Chapter Eighteen: The Predicament

“You are not wrong, Arthas. It does take a great deal of time to cleanse them, but I believe I can afford to wait— the trolls have once again proven they are barely hanging on. With allies like you and Lordaeron, I will fight this decaying council to the very end,” Kael’thas said solemnly after clearing his throat.

Sylvanas once thought the same—until Arthas, after a moment of silence, spoke the next words.

“No, you don’t have that time.”

“?”

The three looked at Arthas in confusion, waiting for his explanation.

“Or rather, we don’t have that time anymore.” Arthas felt it was time to sound a warning to these elves still clinging to the tactic of buying time.

“As one of the oldest lineages in this world, you should know very well that this world is far from safe—that is precisely why your Quel’dorei created the Pantinorell barrier.”

Kael’thas’s expression changed, his voice darkening. “How do you know about this?”

Sylvanas and Romans were both puzzled. Neither had deep knowledge of magic nor had entered the power center of Quel’Thalas; they were unaware of this secret.

“Because the situation itself is abnormal. The power of the Sunwell has been tightly confined by the Pantinorell within the core of Quel’Thalas. If not for this, the trolls could never have hidden in the primal forests and mountains of the East for so many years.”

Something seemed amiss. Sylvanas, being part of the authorities, had long overlooked this—after the Troll Wars, the trolls’ elite forces had been nearly wiped out, yet the elves still retained a significant number of archmages. Logically, that would have been the best moment to eliminate the threat completely. So why have the trolls barely survived for thousands of years?

The archmages, backed by the Sunwell’s magic, should have easily swept through the entire forest!

“Pantinorell means ‘Gatekeeper’ in Thalassian, but it is not only guarding the gates of Quel’Thalas; it is also standing watch over the gates of Azeroth,” Arthas’s voice, deep and haunting, penetrated their hearts. “You should not have forgotten the great war from thousands of years ago, right?”

“Then you should know the infamy of the Burning Legion! The Sunwell, such a powerful source of magic, is like a beacon in the dark cosmos!”

“Can Pantinorell truly conceal the Sunwell’s power forever? Kael’thas, don’t forget the rune stone stolen by Gul’dan during the Second Orcish War! Haven’t you noticed how familiar the aura of those orcs was?”

“The Legion is about to return.”

“The immense power of the Sunwell is the perfect source for demons to build large portals, allowing terrifying demon lords to swiftly reach Azeroth from the Twisting Nether. So, after the Cataclysm, what do you think happened to Quel’Thalas?”

Kael’thas was left speechless by the human prince’s words. The room fell into a strange silence until Arthas broke it.

“So, do you really think there is still time for you to indulge in political games with your council?”

***

“And besides, this fight against the trolls is not as optimistic as you imagine. Zul’jin has returned, rallying the remnants of the Amani trolls and their loa gods. In no more than ten years, he and his troll army will rise again!”

“When that time comes, you won’t face a small band of ragtag trolls, but an army as formidable as during the Troll Wars thousands of years ago!”

Kael’thas glanced at Sylvanas, who nodded stiffly.

The elven prince took a deep breath. “Very well, Arthas, setting aside the Legion for now—that is a distant threat. But I understand our perilous situation. I will return from Dalaran to Quel’Thalas and seek out my father.”

Arthas’s expression was grave. “Regardless, I stand with humanity, with Lordaeron, with all of Azeroth. At such a critical juncture for the world, none of us can remain indifferent.”

Kael’thas, rarely seeing such a serious look from Arthas, asked one last question before ending the communication, “How can you prove what you said about the Burning Legion?”

“Meddiv will return in five years. When you are in Dalaran then, you will understand.”

Kael’thas nodded and, without asking how Arthas knew this, cut off the magical connection, and the magical image vanished.

Archmage Romans remained silent. As Kael’thas’s loyal follower, he did not meddle in affairs beyond his charge. After handing Arthas the spatial pouch Kael’thas had given him, Romans left alone.

Only Arthas and Sylvanas remained in the chamber. Sylvanas, mulling over the shocking news just received, asked Arthas, “Is what you said true?”

“What benefit would I have in lying to you?” Arthas adjusted his collar calmly. “You’ve seen the trolls’ resurgence. Do you think Quel’Thalas can handle them alone in its current state?”

“Rangers alone won’t be enough,” Sylvanas replied with a helpless tone.

“The orc invasion is not as simple as it seems; it involves many grand conspiracies. If I spoke more, it would only trouble you. Just know that the Legion is behind this.”

After the conversation, their mood for the banquet was considerably dampened. Arthas paused, then continued, “Let’s deal with the matters at hand first. Even if the end of days is upon us tomorrow, we must still do what is right next.”

As he prepared to leave the hall, Sylvanas called after him, “Arthas, I previously said I wanted to thank you.”

“That was merely what I should have done. You were injured and no match for that fellow. Don’t dwell on it,” Arthas shrugged indifferently. “Besides, Kael’thas already gave you a token of thanks.”

“He must have sent you some precious materials or magical weapons. Though the Windrunner family isn’t as wealthy as the Sunwalkers, I think I have something to offer.” Sylvanas produced a deed and handed it to Arthas.

“What is this?”

“There’s a small estate about a kilometer or two from the Windrunner Manor. Didn’t you say you wanted to build a place? I’ll just give you one.” Sylvanas smiled lightly. “There’s a dedicated small teleportation circle there. I suppose you can afford to have someone build another teleportation circle?”

***

Arthas examined the deed and did not refuse. “A seaside estate with a large beach—this gift is truly hard to refuse.”

“Then we’re neighbors. When you have time, come visit me. At least in the southern forests, I’m quite familiar.”

For Sylvanas, an estate was nothing. The Windrunner family was effectively just her in Quel’Thalas, and such a non-productive estate was costly to maintain.

After several days in Quel’Thalas, Arthas used the teleportation circle in the Windrunner Manor to return directly to the capital of Lordaeron.

Exiting the Mage Tower, Arthas contemplated whether to send two mages to repair the teleportation circle first—Quel’Thalas’s climate and scenery suited him perfectly, except for the overwhelming magical concentration. Otherwise, everything was beautiful.

Unfortunately, it was not yet time to enjoy a peaceful estate. Arthas had many matters to attend to; otherwise, these blissful days might truly be the last moments of his life.

His father, King Terenas, seemed to be receiving an envoy from another nation, so Arthas went alone to a training ground beside the palace gardens.

He took out the spatial pouch Kael’thas had given him and, after inspecting its contents, could not help but marvel at the elves’ wealth.

“Mithril, true silver, and thorium—all ingots forged with ancient elven craftsmanship,” Arthas counted the precious ores. The metal ingots shimmered faintly with magic, etched with intricate patterns, clearly the work of elven hands.

He estimated that just the ores alone were worth as much as the estate Sylvanas had gifted, not to mention the other materials and rare herbs.

Regrettably, these materials, though valuable, were not immediately useful to Arthas.

He did indeed intend to craft a weapon of his own. His current warhammer, the Might of Menethil, though made by a master commissioned by the Lordaeron royal family with the finest materials available, would still suffer irreversible damage if he unleashed his full power of the Holy Light.

It was likely that after only a few full-power strikes, his warhammer would be irreparably damaged.

A weapon capable of withstanding his intense Holy Light existed in the Tirisfal Glades, but seeking it now was tantamount to suicide. It was not a mere tomb but the battlefield where two of Azeroth’s most powerful beings clashed.

So, Arthas had no choice but to make do with his current warhammer, which, as an epic weapon, was sufficient for now, since the enemies he faced did not yet require his absolute exertion.

“I’ll send these materials to Muradin when the time is right and have him forge a new set of armor for me,” Arthas thought, recalling his destroyed armor and the usefulness of these materials.