Chapter 45 Crypt Lord

Wrapped in a thick cloak, Thassarian rode his warhorse alone across the frozen plains, searching for any trace of Arthas.

Logically speaking, he had no business acting so recklessly by abandoning the main force. He knew he lacked the formidable personal strength of the crown prince, yet Arthas had once saved his life. The thought of simply retreating with the rest of the army was entirely out of the question.

Therefore, he had relinquished his chance at a commission as a major in the First Legion, choosing instead to wander the icy wastes of Northrend in search of Arthas.

It was not merely to repay the debt of his savior, but also to exact vengeance for every man of the Thirteenth Battalion.

The tragedy of the Thirteenth Battalion had transformed into a living nightmare for Thassarian. During his week recovering from his wounds in Lordaeron, he was haunted by nightmares every single night, and the face of everyone slain by Mal'Ganis remained a dark shadow upon his soul.

If he could not witness Mal'Ganis die with his own eyes, he would surely be tormented by restlessness for the rest of his days.

"May His Highness the Prince forgive my recklessness..."

Thassarian had already decided that once this matter came to an end, whether he lived or died, he would leave his fate entirely to Arthas's discretion. After all, by abandoning his post on his own accord, he had already violated the regulations of the First Legion.

Yet the fire of hatred raged so fiercely within his breast that the young warrior simply could not swallow this grievance.

However, the Dragonblight was vast, and he could only search along the general direction Arthas and his forces had previously taken—a remarkably time-consuming endeavor.

Yet in the eyes of Thassarian, whose skills were well-honed, this was not an impossible mission.

Wandering across the boundless snowfields, Thassarian felt loneliness for the very first time. He trudged silently through the snow, hunting for the faintest trace of a clue.

Time slipped away quickly. Thassarian found an open ridge, clearing out a small cave to serve as his shelter for the night's camp.

He gathered some firewood that was reasonably dry, ignited it with the flint from his gear, and removed his weapons and shoulder guards to sit by the campfire for warmth.

Scarcely a few minutes after sitting down, Thassarian suddenly noticed some strange, glowing green points of light in the distant darkness. Filled with doubt, he chose not to investigate in the dead of night, instead noting the coordinates so he could check them out at dawn.

..........

Arthas rode Invincible across the boundless frozen plains, following the river upward toward the higher elevations of Icecrown Glacier. The skeletal warhorse trotted atop the frigid river currents without sinking, galloping directly over the water's surface.

The region they passed through was the Sholazar Basin—no, the Crystalsong Forest. Centuries ago, a massive arcane explosion had transformed all the trees here into the likeness of crystalline structures formed of pure arcane energy.

As he traveled further upriver, the contamination of the waterway grew increasingly severe. Arthas could distinctly perceive the aura of plague and death saturated within the river currents.

As the surrounding crystal forest gradually receded, blue-black highland permafrost began to enter Arthas's field of vision. He raised his gaze to see a towering black wall erected between the natural barriers of the mountains on either side. This was originally the place where the river emptied into the Crystalsong Forest.

Yet now, the tiny trickle of water flowing from beneath that black metal barrier—resembling both a dam and a rampart—was no longer a cradle of life, but a venomous torrent of filth.

Had the Crystalsong Forest not been teeming with arcane energy and wondrous creatures, the lower reaches of this river would have long since become utterly barren, transforming into a breeding ground for the undead.

The Lich King undoubtedly intended to use this method to expand the influence of the Scourge further south into Northrend. Through such prolonged and enduring contamination, even the miraculous Crystalsong Forest would find it difficult to escape a doomed fate of corruption.

And waiting for Arthas beneath the high wall was someone.

"Halt, death knight. You shall go no further."

A massive beetle-like creature stood firm beneath the ramparts. Its deep purple carapace was covered in a significant amount of blue metal, upon which various ancient Nerubian runes were inscribed. Its mandibles twitched constantly, yet it was somehow able to speak in the Common tongue of humans.

In truth, however, this was not actual Common speech, but rather a direct transmission of thought delivered straight to Arthas's understanding through soul communication.

Arthas studied the Crypt Lord for a moment, pointing Frostmourne directly at him and the undead forces arrayed behind him. "Who are you?"

"I am Anub'arak, king of the ancient kingdom of Azjol-Nerub." Anub'arak's voice was deep and majestic.

Arthas smiled and nodded. "Ah—I understand. You are the Lich King's servant, the traitorous king, are you not?"

"His Majesty spoke truly. You have cast off his control, but it matters not. Soon enough, you shall return to our ranks once more."

Unprovoked by Arthas's words, Anub'arak swung his scythe-like forelegs and said in a rumbling voice, "Knight, I shall grant you a painful death."

At the Crypt Lord's command, a dense horde of undead surged forward toward Arthas. Yet Arthas paid no heed to these lesser ghouls; with a cold snort, Frostmourne swept through the air in a gleaming arc.

"Before your king, kneel!"

His voice rang out like a sovereign's decree. Virtually all of the low-ranking undead dropped abruptly to the ground, while the somewhat sturdier mid-to-high-tier undead barely managed to resist Arthas's oppressive aura, though they remained utterly incapable of movement or spellcasting.

Even the malevolent stone constructs of the undead—the gargoyles—dropped from the sky like rain.

Anub'arak's heart gave a jolt. Although the power of the Lich King sustained him, preventing him from immediately surrendering directly to Arthas, his movements still faltered for a few sluggish seconds.

"I was just fretting over having no army to command, and Ner'zhul has handed his soldiers straight to me." Arthas urged his mount through the formation of undead, stopping barely a dozen meters away from Anub'arak. "Now let me ask you: submission, or death?"

The primal power of death was far more than mere high-intensity energy; under Arthas's mastery, it represented an insurmountable hierarchy of existence that almost all undead were helpless to transcend.

Much like the Titan-forged guardians who would never dare raise a hand against their creators, Arthas merely radiated his majesty, causing the low-ranking undead—those lacking the Lich King's direct protection and manipulation—to immediately cease all activity.

Meanwhile, the necromancers who practiced death magic found themselves unable to cast spells under such conditions, rendering them entirely useless. Most other undead puppets and creations faced a similar predicament.

Even the immensely powerful Crypt Lord Anub'arak was affected, though the most direct manifestation of this influence was what happened next.

"Human... you can shake his power?"

Anub'arak did not attack immediately. His movements had stiffened, resembling a puppet desperately resisting the strings that controlled it.

Arthas raised an eyebrow in mild surprise. "Your connection to the Lich King has weakened?"

"He can still control my physical form, but my mind has been temporarily liberated—beware, human, my body will show you no mercy."

Anub'arak's rigid movements began to normalize. He unleashed a speed unbefitting his massive frame, crossing the dozen-meter distance almost in the blink of an eye.

The Crypt Lord's sharp forelegs raised high and brought down viciously—not aimed at Arthas, but at his mount.

Yet how could Invincible ever be considered an ordinary warhorse? The very reason Arthas had not ridden it for so long was because he had cast it into the Shadowlands to undergo a dark ritual of transformation.

Invincible let out a contemptuous snort, the blue flames spewing from its nostrils flaring intensely with its breath to form a barrier of pure hellfire.

Anub'arak originally intended to ignore the flames and rely on his hard carapace to shrug off the damage. However, rather than scorching his ornate shell, the fire inflicted a searing, agonizing pain directly upon his soul.

The Lich King's forced control abruptly compelled the Crypt Lord to quickly pull back away from Arthas's mount. He twisted his head around, stating, "Be warned—I can command the powers of the earth element... even in death."

His tone had grown much smoother, as if the searing flames had once again worn away a fraction of the Lich King's dominance.