Light's Dawn of Azeroth

Chapter 239, Section 62: Azeroth! Welcome the King! - (Bonus chapter for "霍整挺好" [45])
"Has that annoying guy left?"

"Yes, firsthand news from Stormwind: the saint from another land has returned to his world to find a cure for the plague for the kingdom! That bastard's consecrated paladin can detect demons, so our people dare not get too close, but we can be sure he has indeed left."

I don't know how long that guy will be gone, but now is definitely the best time.

"Alright! Notify the lords that we can begin the operation."

In the greenskin camps around Azura's Tower in Elwynn Forest, a few furtive greenskins met and exchanged some enigmatic information.

Then someone ran out and, taking advantage of the warlocks' presence in the area, used a series of demonic "messages" to eventually send the message to a distant place through the Burning Legion's internal information flow.

In a shattered world controlled by the Nathrezim, Tichondrius, the current leader of the dreadlords, strode forward. Looking at his cunning brethren gathered in a circle before him, a chilling, insipid smile spread across his deathly pale face as he announced in a somber voice:
"Brothers! The Vigilantes have left Azeroth. It's time to send the 'King' chosen by Lord Shacklebolt to that world! Lord Sachil personally went there to inspect and selected the perfect landing spot for us."

"I don't know!"

Lord Barnazar, the Lord of Fear, said in a somber tone:

"Why should we consider a mere mortal when we do things? So what if Diakum is in Azeroth? He's in the southern border of the Eastern Continent, while the thing we're delivering is at the northernmost point of the world. Even if he knows, can he fly there in an instant?"

"Yeah yeah."

On the other side, Mephistos, the fear lord with beautiful, dark blue bat wings, also brandished his claws and said mockingly:
“I can understand why other demons fear it, after all, being killed would mean the destruction of their souls and bodies. But we are not those weak demons who cannot survive without the Twisting Nether. We are not afraid of it!”

"Then go to Azeroth and challenge the Vigilant to a duel to prove your courage! Hiding behind someone's back and talking nonsense here makes you seem brave, right?"

Tichondrius was absolutely fed up with these incompetent, arrogant idiots.

It was a fear lord who had experienced the final battle of Argus. It knew how ferocious the Diakum were. Most importantly, as the Burning Legion's intelligence chief, the Nathrezim should have been the demon race most aware of the threat posed by the Vigilant, but these guys just kept stirring up trouble! They all should go to a private room by West Lake for some advanced training.

They call the Vigilant Warriors noobs, but when it comes to actually fighting one-on-one, they won't go.

Pooh!
You are all utter scoundrels! No wonder the other demons look down on us; the root of the problem lies with you!

"Shut up, all of you! You can come if you want to die! But this matter must be completed perfectly today. I don't think anyone wants to see His Excellency the Sculptor get angry. We'll be staying there for a long time afterward, so you'd better prepare yourselves."

The Fear Lord roared, barely managing to suppress his cunning and vicious brothers with his remaining authority.

Then, it stared at the block of ice in front of it, which was radiating endless cold. It was a treasure found in their "homeland". It looked like an ice block, but it was actually something more terrifying!

Through the ice, one could vaguely see a ball of spiritual fire moving within it, outlining a blurry human figure amidst the chilling air that could freeze the soul.

This is the "goods" they are delivering today.

It requires seven Fear Lord Archdemons and a large group of High-Rank Nathrezim to escort it; this sheer scale alone is enough to demonstrate its importance.

Tichondrius turned its head, and under its gaze, the Dreadlords Anotheron and Mal'Ganis were jointly restraining an exquisitely crafted weapon box. Like the piece of ice that sealed the soul of the "King," the weapon box was also filled with endless chill.

Even the dreadlords fear this thing.

The dreadlord Varimathras holds a black, menacing "crown" in his hands, resembling a full-face helmet. The top is sculpted with highly aggressive spikes, and the front features an artistically designed demonic skull with dark green dominion crystals adorning its forehead. Mysterious runes adorn the surrounding area, making the whole structure appear as if it were naturally formed.

These are clearly divine weapons that are hard to find even among the stars, but unfortunately, no fear lord is willing to approach them.

But what appeared in their eyes was not simple fear. When these cunning creatures looked at the weapon case and helmet, there was an undisguised reverence in their eyes, as if they were looking at some kind of sacred object that could kill them.

"Let's go! There's still so much to do and so much fun to be had in Azeroth. We don't have much time to waste!"

Tichondrius reached out its claws and touched the exquisite weapon case. A subtle hint of nostalgia flashed in its eyes. Then, with a wave of its hand, the dreadlords joined forces to open the Star Sea Rift leading to Azeroth.

The Burning Legion's second invasion of that world has not yet begun. Without the assistance of the Legion's military force and the miraculous "space jump" of Mardon, it is quite difficult for so many great demons to join forces to open a rift across the star sea.

What is reflected on the other side of the crevice is not a bustling country or a secluded wilderness, but a giant glacier swept by polar winds, capable of freezing the Vykul people to death.

It was like a floating island connected to the mainland, surrounded by a thick, cold fog. Its terrain was extremely high, like the roof of the world, but it was also desolate and devoid of any signs of life.

Tichondrius was the first to step into the rift, followed by the Fear Lords who joined forces to lift up the ice.

As they move, one can hear the screams of souls echoing within, like prisoners trapped in a cage, forced to endure terrible pain without any hope of liberation. Further back, the Lord of Fear follows, sealing the weapon casket.

The higher-ranking Nathrezim closely followed in the footsteps of their leaders. This mobilization had gathered almost half of the dreadlords in the Burning Legion, each of whom had committed successful and horrific acts of deception, manipulation, corruption, and slaughter in other worlds. This group of troublemakers, who thrived on chaos, were brought together and sent to the same world.
Needless to say, it must be an exaggerated conspiracy orchestrated by the Legion's vanguard, one that is so outrageous it might not even pass censorship.

Like a harbinger of impending doom, or a scavenging crow on the verge of death.

"This godforsaken place is freezing me to death. If I really had a fragile body that could feel the cold, I would put it here!

At the highest point of the frigid ice plain, on the "pedestal" personally selected and sculpted by the Sculptor using his great power, Tichondrius gave an order, and the ice was placed within the hidden magic circle, just like a key inserted into a lock.

As it took root, the ice block merged and grew with the icy pillars below, while mysterious and eerie runes lit up one by one around the "throne," creating a beautiful "ambient light" that made all the dreadlords look forward to what was to come.

Tichondrius took the crown from his evil brother and, with great ceremony, placed it on the ice. He sneered, "..."
"Your Majesty, let us servants dress you up. I, your humble servant, will crown you. Wear it properly! Don't bow your head, or the crown will fall off."

"Ha ha ha ha"

The other criminals laughed mockingly, as if watching a farce, their laughter filled with the glee of seeing someone suffer misfortune.

However, just as the crown was covered and fused with ice, a sudden gust of cold wind blew out from this "Crown of the Glacier" area, and in a short time it turned into a cold storm that swept across the entire remote glacier region.

Even the clouds that had been gloomy for millennia in the sky were stirred up, and the changes in the celestial phenomena foreshadowed the blessing of great power. The lightning that danced in the thick black clouds represented a polar storm powerful enough to kill a person that was about to occur.

Pure white snowflakes fell without warning, casting an indescribable sadness over them. The spirits sealed within the ice emitted painful cries and shrieks, as if all the malice of the world had gathered there. Listening closely, it sounded like thousands of dead souls screaming at the same time.

Gul'dan felt as if his mind was being torn apart.

Ever since he was captured by the demons, he had been in a daze. He had an audience with the Shaper Sachiel along the way, but no one knew what tricks the great demon used to transform his soul into a strange appearance that even his own mother wouldn't recognize.

He was trapped inside this damned, strange ice, and the crown on his head, placed on his head by the Dreadlord, was even stranger.

The moment it came into contact with its spirit, Gul'dan felt his senses and mental power being rapidly enhanced.

Five times, ten times, fifty times, one hundred times. The terrifying multiplication and expansion was like an endless extension and expansion. In that instant, it even ignored the pain and was immersed in the expansion of power. It felt that it had now surpassed the limits of power it had ever imagined, and even entered a level that it could not understand at all.

Gul'dan was seeing illusions, if he still had "eyes".

It seemed to see the reflection of the other shore clearly, like a world hanging upside down in the sky above its head.

It was a black, desolate world where countless souls wailed and suffered. A terrifying army was moving within it, and every second countless souls were forged into weapons of destruction by artisans who controlled suffering. Every second, punished souls had their power drained in that twisted tower.

The black steel walls that cover the entire world have sculpted one ferocious fortress after another.

Their forms are filled with spikes, chains, and sharp angles, a chilling aggression representing the endless resentment of that dead world. The Abyss Forgers lie dormant in the silent abyss, waiting for the opportune moment to launch a devastating invasion.

In that swirling illusion, Gul'dan vaguely saw a giant imprisoned by massive chains.

He was adorned with blue runes, giving him a majestic and awe-inspiring appearance, but there was an empty hole in his chest, where no heart was beating.

That might be a god!

Perhaps it was He who was ruling over the Maw he saw. Just as Gul'dan was using his unparalleled mental power to try to see the face of the God of Death, all the images came to an abrupt end, leaving Gul'dan with only a pair of indifferent eyes.

"Ruler, do your job."

He said this.

At that moment, Gul'dan was overjoyed.

It instantly understood its situation and learned the deepest and most terrifying secret hidden in the Burning Legion, the demon's stronghold!
These Nathrezim, along with the Shaper of the Shaper, do not serve the Dark Titans.

They have another master!

Now, having passed through the evil and damned "Brotherhood ritual," he was now one of these heinous elements.

"click"

As Gul'dan uncovered a great secret, the sealed weapon chests were opened by the dreadlords.

The "King's Sword," crafted from black ice crystals and swirling with snow, hovered before the crowned "Gul'dan the Dominator." Beneath its hilt, adorned with soul-devouring skulls, the strange, dark blade also bore the inscription of "Dominion Runes."

Its rune design is identical to that of Gul'dan's crown and throne, clearly indicating that it was created by the same person.

"This is your sword, Your Majesty, and also your scepter. Although you no longer have one hand to hold it, you, empowered by the power of death, need not fear going into battle to kill the enemy."

Tichondrius said in a sinister and mocking voice:
"If you have fully enjoyed the majesty of being a king, then get to work! Wield the magic blade, gather an army for your true master in this world, and proclaim His power."

The dead in this world should all find their place; they must realize their mission and serve their true masters.

And you
You are the shepherd of the dead.

"Begin, no need to rush. This is just for you to practice. Your army will only be fully formed when the legion truly invades this world and brings endless destruction."

Gul'dan could hear the disdain in the dreadlord's words. Although he called himself "King," in these creatures' eyes, he was nothing more than a servant. But why would an exceptional warlock step forward when he was at a disadvantage?
Face? Dignity? Glory?

What is that? Have I ever had one?
The pragmatic Gul'dan followed the dreadlord's instructions, wrapping his spiritual power—enhanced to a fully tangible state by the Crown of Domination artifact—around the demonic sword. As the spirit wielded it, the runes on the sword's blade lit up one after another.

Like a "relay", it instantly expanded Gul'dan's already vast and sinister mind, which was capable of influencing celestial phenomena.

It's as if countless eyes are watching every corner of this world at the same time.

It saw the desolate lands of Kalimdor, where Garrosh Hellscream had just helped his tauren friends defeat the savage centaur raiders, and they returned victorious, singing a triumphant war song in the setting sun.

Gul'dan let out a strange laugh.

It didn't disturb the little guy, but instead touched the corpses of the centaurs lying dead in the wilderness with its "hands," as if injecting "life." Soon, the first corpse staggered to its feet, followed by the second and the third.

It also saw the Qiraji, killed by the weakened Sand Guardians, in the vast desert of Silithus.

Those ferocious insects were the most frenzied warriors. They had no fear and only followed the orders of the hive master to fight endlessly. What fine warriors they were! Gul'dan tried to bestow the blessing of death upon these insects as well, but the moment his "hand" touched the insect corpses, the scene before his eyes suddenly went black.

Then a huge eyeball with constantly moving pupils appeared before Gul'dan, staring at him with a mixture of curiosity and disdain.

"roll!"

The filth and turbidity in the rebuke instantly extinguished Gul'dan's last vestige of thought.

Ok.

These insects are protected by "gods," and that's not a place for them to go.

But the newly crowned "king" did not give up because of this small setback. Its consciousness continued to travel through the world it had never had time to appreciate, giving the desert zombies a cursed life in the graveyard of the Sandfury trolls, awakening bloodstained corpses on the desert islands of the South Sea, and annihilating the pirates who had just finished their raid.

Witness the wondrous voodoo zombies of Gurubashi in the dense forests of Stranglethorn Vale, then mercilessly snatch them from the sorcerer's grasp, tearing them apart amidst the sorcerer's screams, making them one of the dead as well.

It continued its wanderings, savoring the resentment and bitterness of the dead in the great cemetery of the Sunlit Forest. Then, it used its spiritual power to give the soldiers who died in the conflict with the wolf god's hunting pack a chance to "take revenge with their own hands".

Gul'dan fell in love with the feeling.

It suddenly realized that "soul ascension" by abandoning flesh and blood was not unacceptable. The Sculptor had indeed fulfilled its promise and given itself a chance to "be king".

Gul'dan roamed freely and joyfully in the shadows of every dead, savoring their resentment and bitterness, like an early "Grandpa Winter's Veil," giving those vengeful souls a chance to "do it all again."

The price is that their souls will all belong to themselves.

Ah, warlocks are best at this kind of thing, Gul'dan felt like he was back in his "comfort zone."

Then, it saw a "big surprise".

In the cursed mage tower in Elwynn Forest, it saw its "disciple" Zul'hild through the eyes of the dead.

That guy is really powerful now.

Clutching two divine artifacts, dressed in luxurious robes stolen from the Northshire Cemetery, adorned with gold and silver, he sat on the main seat, receiving compliments and kowtows from orcs, humans, ravens, gnolls, and kobold warlocks.

This piece of shit!

His unpredictable emotions and gloomy expression were clearly imitating himself.

Gul'dan peered at Zul'hild's location with a probing gaze, and quickly noticed a necromancy ritual in progress, seemingly to bring back a soul that had been dead for many years to dominate the dried but still powerful skeleton, which held a sinister demonic blade in its hand.

Gul'dan blinked. If he wasn't mistaken, the demonic blade and the one in his hand seemed to be crafted by the same master craftsman.

However, the psychics under Zuluhid's command are too incompetent to complete the psychic ritual in a short time. So, I might as well help them out and give my good disciple a "gift".

“Come back, Baratheon Wrynn.”

Gul'dan's voice echoed invisibly, and with the power of the Helm of Domination and the Demonblade, the soul of a Maldraxxus death gladiator was quickly brought back to the material world, his memories of the Shadowlands were brutally erased, and then stuffed into his former body.

"Serve them, but remember your true master."

The moment King Baratheon opened his eyes, he heard this voice.

At the same time, Zul'hild, the second leader of the Shadow Council, who was enjoying the warlocks' flattery, suddenly felt a cold wind blowing, as if an invisible hand was placed on his back, as if an invisible spirit was trying to say something to him.

"What the hell?"

Zulushid touched his neck, feeling uncomfortable all over.

He suddenly felt that the mage tower, which he was so satisfied with, had become gloomy, and that he probably shouldn't stay there for too long.

But Gul'dan had already left.

It has a long way to go with its "good disciple," so there's no need to rush.

Its consciousness continued to roam freely throughout the world, and soon noticed the spreading plague. Was it the corruptor's scheme, or a weapon it had offered up?

However, during the consciousness recovery process, Gul'dan saw something extraordinary on this continent in the far north.

He quickly shared this information with his dreadlord "Jailers".

"What? Lightforged warriors are crushing trolls in Northrend? Are you sure?"

Tichondrius was startled, thinking that Diakum had learned of their plans in advance and had therefore laid an ambush in Northrend. He might even be flying over with Ashbringer right now to "explain the pros and cons" to them.

But it soon realized it was just a misunderstanding.

The war between the Argus Hand veterans and the local Drakkari trolls has been going on for almost a month, and it's clearly not a deliberate ambush.

"Hmph! Consider them your first trial, Your Majesty."

The Lord of Dread roared:
"As you raise your army in Northrend and bury the Lightforged of Diakum, the more the Light favors them, the greater the power they will gain as they fall to their deaths. It's up to you now."

After speaking, Tichondrius turned back to continue assigning tasks to his evil brothers:

"Malganis, Varimathras, and Detherlock! The three of you shall travel to the northern frontier of the Eastern Continent and, in coordination with the spread of the Plague by the Corruptors, establish the 'Doomsday Prophet' cult to pave the way for the Legion's invasion."

Anotherron! You shall travel to Felwood to join our Bainholler brothers stationed there and recruit satyrs to weaken the Kaldorei Moon Goddess realm.

Banazzar! You and Mephistos journey to the Broken Isles to find the Pillars of the World and seize those Titan artifacts.

Brothers, the Legion is coming soon. We must work hard to win this world for the Legion. Our master will be proud of us.

Go on!

Don't delay.

Each of the dreadlords, carrying out their missions, quickly departed with a group of high-ranking Nathrezim, while Tichondrius remained at Icecrown Glacier. As Gul'dan's jailer, he had to ensure that Gul'dan fulfilled his duties.

"I have one last question, sir."

Gul'dan asked in a weak voice:
"What is the name of this demonic sword?"

"The Sword of Sorrow".

Tichondrius replied:

"You can call it 'Frostmourne.' A powerful sword spirit slumbers within this sword; it is the 'warden' of all the souls it devours. Don't anger it, for your own good."

Get to work!
"I'm going to Zul'Drak to see what those Lightforged are up to!"

The Dreadlord has left, but Gul'dan is very curious about what kind of spirit could become the sword spirit of such a deadly artifact.
He infused a wisp of his spirit into the demonic sword, and sure enough, he saw a massive and powerful figure within that cold, gloomy prison of souls.

"who are you?"

"Gul'dan asked."

"I am the destroyer of the Holy Lance, the nemesis of the Vigilant, the executioner of Diakum."

The soul replied vaguely:

"Who am I? I've forgotten. Perhaps I was once called Archimonde? No, that doesn't seem to be the name. Never mind, it doesn't matter! Find Diakmazins, the Ruler, find him!"
We joined forces and killed him!

His body is yours, his soul is mine!

"Okay! Deal."

Gul'dan answered without hesitation, and then said:
“But we need to lie low for now, Avenger Ak. We need to build a large army. I need your help. Don’t worry, the day of revenge is not far off.”

(End of this chapter)