Chapter Thirty-Two: Three Choices

"Uncle Mait, you must be suffering from too much work and stress lately," Sassarian remarked while chopping firewood. "Lord Wesley is perfectly normal."

Mait, sitting on a nearby stump, wore a bitter expression. If only that were the case. In reality, aside from treating soldiers who complained of dizziness and mental fog, he had no heavy workload, and he slept well every night. As a physician, he knew his body was not failing him. Combined with the mysterious plague appearing in Lordaeron recently, Mait could not put his mind at ease.

If he were alone in the camp, it wouldn't matter, but his daughter, Sally, was with him. She was still so young; if anything happened to her, he could never forgive himself, nor would he have the face to see his late wife. Thus, he had sought out this new recruit, who had arrived not long ago and showed no signs of the headaches or mental instability plaguing the others.

Mait was a devout believer and could receive the protection of the Light, but his spellcasting techniques were crude—inferior even to an ordinary priest. It sufficed for basic healing, but when it came to combat, he knew his limits. If everyone else in the First Legion fell, he would be useless.

"I might be oversensitive, but... please, believe me. This camp has become truly wrong compared to how it used to be." Mait did not know how to convince Sassarian.

Seeing the look on Mait's face, Sassarian stopped chopping, drove his axe into the stump, wiped his hands, and sat down beside him. He fished two cigars from his pocket and handed one to Mait.

"Want one? My instructor gave these to me before I left the training camp. These are the last two."

"Thank you..." Mait took the cigar and put it in his mouth. Sassarian produced a match and lit them both.

"Your daughter, is she that little girl running around the camp all day?" Sassarian exhaled a ring of smoke.

"Yes, her name is Sally. Since her mother passed, she has been my only beloved," Mait said, his hand trembling as he held the cigar.

The recruit patted Mait on the back. "Uncle Mait, I still think you're too tense. Everyone here is a battle-hardened veteran. Even if we ran into orcs, we could handle them well."

Mait shook his head, ash falling onto his robe. "It's not the orcs I'm worried about... Have you heard about the plague in Lordaeron recently?"

"I've heard of it, but hasn't the heroic Prince already led men to deal with it? Many paladins have arrived in Andorhal lately. With them around, there's no need to fear."

Mait said nothing more. He simply stared blankly at the ground, lost in his own thoughts. Sassarian was not good at comforting others; he sighed and stood up. "Uncle Mait, I am a soldier. Following orders is my first priority."

With that, Sassarian headed into the camp, but after a few steps, he paused and tilted his head slightly. "But protecting the people of Lordaeron is also our mission."

...

By evening, the Privy Knights had set up a temporary camp. They were currently on the border between Tirisfal and Western Weald. To reach Andorhal as quickly as possible, Arthas had chosen a side road, forcing them to camp in the mountain woods.

Arthas sat by the campfire, poking the logs with a branch. Jaina sat beside him, engrossed in a book about countering necromancy.

"The earliest necromancy was discovered during the conflicts with demons. The discoverer was... Meryl Winterstorm, a legendary mage from the time of Emperor Thoradin?"

"Arthas, look at this. The description in the book is very similar to the plague we've encountered—demons polluting food and water supplies through magical pestilence, or even spreading it through direct human contact.

"If the infected humans are not treated in time, their corpses will rise again after death, displaying an intense desire to attack the living... The demons who use this shameful, evil magic are called Nathrezim, or Dreadlords—horrifying entities from the Twisting Nether. Beyond their dark magic, they seem to possess a unique racial talent: they can hypnotize and manipulate opponents with weak minds or wavering wills, or destroy a person's soul entirely to claim their body."

Jaina read the text carefully, struck by how coincidentally similar it was to the events in Lordaeron. "Could the mastermind behind the plague be a demon? And because he has occupied someone's body and is hiding among us, we can't find him?"

"A brilliant guess. Perhaps that is the truth." Arthas had not expected Jaina to infer Mal'Ganis's identity from the materials.

Jaina felt no joy at the praise. "If that's the case, our investigation will surely face significant obstacles... It would be one thing if he chose a common citizen, but what if he chose a noble or an officer?"

Given the cunning of the Nathrezim, his choice would surely make it difficult for Arthas and Jaina to catch him in the act.

Arthas did not know the specific whereabouts of Mal'Ganis. Under his own arrangements and interventions, this undead plague had diverged greatly from the original history; he no longer had the advantage of foresight.

Fortunately, the net cast by the Privy Council across Lordaeron was tightening. Cult of the Damned members and spies were being purged rapidly. As long as Stratholme and Andorhal remained un-infiltrated, the entire Weald region would not face major danger.

As for the capital of Lordaeron, the demon would certainly not dare hide there. The Royal City had not only the kingdom's Archmages but also their mage towers. A "True Sight" spell cast by an Archmage within their own tower would likely expose a Dreadlord's disguise; a cautious Dreadlord would never take such a risk.

Not to mention the church priests Arthas had dispatched to scour the city for any suspicious signs. Any major city under Lordaeron's governance was a death trap for Mal'Ganis.

When a kingdom begins its guard early, even a Nathrezim skilled in concealment and disguise cannot avoid leaving traces. Once his location was exposed, the city guards and mages would swarm him.

Therefore, Arthas was certain the Dreadlord was hiding in some small town or military camp. Based on the Privy Council's intelligence, he had narrowed the range down to the southern part of Andorhal.

"Falric, what outposts does the First Legion have in the south of Andorhal?"

Arthas felt the Dreadlord wouldn't have gone too far, as his target was the Prince himself.

"Your Highness, there are many small outposts, but only three major strongholds: the southwestern camp overseen by Lieutenant Colonel Jostar, the southeastern camp overseen by Colonel Brando, and the southernmost camp overseen by Colonel Wesley."

Ignoring the two rather strange surnames, Arthas continued, "Has anything happened there recently?"

Falric shook his head. "No, Your Highness. At least in the last report cycle, everything in those three places was normal."

"Everything normal?" Arthas felt a sense of difficulty. These were the camps closest to Andorhal. Would Mal'Ganis really travel far to hide elsewhere?

Just then, a Privy Knight resting nearby spoke up. "Your Highness, if you're looking for strange occurrences, I heard a friend from the Church mention something during my rotation last week."

"Tell me."

"They said the Holy Light Church in Andorhal received reports of a strange illness. It seems it was first discovered by the physician at Colonel Wesley's camp. Their field chaplain checked the food and water but found no issues, so it was ultimately classified as an unknown disease and reported to the Church for record-keeping."

Arthas pondered for a moment. "Do you know the specific symptoms of this illness?"

The Privy Knight struggled to recall his friend's words. "If I remember correctly, it was headaches and mental confusion."

"Headaches, mental confusion? That's too common... but from a magical perspective, it sounds like the influence of some form of mind-altering spell," Jaina analyzed.

Arthas furrowed his brow. "Indeed. Even a common cold could manifest that way. That alone doesn't prove much."

"But it's the only lead we have. Should we go take a look, Arthas?"

Jaina looked at the Prince, waiting for his decision. Arthas rested his chin on his right hand, weighing the risks and rewards with a grave expression.

"Is Wesley's southern camp very close to Strahnbrad?" Arthas asked Falric after a moment of silence.

"Yes, Your Highness. By horse, it takes just over two hours. Griffon would be faster, only about thirty minutes."

The town his teacher Uther was currently supporting was Strahnbrad, located on the main road between Western Weald and the Alterac Mountains.

"Jaina, help me send a magical letter to my teacher. Tell him we may need support. We will set out tomorrow to investigate the southern camp. If there are no issues there, we will gather troops and await reinforcements."

Mal'Ganis already knew that Arthas had eliminated Kel'Thuzad and was well aware that the Prince would soon be tracking his location.

No matter where he was, he must have made thorough preparations. The worst-case scenario was that he had already taken a large number of civilians hostage or bewitched a group of soldiers. If that were the case, the dozen or so people Arthas had with him would be a drop in the bucket.

Compared to Kel'Thuzad, Mal'Ganis had far more tricks up his sleeve. Arthas would not confront him unprepared; that would only lead to more lives being lost.