On the fortress walls, Arthas leaned on his warhammer, observing the forest not far away, where countless birds were startled—the troll forces had arrived at the forest in front of the Banthinoreil Barrier, their gaze covetously fixed on the elven territory.
All preparations within the fortress were in full swing, and Arthas held a telescope, hoping to observe any troll movements. But the forests around Quel'Thalas were simply too tall and dense; after a few minutes of trying, besides vaguely seeing some troll figures, he couldn't obtain any useful information. Putting down the telescope, Arthas gave up on observing by himself; he decided to wait for the elven scouts to gather intelligence.
Just then, Uther walked over with a scroll of intelligence.
"Arthas, Sylvanas's rangers just informed us that the troll numbers are indeed around eight thousand, mostly ordinary troll warriors, and one to two thousand headhunters. As for spellcasters and witch doctors, there are only a handful. The leader seems to be a chieftain of some tribe."
"I understand, Uther," Arthas took the intelligence and scanned it. "It looks like the trolls are just testing the waters and don't have too much hope."
"That's right, this indeed fits Zul'jin's style of action." Uther was very familiar with the important figures in the former Horde, and he also believed that Zul'jin sending this force was merely to silence the other members of his tribe.
"The trolls don't have siege weapons. With their crude spears and throwing axes, they can't threaten the fortress's magic walls." Arthas watched as the elves set up one Arcane crystal base after another on the walls—these bases, once equipped with Arcane crystals, would continuously cast low-level Arcane arrows at enemies, which could be understood as magical versions of turrets or ballistas.
"Have the soldiers guard the walls and gates well. The rest can be left to the elven rangers and musketeers. Don't be stingy with your bullets and gunpowder; hit them hard with everything you've got!"
"Yes, Prince Arthas!"
"This battle will require the cavalry and paladins to finish it, Uther. I'll leave them for you to lead. I'll guard the walls, lest the trolls use some strange methods to jump up."
"Very well, let's do as you say." Uther fully agreed with Arthas's deployment.
The outcome of this battle was destined to be without suspense—that troll chieftain, from who knows which small tribe, still fully believed he was coming to avenge the priest, unaware that they were merely sacrifices.
As the battle began, deep within Zul'Aman, Zul'jin was facing another round of cold mockery from Malacrass. "Ha, Zul'jin, is this what you call hunting? Harraz not only failed to capture the pointy-eared Ranger-General, but he also got himself killed!"
"And you even sent that unlucky little chieftain with over eight thousand good-for-nothings, calling it revenge. Are you sure you're not sending them to their deaths?" Malacrass didn't care about the lives of those troops; they were just the discards of the Amani trolls, conveniently reducing useless population and allowing for the recovery of some flesh and blood for sacrificing to the Loa. He was simply mocking Zul'jin.
"Shut up, Malacrass, I am listening to the voice of the Lynx Loa." Zul'jin loudly reprimanded him, then closed his single eye again. Upon hearing Zul'jin's words, Malacrass stopped his taunts, not because he feared Zul'jin, but because in the presence of a Loa, they always ensured their humility.
The silence lasted for about three minutes when Zul'jin suddenly spoke, "There's an unusual fellow among those humans. The Lynx Loa saw the same power in him as Bwonsamdi."
"Bwonsamdi?!" Malacrass's face was filled with shock—Bwonsamdi was the Loa of Death worshipped by ancient trolls. Besides his characteristic love for making deals, this Loa's greatest feature was his eerie and powerful death magic. He was far more powerful and mysterious than ordinary Loa. In ancient times, even more distant than the Amani Empire, his worship was almost widespread throughout Azeroth, and even among the troll race, the noblest and oldest Zandalar clan had followers of Bwonsamdi. The power represented by the Loa of Death was, without a doubt, death magic, but this power was not even possessed by many of Bwonsamdi's priests. After the Zandalar trolls had been isolated for tens of thousands of years, Malacrass had almost forgotten this ancient Loa.
Zul'jin, of course, also knew Bwonsamdi. He stared at Malacrass, "Humans cannot worship Loa. That human cannot be related to Bwonsamdi, but even the Lynx Loa fears his power. We cannot send any more priests to hunt him."
"Why? Although Harraz's strength is not weak, he is best at assassination and tracking. He is not as good as other priests in direct combat."
"That human tried to bind a part of the Lynx Loa's soul. He almost succeeded. We cannot take that risk." Zul'jin told Malacrass the truth.
"If that's the case… at least we can't send any more priests. That might harm the Loa themselves." Malacrass understood Zul'jin's meaning. "We have already eliminated most dissenting voices through this war. Regardless of the outcome, at least the most basic goal has been achieved. There's no need to fight to the death with the elves."
After sending off the Lynx Loa, Zul'jin sat on his stone chair. "Let's leave it at that for now. The elves were lucky. We need to recuperate. At least for the next few years, let's not provoke any major conflicts. The Loa will fully recover their power in at most ten years, and those priests will also be able to truly unleash their full divine power. By that time, it will be the day of the Amani Empire's resurgence!"
The Hex Lord had no objection to this—the Amani trolls had waited for thousands of years; they didn't mind waiting another ten.
The battle at Farstriders Fortress lasted an entire day. When the sun set again and the twin moons rose in the night sky, the trolls, carrying the bodies of their comrades, fled back into the forest in disarray.
Loud cheers erupted on the walls. The trolls attacked fearlessly, charging onto the fortress walls several times, but they were always pushed back by the allied forces. They suffered hundreds of casualties, inflicting four to five thousand dead and wounded on the trolls.
Arthas stood on the wall, his armor covered in scratches and blood, but the Holy Light on his warhammer still shone brightly. He gazed in the direction the trolls had fled, his expression seemingly holding a hint of doubt.
"We are victorious, Prince Arthas!" The soldiers of Lordaeron cheered excitedly.
Arthas temporarily suppressed his doubt. After responding to the soldiers' high spirits, he found his Uther.
"Arthas, well done." Uther did not stint on his praise; he greatly approved of Arthas's performance in this support operation.
"I only did what I should, Uther. After this defeat, it's very likely the trolls won't have any large-scale invasions for the next few years." Arthas thought for a moment and decided to tell Uther his doubts. "But I think they might be plotting something bigger."
"Are you saying those trolls insisted on taking back the bodies of other trolls regardless of casualties?"
"Yes, trolls don't have a habit of collecting their comrades' bodies on the battlefield, let alone when they clearly come from different clans. But they even suffered greater casualties just to take some bodies away."
"What do you think they're for?" Uther asked.
"Sacrifice—it's very likely a grand sacrifice to allow their Loa to recover their power more quickly." Arthas didn't mention another thing—the soul sight brought to him by death magic allowed him to see the souls of the dead trolls gathering deep within the primeval forest. All the casualties from this war would transform into nourishment for their Loa, so the price the trolls paid was not as great as imagined.
Arthas knew that it was highly probable that within ten years, the Amani trolls would once again stir up trouble. When that time came, it wouldn't be a minor skirmish like this; the entire Quel'Thalas and Lordaeron could be under immense threat. However, at least this bought Lordaeron at least ten years of breathing room—if the elven Farstriders and Sylvanas had all died in this battle, the entire southern forest of Quel'Thalas would never know peace, and Lordaeron, which bordered Quel'Thalas, would certainly not fare well either.
"The trolls' bloody and barbaric rituals will sooner or later face righteous retribution," Uther said gravely. No human with normal sensibilities would have any fondness for trolls, let alone a paladin with kindness and justice in his heart.
"That day will come, Uther, but for now, we can enjoy the joy of victory."
"You're right. I will truthfully report your significant contributions in this campaign to King Terenas. I believe your father will also be pleased."
As the two paladins conversed, one of the two Archmages accompanying the army approached Uther. He took out a magical document and handed it to Uther. Uther took it and nodded, saying, "King Terenas has already received news of our victory through the mages' communication. He wants us to rest in Quel'Thalas for three days before returning to Lordaeron."
"That's good news. I happen to need to attend a celebration banquet hosted by Sylvanas."
Uther paused, "When did she invite you?"
"Just yesterday, after I brought back the head of that troll priest," Arthas replied. "Uther, do you want to come along?"
"No, I don't really like attending banquets." Uther seemed to recall something and declined the offer. Arthas was not surprised. Uther rarely attended even human noble banquets. Besides invitations from his Silver Hand colleagues and himself, he almost never appeared at banquets. This great knight preferred to hone his Holy Light alone.