Shadow Trails in Azeroth

"puff"

The icy sword blade pierced the chest of the heroic Arathi Highland knight, and the rolling cold storm instantly covered the struggling man.

As bits of frost fall, the heat of the dying life form is quickly extracted.

In just the blink of an eye, there were no more painful sobs, replaced by a dead warrior who was transformed from a human into an undead at the moment of life and death.

His face and armor were covered with gray-black frost, but this did not affect him, who had transformed into a cold knight, turning around and slashing his astonished companion with the battle ax in his hand.

In just a few seconds, a group of twelve elite Arathi Highland knights were wiped out. This also meant that the Undead Scourge had another ruthless knight team that could fight on the battlefield.

Seeing this scene, everyone who was stubbornly resisting on the beach of Rogue Harbor was filled with despair.

The sword in the hand of the old marshal Barley Westwin was stained with the cold and smelly blood of the undead nerubians. He hacked to death three monsters that tried to attack him from the ground.

For an old man who is almost sixty years old, this combat capability is really good.

But unfortunately, the marshal's bravery could not save the advance team from destruction.

They couldn't even escape.

In the rear harbor, several fourth-class Alliance battleships carrying the marines to the island kept firing at the undead-strewn coast. It seemed that the firepower advantage was great, but this was just a boring counterattack in despair.

Broken hulls and deck fragments were still floating on the sea next to several firing ships, and many sailors were desperately swimming towards the coast in the sea.

Just now, the Crypt Lord Anub'arak destroyed their fourth-class battleship in an underground raid from under the shallow sea. Facing the demigod monster strengthened by death, ordinary battleships let alone attack. It is difficult to dodge and protect yourself.

Everything took a turn for the worse within minutes of the Marines landing on the island.

Old Marshal Barry finally understood why the North Sea pirates left so carelessly and carelessly abandoned their base camp to the Alliance Navy.

It's not that they're crazy.

But those bastards were convinced that even if the Alliance fleet had twice as many ships, they would not be able to capture the port of Rogue, even if there was only one "defender" left on the island after the pirates' "strategic shift".

"Oh my god."

In the brutal fight between the undead and the living, with the alternating echoes of silence and war cries, Old Barley raised his left foot and stamped on the ground, knocking the two spider demons out of the ground into a daze, and then waved his command knife to strike. The powerful and heavy whirlwind chopped down two monsters.

Across the battlefield of life and death, Lordaeron's naval marshal saw the tall figure holding a black magic sword, wrapped in the cold storm like a moving eye of the storm, walking towards him.

His steps were so familiar that the old marshal was deeply moved.

In the years after the Orc War entered the stalemate counterattack stage, he and the Lordaeron fleet he commanded had been fighting under the command and command of this man.

Countless Alliance soldiers shed their blood for the will of the man in front of them. It was the man in front of him who brought the almost collapsed humanity back from the abyss of defeat and drove the brutal greenskins back to their miserable world.

The names hero, warrior, and great man are not enough to fully summarize the achievements of the man in front of him. On the day he encountered disaster, the entire human civilization was crying for him.

But now, Marshal Barry Westwin had to face the cruel reality in front of him.

The man who had given everything to protect them had been shaped in the darkness into a God of Death that could not be ignored. He turned the dock and port into a real hell with one man and one sword.

And from the gaze of the cold eyes under the cold storm, the old marshal felt an unknown feeling from his heart.

Anduin Lothar.

This Lich King came to him today.

A bad smile appeared on the old navy's face, tsk tsk, this really makes people feel "honored".

"do not go!"

Seeing the old marshal reaching out and taking off the marshal's ribbon, unbuttoning the first button on his neck, holding his pipe in his mouth and preparing to jump out of the "temporary trench" created by magic, the old marshal, who had known Marshal Weiswein for more than ten years, The mage Modera grabbed his wrist, and the archmage lady screamed:

"You are no match for him, don't be impulsive! Just hold on here, I have sent a request for help to the fleet, and they will be here soon."

"Come here to die?"

Old Marshal Bali shook his head. He glanced at Lothar, pulled off his marshal's ribbon and stamped it on the ground. He turned back and said to the Archmage:

"I have heard about what happened in North County. So many legends and demigods gathered together but failed to prevent Marshal Lothar from falling into darkness. Now we alone cannot do this.

The battlefield of naval warfare has never been a stage for personal heroism, and the fleet has never been born to fight a strong person.

Don't let them come!

Don't let the great boys I hand-picked die in vain.

Don't you understand yet? Modera.

He wants me! "

The Admiral of Lordaeron glanced at the port and the deserted pirate island in front of him with a disappointed look, and he whispered with regret:

"Lothar needed a naval marshal to serve him, so here I am, I'm in the right place at the right time, and everything seems to be a push shaped by fate.

It wasn't until we stepped into this trap that it dawned on me.

I once wanted to challenge Black Shaw on this ocean. I didn't want that arrogant young man to make trouble in this ocean that we guarded. I once wanted to teach him a lesson with practical actions.

But it turns out it wasn't Black who was arrogant.

It's me who's arrogant.

This was the pirate prophet's response to my provocation. Modera, who took the time to arrange my fate just as he arranged Lothar's fate.

I'm here, my fateful hour has arrived, I can't escape.

But you can! "

The old marshal took a deep drag on his pipe, and the spicy smoke made him cough violently. He coughed out tears in embarrassment and quickly wiped them away.

He stretched out his hand to push up his old three-cornered hat, and took one last look at the Archmage and the sergeants and captains beside him who were looking at him.

He said:

"Go back, I will open a way back for you. Send the news of my death to Lordaeron. No, send it back to Kul Tiras, and tell Dailin for me.

I want to speak out for my old brother.

But unfortunately, his son is too powerful.

This old immortal guy like me is no match for him.

Go ahead. "

After saying that, old Barry Westwin jumped out of the trench with his command knife. Several young non-commissioned officers rushed out with their blood boiling and followed their beloved marshal regardless.

But the moment they jumped out of the trench, Archmage Modera raised her hand and threw several arcane cages to trap them in place.

"Lotha!"

On the battlefield where the living and the dead were entangled, Old Barry ran, waving the command knife in his hand, arousing his own anger, and he roared:

"Look at me, Lothar! It's me you want, it's me Black Shaw promised you! Let them go, and you will gain a complete soul who is willing to fight for you."

"boom"

The Admiral's command knife collided with Frostmourne's blade.

Sparks were flying, and cold wind was beating on Marshal Westwin's body. The heavy pressure instantly pressed him to the ground, causing him to half-kneel in front of the Lich King in an awkward kneeling posture.

The expressionless Lothar looked at him with a cold look.

The Lich King whispered:

"I don't need your loyalty, Barry Westwin, I just need your participation in this eternal cause. Whether you want it or not, I will gain an outstanding naval commander today."

"Let them go! Lothar."

The old marshal, whose body was mostly frozen, gritted his teeth and said:

"For the sake of the past, my God, they were once your soldiers! They were once your children! Look at the desperation in their eyes, they see you as a hero.

Let these children go, Lothar.

It's enough for me to stay.

One for me is enough! "

"puff"

Old Barry responded with a cold sword that pierced his chest.

When Frostmourne pierced the old marshal's heart, Lothar's voice also sounded in his ears:

"My naval commander, your request does not need to be approved by me. These living people have no special value in my eyes. Whether they survive depends entirely on your mercy.

I have prepared the sailors, the commander, and the ship for you.

I said I was going to visit those kings.

I don't want to put it off any longer.

Now

Let's set sail. "

——

"boom"

In the waters near Quel'Thalas Peninsula, close to Sunchaser Island, a small magical yacht belonging to a nobleman in Silvermoon City was driving slowly along the coastline of Yongsong Forest.

The ship was filled with elegant and noble Quel'dorei nobles, those "typical elves" who had lived a privileged and leisurely life since childhood.

Judging from the way they toasted and drank on the deck of the yacht, it seemed like a small gathering of a small group.

However, just when these guys had seen enough of the scenery and were about to dock for some hunting activities, a sudden loud noise interrupted the thinking ability of all the elves.

It was like a giant bomb suddenly exploded in the sea in front of this poor little yacht. Tens of millions of tons of seawater were pushed by the sudden burst of force and splashed in all directions, just like a sudden storm swept across sea.

The small yacht was helplessly lifted into the air by the waves in the violent wind and waves, and then quickly fell back into the undulating sea water in the next second. It frightened a group of sissy elves who clung to the side and mast of the ship and screamed loudly.

Then, they saw with their own eyes a huge fleet appearing "out of thin air" in the sea in front of them.

This fleet is not as neat as the warships of the Lordaeron Navy, nor is it as majestic as the Kul Tiras Navy, nor is it as gorgeous and luxurious as the magic warships of the Quel'dorei Elf Navy.

All the ships in this fleet looked shabby.

Most of the sails hung on the masts were ugly-patched, and some were even patched several times. The masts were also hung with messy flags, but each flag was related to elements such as skulls and scimitars.

The most important thing is that the decks of these large and small ships are filled with scum of almost every race from every continent in Azeroth.

From the cowardly kobolds to the cowardly hordes of murlocs, from the savage pot-bellied quilboars to the brutal centaur raiders.

From the frost trolls who can never bend their waists to the Zandalari trolls who straighten their backs and roar, from the green-skinned orcs with only one eye left to the tauren barbarians holding huge skull battle axes in both hands.

There are also the dirty and messy vrykul pirate pioneers, the harpoon-wielding walrus men, restless wolverines and even the sinister and rare lizardman witch doctor.

In short, any scum of any race that you have seen or have not seen in this world can definitely be found in this "composite" fleet that is like a walking garbage dump in front of you.

"Oh my God! It's a pirate!"

The poor elven nobles on the small magic yacht were frightened.

They knew that their own fleet set out for the North Sea a few months ago to cooperate with the alliance fleet to attack the North Sea pirates, but they never thought that the war that only happened in legends and distant places would one day appear in such a vivid form. in front of their eyes.

The pirates are coming!

The sunwell is up there, how did they sneak up on this land?

Has the sacred Raynor Bandil barrier failed?

"No! There's something under the water! Oh my God! It's a sea monster! We're rising! Oh my God!"

A female elf noble whose whole body was soaked by the sea water trembled and pointed to the sea water in front of the crazily turning yacht. She wanted to use all her strength to turn around and escape, and the people screamed.

They felt something rising from under the sea, like a giant underwater beast floating up, almost dead right under their small yacht.

Amidst the hoarse carnival screams of a group of pirates who were watching the fun, and the horrified screams of a few unlucky elf nobles, the black Nagfar was like a beast awakening in the deep sea, with a domineering and powerful attitude. Elegance rises quickly from the swirling water.

A large amount of seawater flows down the spouts decorated with dragon heads around the ghost ship, making the black ship's appearance even more ferocious.

On the deck full of ghost sailors, Black, smoking a pipe and leaning on the scepter of Sargeras, squinted at the elven magic yacht in front of him that was placed right in the center of the ghost ship's deck.

He now put on his full Pirate King suit, and even specially put a black eyepatch on his left eye to make himself look stylish and retro.

The stinky pirate tilted his head and looked at the yacht, which was surrounded by ghost pirates. The frightened elf nobles hugged each other and shivered. He grinned and blew out a smoke ring.

He stepped forward and said to several elves in the most standard upper elf Salas language:

"Oh, don't be afraid, friends, as you can see, I just brought my useless subordinates to see the great Sun King to thank him for the 'attention' and 'help' he gave me in Beihai during this time.

Lo and behold, we've found a way through your magical realm guardian wards, and my minions are ready to make a killing.

But now there are a few small problems.

For example, my subordinates are rude and rubbish.

They are a bunch of idiots who don't know a single person, and they have no way of finding the right path to the great treasure in a foreign country in the land of elves."

Black curled his fingers to the side, and immediately His Highness Little Star, a knowledgeable masked female pirate, presented a curled-edged pirate scimitar with both hands.

The stinky pirate threw the knife at the feet of several elven nobles.

He raised his chin and spoke in a long, sharp tone like a villain:

"Well, no offense to you sissies, but my shameless subordinates need a guide right now."

"Well, because of the recent employment pressure, we can only offer one guide position and one honorarium, and there are five of you.

Gee, what a shame, right? "