Chapter 29: Adventures of a New Era

Magni examined Arthas’s warhammer closely, his expression grave. After a long moment, he set the weapon down on his workbench. Instead of immediately beginning the repairs, he asked Arthas a question.

"What have you been fighting with this hammer?"

Arthas recalled the encounters. "Beasts, bandits, murlocs, gnolls... and most recently, trolls."

Magni ignored the earlier options. "Trolls? What kind of trolls?"

"A high priest of the forest trolls—the kind blessed with the power of the Loa."

The dwarven king fell silent for a moment, as if organizing his thoughts. He then picked up the hammer and pointed to the head. "The head of your warhammer shows no significant external damage, only expected wear, but the material itself has been severely compromised."

"Logically, a weapon of this caliber should not sustain such damage in simple melee combat," Magni noted. He had repaired countless weapons, but the state of Arthas’s hammer was rare. "Perhaps your Light reacted too violently when it collided with that priest’s power, causing irreversible damage to the hammer’s composition."

"I am a warrior, not a scholar of the Light, so I don't know the exact principles. I can fix this damage now, but I cannot guarantee I will be able to next time."

Arthas could only offer a dry laugh. What else could he do? With his vast experience, Magni had guessed the truth with startling accuracy—though it wasn't just the clash between the Light and the troll priest’s power, but the collision of the Light and Death that had damaged the hammer.

No matter how fine the material, without the astrolabe within Arthas to maintain balance, it could not withstand the scouring of two diametrically opposed primal energies.

The Light and Death were not entirely relative; necrotic energy could not be converted with as little loss as the Shadow could be with the Light. For instance, Shadow Priests who embraced the Void could freely switch between Light and Shadow forms, provided their minds had not been burned away by madness.

Generally speaking, a Death Knight who had fully embraced death could no longer wield the power of the Light. Yet, even an undead, provided they had not become a Death Knight, might still use the Light. However, one would never see the minions of the Old Gods receive the protection of the Light.

Compared to more neutral and gentle energies like Arcane, elemental, and the Light, once an ordinary person dabbled in the realms of Death or Shadow, it would sooner or later affect their sanity. Necrotic energy amplified hostility toward the living and obsessions from one’s past life, while dampening other emotions.

Shadow energy, conversely, caused certain emotions to be amplified to extremes—be it love, hate, or even a person’s rationality. And when rationality reaches its peak, it becomes absolute madness.

Even more terrifying, users of Shadow energy were watched by the Old Gods and even the creators of the Old Gods—the Void Lords. The gazes and whispers of these high-ranking entities could easily drive a mortal to insanity.

This was why mages and priests despised those who studied Death and Shadow. It was not just because they eventually turned into cold-blooded monsters or madmen, but because their research risked summoning truly horrific existences.

But as Father once said, only magic could combat magic.

Facing the dark creatures of the endless Void, those with a deep understanding and specialized study in such fields could play a vital role.

Arthas felt that the practice of dismissing these paths entirely was short-sighted. Just as Kel'Thuzad, though not a good man himself, might never have blindly pursued the Lich King’s power had he received support from Dalaran.

"Will you need any other materials?" Arthas mourned for his hammer in silence for a few seconds. To reach his full potential, he had to settle for the limitations of the *Might of Menethil*.

"No, what remains is sufficient for the repair," Magni waved a hand. "But if you want to avoid this problem entirely, beyond taking care of your weapon, the best method is to find something more suitable for your needs."

Magni did not elaborate. Although priests and the teachings of the Light had existed for a long time, Paladins had only appeared a dozen years ago; he assumed this was simply the norm.

As for Arthas finding a suitable weapon, he would have to find his own way. The dwarves had rarely crafted warhammers or greatswords that met the specific requirements of a Paladin; most existing ones were merely trinkets for priests.

"Azeroth’s history is ancient. We dwarves want to uncover the truth of our world through archaeology and excavation, but we have only seen the tip of the iceberg," Brann said, being the most qualified to speak on the matter as an archaeologist and explorer. "Perhaps somewhere in the ruins, a legendary artifact lies buried."

"Brann is right, but the best weapon isn't necessarily the one most suited to you," Magni said while working. "Perhaps you could forge your own."

Arthas, who was placing his new armor into his satchel, heard the suggestion and thought of the yet-to-be-born *Ashbringer*. In established history, this blade was crafted by Magni’s own hand, its power rivaling that of Titan artifacts.

"I will consider it, if I can find the right materials." Arthas humbly accepted Magni’s advice. It was indeed a sound method, and forging a weapon of his own would allow for a better resonance with his own power.

"Perhaps I might find something good for you in Northrend?" Muradin, now idle, poured himself another drink. "Are you sure you won’t come with us? We are short on a fine Paladin."

One had to wonder if bringing such dangerous, flammable spirits into a high-temperature forge was truly safe.

Arthas still did not agree, saying only, "If I can find the time."

...

After spending a few days in Ironforge and the snow-covered Dun Morogh, Jaina received a magical letter from her mentor with a grimace—the Archmage was summoning her student back to handle the mountain of work left behind during her week-long absence.

Reluctantly bidding Arthas farewell, Jaina opened a portal to Dalaran, repeatedly reminding him not to forget to come to Dalaran for the Feast of Winter Veil.

When Muradin came to find Arthas with roasted meat and ale, he noticed the room had grown empty. "The girl left?"

"Yes, she returned to Dalaran this morning."

Arthas sat alone in a chair, reading a letter, his brow furrowing from time to time. Noticing his change in expression, Muradin poured a drink into his mug and asked, "Trouble?"

Folding the letter, Arthas took a sip of ale.

"Yes. My men encountered some conflict with the local indigenous creatures while exploring Kalimdor."

The squad he had sent to search for the tauren tribes had been attacked by quilboars. While they had only lost two men and some insignificant supplies, it had brought many complications to their mission.

The tricky part was that their goblin guide was among the two lost. The poor creature had fallen from his mount after the beast was spooked by the quilboars and had died from the fall.

Now, the squad faced a dilemma: they were halfway through their journey and did not know whether to turn back to find a new guide or continue based on the information they already had.

However, based on their report, it seemed they intended to finish the journey. After all, their resources were still plentiful, enough to support the remainder of their route.

Arthas trusted their judgment. As elites sent to explore a new continent, they were all meticulously selected professionals, and they remained loyal to him.

"Kalimdor... I’ve heard of that continent, but I’ve never been there myself." A look of longing crossed Muradin’s eyes. In his thirst for adventure, he was much like his brother, Brann.

"Would you like to go? I may dispatch a fleet to formally land there and establish an outpost within the next year or two."

"If I can, of course I’d like to see it for myself," Muradin chuckled. "It’s a true wilderness! Ha, just thinking about it makes my blood boil."

"Then I shall notify you when I have news?"

"You promised! Don't you dare go back on your word!"

Hearing this, Muradin slapped the table, feeling that his friendship with Arthas was well-earned. The plate of roasted meat on the table suddenly seemed even more appetizing... wait, where did the meat go? Why was there only an empty plate left?