The icy cold wind of Northrend blew against the thick cloak. Robbie tightly wrapped his hood tightly. Marching in this cold wind howling weather was definitely not a pleasant thing.
Robbie glanced at Alsace in front of him. His Royal Highness the Prince's brows were furrowed, his eyebrows were covered with frost, and his sweat-wet hair was condensed into icy ridges.
But he didn't realize it and was still listening intently.
The ghosts of the dead whispered in his ears, bringing only bad news.
After the Battle of Stratholme, the orcs, unwilling to fail, poured out their anger on the people of Lordaeron. Those poor and innocent undead were hiding everywhere, and most of them could not escape the pursuit of the orcs.
The Dalaran mages who act as accomplices of the orcs and the high rangers of Quel'Thalas are all taking pleasure in exterminating the undead in Lordaeron. They slaughter wantonly and take pride in killing the weak. They confuse right and wrong and tell lies. The development of the situation
It's getting more sinister day by day.
The cold and violent continent could not stop His Highness the Prince from his determination to take revenge.
The soldiers set up a simple camp under the leeward cliff of Dagger Sheath Bay. His Highness the Prince couldn't wait to find Frostmourne. Robbie understood the prince's urgent mood at this moment. It would be difficult for anyone to give in under such circumstances.
Calm yourself down.
On the first day of camping here, Arthas found scattered zombies and felt the breath of the Dreadlord.
Mal'Ganis also came to this land. Unfortunately, this is a vast forgotten continent. There are not many dead souls who can provide information, and the whereabouts of the Dread Lord cannot be found for the time being.
After several days of searching, no news about Frostmourne was found.
His Royal Highness is still full of energy and confident. Although his face is gradually getting thinner, he does not feel tired at all.
Of course, an artifact is not so easy to find, it requires some clues and a lot of luck.
It's just that Alsace's anxiety was palpable, but fortunately the prince was able to maintain enough sense.
Robbie shook his head and sighed secretly. Frostmourne was probably the only pillar supporting him.
Even if it's just a distant illusion.
The gray and severe night came, and the never-ending cold wind howled outside the tent. Robbie and Alsace warmed themselves in front of the stove, enjoying the rare comfort.
"When I think about the suffering of the people of Lordaeron, I really want to rush back immediately and kill all those damn orcs."
Alsace's eyes were bloodshot and he checked the map carefully. They had searched quite a part of the area and were constantly drawing new maps, but unfortunately they still found nothing.
"If you find Frostmourne and gain great power, what will you do?"
Robbie took a big gulp of the broth and asked Alsace seriously.
This is not the first time the two of them have discussed this issue.
"I will take revenge in my own way." Arthas replied: "I will not simply massacre the enemy. That would be too easy for them. They will also have to taste the same bitter fruit that the people of Lordaeron have experienced.
"
Robbie knew very well that Arthas had his own ideas, a sane Avenger, not a madman.
The curtain of the tent was opened, bringing a chilly air, and two spies came to report that a large group of zombies was found in the other direction.
Arthas closed his eyes, waiting for the dead soul's reply, and then showed a warm smile:
"In such a desperate ghost place, good news finally came. They are not ghost zombies, but a group of old friends. They have consumed their supplies and are in urgent need of our help."
Under a leeward snowy slope, Robbie saw a group of hungry dwarves and many alien mercenaries.
The great hero of the dwarves, the King of the Hill, Muradin Bronzebeard, is at the front of the team, his strong body like a thick wall. When Alsace was a boy, Muradin once taught Alsace in combat skills.
Robbie secretly thought in his heart that history is not all lies. After seeing Muradin Bronzebeard, Frostmourne must not be far away.
Muradin stared at Arthas, and unlike His Highness the Prince's joyful and smiling face, although the thick beard covered the dwarf's face, Robbie could still tell that Muradin's expression was unhappy, even a little unlucky.
"Why did you come to rescue me?"
The dwarf muttered dissatisfiedly and looked away, his little eyes erratic.
Alsace's joyful smile froze. He had seen too many eye rolls and ridicules, and he knew what was going on.
"Did you just say rescue? Muradin, I didn't know you were here, but I am sincerely happy to meet you." Alsace tried his best to remain polite and said politely.
Robbie sighed in his heart. Today, Arthas is notorious. Guardian Medivh poured countless dirty water on him. Although he knew the truth, the dwarf was obviously trying to avoid suspicion.
People are all snobbish, praising the successful and looking down on the losers. Even dwarves are not exempt from this habit.
"If you have some food and supplies, yes, we really need them. Just send them here, and then leave each other and never see each other again. We don't want the great savior Thrall to misunderstand anything."
Muradin was a little conflicted, more entangled. His team had been without supplies for many days, and unexpectedly encountered the undead. If there was no more food, they might become snow sculptures on the ice field tomorrow morning.
The arrogance and rudeness of the dwarves gave Arthas a headache.
He didn't know how to face his former teacher and friend. He quietly stepped back and planned to return to the camp. His Royal Highness also had dignity, and he would not give charity to others for no reason.
Especially when the other party doesn't appreciate it.
Robbie didn't want to give up this opportunity and lose his only clue.
"Come on, dwarf friends, we have a camp nearby. It looks like it's time for you and your men to have a hot meal. We have good beer. The orcs were defeated in Stratholme and left a lot of supplies."
Muradin stared at Robbie. He didn't like this strange young human.
"Sorry, I think we are not friends yet, the lost dogs of Lordaeron." Muradin said rudely.
In Muradin's heart, the biggest concern was the orcs.
After occupying Lordaeron, these beasts must be unwilling to settle down, and no one wants to be their next target.
Muradin did not want his personal contact with Arthas to become an excuse for Thrall to attack Ironforge.
Robbie smiled slightly and said meaningfully: "It doesn't matter. In my opinion, there are three types of friends. A few are out of sincere friendship, the second is cooperation with each other and everyone gets what they need, and the rest is cruel slavery.
"
"Kill them all!"
Robbie raised the ax of violence and was the first to rush out.
The target is Muradin's mercenaries!
Although there were tall ogres, cruel ice trolls, etc. among the mercenaries, they had already lost most of their combat effectiveness due to lack of food for many days. Robbie took the lead, and soon there was a one-sided massacre.
Standing in a pool of blood, Robbie wiped the blood on his battle ax and looked at the stunned dwarf.
"Muradin Bronzebeard, now it's up to you to choose, what kind of friends are we?"
Muradin looked solemn and said seriously:
"Holy Light, my friendship with Prince Alsace is sincere." (To be continued)