ground.

The heroes of Stormwind's past who were buried here responded to Lothar's call, and even several sarcophagi were placed in the monastery hall.

As Varian and others watched desperately, a sarcophagus adorned with a crown was pushed away in the shock, and a man who stunned everyone stood up from inside.

The man wore black armor and an exquisite crown. His face was thin but he was very similar to Varian, and he had a very elegant beard.

"Ryan."

Lothar looked back at the friend who had been awakened from death, and he said dryly:

"I have a war to fight and I need an adjutant."

"Is this why you disturbed my rest?"

Llane Wrynn stood up from the king's sarcophagus and raised his head. The deceased's face was dotted with blue soul fire. He was angry at first, but he quickly calmed down.

He said in the hoarse voice of the dead:

"Okay, I'll help you, just like I did when we were young. You! Are you Varian?"

The human kingdom who died in the early stages of the orc war turned to look at the young child king. He looked up and down at the embarrassed Varian. After a few seconds, he said:

"It's different from what I imagined. After converting to the Holy Light, you are a little less brave, but a little more kind. Maybe this is good."

"Father. No."

Varian looked at his father who had come back from the dead in front of him, and he felt despair.

Double despair.

Everyone behind him had drawn their weapons. They saw Lothar resurrecting the dead without doing anything. This was beyond the limit of what most people could bear.

But no one wants the same thing to happen to them.

"Lotha, put down the sword in your hand!"

Sun King Anastarian shouted loudly:

"This is not what Thoradin wants to see. You who once represented hope and glory should not become a carrier of evil and darkness. That sword is bewitching you, just like this pirate carefully planned all this.

Put it down!

I can sense that you're not completely taken over by it yet.

You can still be saved! "

Lothar ignored the persuasion. He seemed not to have heard it at all.

He looked across the crowd and saw Archmage Antonidas, who was sitting on a bench in the back, covering his wound, and his face was pale and almost on the verge of death.

The marshal felt his life slipping away.

He felt death eating away at this painful old friend, and he felt that he could control that power, that he could "help" his friend escape from exhaustion and pain.

"If I'm going to win the war, I need a good commander."

Lothar whispered.

He raised his hand towards the Archmage who was looking at him, and made a pinching motion between his fingers.

A cold wind blew through everyone. On the bench behind them, the weak Archmage suddenly felt a force strangle his neck and his soul.

When Lothar raised his hand, the struggling Antonidas was lifted from the chair and lifted into the air bit by bit.

This scene frightened everyone.

Even the Sun King, who had the most powerful magical attainments, could not understand how Lothar could do such a thing.

But he reacted very quickly. Seeing that the Archmage was about to be strangled to death by Lothar in an evil way, the Sun King roared and raised his hand and threw a blazing lava fireball.

He wanted to save Antonidas, but the fireball flew past without harming Lothar at all. The dark magic sword was raised, and he slashed forward accurately and used the cold wind to annihilate the fireball in the air.

"I need your help, old friend."

Lothar whispered.

At the moment when his fingers were completely closed, the body of the archmage who was pulled into the air began to twitch violently. Not only was the feeling of suffocation dragging him to death, but the injuries left by the smelly pirates also exploded at this moment.

The gushing blood almost turned the Archmage into a bloody man.

His life disappeared quickly, and the process of death came so quickly that it even completely expelled life without much pain.

The control runes of Frostmourne were shining, expelling life and applying the blessing of death to the archmage's old body. Antonidas' body was shaking as he was lifted into the air.

He looked towards the sky with his dim eyes, as if he could see that the door to the world of death had been opened to him, and that world of the dead was calling him.

But another force "protects" itself from being swallowed up by everything in front of it.

He saw the world behind the curtain, he saw the kingdom of the dead, and the knowledge belonging to the dead was generously given to Antonidas's soul in the low rolling of magic.

He felt like he saw the truth, he felt like he understood everything.

His eyes lost all luster and were lit up in the next moment. The blue soul fire flickered in the Archmage's eyes, and the aura of death from the Shadow Realm enveloped him.

As Black and other casters watched in shock, the dead archmage bypassed the complex and cumbersome transformation rituals and was reshaped into a new lich under the power of Frostmourne.

It turns out that this is an ominous divination meaning before departure.

Death embraced him.

"Now you have two subordinates."

In the silent hall, Black stood beside Lothar with his hands tied. He suggested to the Lich King in a malicious tone:

"Coupled with the foreign female warriors I carefully selected for you, there are already three of your Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. You still need to choose the last knight who belongs to you among the spectators in front of you.

So who can be so lucky? "

"Walk!"

Blake's words were like a gust of cold wind that enveloped everyone in front of him.

The Sun King reacted extremely quickly and launched a large-scale teleportation to cover everyone around him and teleport them out of this dangerous area shrouded in death.

But neither Black, nor Lothar, nor the new lich Antonidas chose to stop them.

In the shining light of arcane teleportation, only three dead people and Blake were left in the hall. Then, the cold death sword was raised and pressed against Blake's neck.

The pirate raised his head and saw Lothar's cold and ruthless eyes looking at him.

"The Miraculous Black Prophet Black Shaw"

Lothar whispered in that evil tone:

"I need an excellent and evil lieutenant like you to help me win this war. Are you willing to be my death knight?"