"What?" Duke frowned suddenly. As the commander, he was well aware that the Alliance and the Scourge were locked in fierce combat near the Thandoril River. Due to their sufficient military strength and the tily presence of Queen Calia, the legitimate heir to the throne of Lordaeron, the remaining Lordaeron people in the old territory had completely united, joining forces with the Alliance troops led by Turalyon to defend the Eastern Plaguelands like an impenetrable fortress.
Yesterday, Duke had received reports that the two sides were still in a tug-of-war. How could it be that today the defense line had collapsed and the holy city of Strathol was under siege?
"Alfred, don’t you have a trump card?" Duke asked, referring to the strategy of dumping large amounts of holy water into the upper reaches of the Thandolil River. Holy water was harmless to living creatures but more poisonous than venom to the undead. Many tis, when the Thandolil River defense line was on the verge of breaking, they had relied on pouring holy water to directly halt the Scourge’s offensive. No matter how strong the undead were, they couldn’t withstand the commandos led by Saidan Dathrohan or Turalyon himself without backup. "Could it be Arthas himself?"
Abendis shook his head. "No, it was Anasterian. The forr majesty personally used large-scale earth magic to divert the entire Thandolil River..."
Duke gritted his teeth. Damn! So many variables! Until now, they could only take one step at a ti.
In history, Arthas had first conquered Lordaeron from within, then marched north through Strathol to destroy Quel’Thalas. After that, he swept south, ignoring the trembling dwarves of Ironforge and the people of Stormwind, pushing all the way to the Blasted Lands in one breath. There, he summoned the phantom of Archimonde at the Dark Portal, only to then turn around and flatten Dalaran. In a sense, he had almost turned the entire Eastern Kingdoms upside down, and when there was nothing left to pursue, he had returned to Lordaeron City to fester, until news ca that Archimonde had knelt...
The history Duke was familiar with could now largely be discarded, serving only as a reference rather than a definitive guide. They had saved Strathol, only to face an attack led by Anasterian himself. It truly felt like a futile effort.
Why had Abendis rushed to Duke in such a hurry? Firstly, in most people’s minds, only a Dawn-level Archmage could contend with another Dawn-level Archmage. Secondly, the advance troops of the Scarlet Crusade had rushed into Strathol before the main army. If it were purely military reinforcent, it would undoubtedly be a good thing. The more reinforcents they had, the greater their chances of holding the city. The problem was, if there was a formidable Archmage of the Sun on the opposing side, then Strathol would quickly beco a death zone. And Abendis’s anxiety, of course, had a deeper reason...
anwhile, in Strathol City.
The human kingdom of Azeroth, in terms of its economic system, was more akin to the dieval feudal societies of Western Europe on Earth. Generally, it was a significant achievent for a kingdom to possess one decent main city. Most kingdoms had only a single "city," with the rest being settlents at the town level or even lower. Lordaeron, once the most powerful human kingdom, was an exception. Its two massive cities were not only the glory of Lordaeron but also the symbol of its strength. As long as the holy city of Strathol did not fall, the people of Lordaeron could declare to the world that Lordaeron had not been destroyed.
At this mont, the battle around the city wall had reached a critical juncture. A slender figure in blood-red armor stood fearlessly atop the city wall. She raised her hand and commanded in a neutral voice: "Rockets—"
Behind her, a large group of archers, bows drawn and arrows nocked, stood ready. Their arrows, wrapped in oilcloth ignited by fire, rested on a temporary archery position rebuilt from a flat roof on the city wall. Following her orders, countless rockets soared into the sky at a 45-degree angle. As the arrows began to fall under the force of gravity, they descended like a teor shower, raining down on the open ground a hundred ters away.
The rockets ignited as soon as they touched the kerosene flowing across the plain. The impure black kerosene imdiately ford billowing smoke upon ignition. If the attackers were humans, they would undoubtedly be choked to death and unable to organize any battle formation. But the enemy was the undead, creatures devoid of pain.
She had initially thought that the flas could at least delay the enemy for a while. Just as the flas were about to engulf the undead attempting to wade through the sea of fire and rush to Strathol, a sudden change in the distance made her brows furrow slightly. It was the expected counterattack, though she wished it hadn’t co.
A muffled thunder rumbled in the distant forest. After a few breaths, a large dark cloud gathered rapidly above the tree canopy. Then, accompanied by a strong wind that defied the Strathol monsoon, a sudden heavy snowfall almost instantly extinguished the nascent flas. As soon as the fire was out, the storm continued its advance, sweeping over the city walls.
The magical wall of Strathol suddenly lit up with purple-blue magic runes. The gorgeous light blocked the biting wind but could not stop the accumulation of ice and snow. At a speed visible to the naked eye, a massive slope, over 300 ters wide, appeared before the human soldiers. Extending from the flat open space to the battlents of the city wall, the 30-ter-high city wall of Strathol suddenly beca a aningless obstacle.
Not only that, countless hailstones ford in the air and fell like raindrops onto the infantry positions on the city walls. The soldiers of the Scarlet Crusade, forced to cling to the city walls, could only raise their shields and endure the impact from the sky with their flesh and blood.
"Bang, bang!" Continuous loud noises erupted, and flesh and blood flew everywhere in the crowd. Wooden shields wrapped in iron sheets were shattered, and the soldiers’ thin helts offered no resistance to the hail’s impact. For a while, screams were continuous. If ordinary militian were stationed here, their morale would collapse instantly, and they would turn and flee.
Fortunately, the most sturdy, fanatical, and capable soldiers of the Scarlet Crusade in Lordaeron were defending this position. Even though their neat formation had been shattered by the hail, when the hail eased, all the soldiers who were still able to move imdiately struggled to get up, forming a thin line of defense, attempting to use their bodies to resist the onslaught of the undead rushing up the slope.
"Damn it! Can’t you mages do sothing?" The female colonel of the Alliance, clad in blood-red armor, cursed loudly. Her angry and determined eyes, her masculine and tough movents, and her sexy and charming figure ford a sharp, shocking contrast, leaving a deep impression on those who saw her.
Unfortunately, her roar received little response. Almost...
Finally, a red-haired male wizard with a scar on his nose tremblingly stepped forward. He smiled bitterly: "No matter what, I cannot bring sha to the reputation of my master, Edmund Duke!"
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