"The Burning Legion wantonly destroyed and twisted life; this is the retribution they deserve."
As the surging life energy finally began to wane, Eonar, who had orchestrated this burst of life, also became somewhat listless, but her heart was filled with satisfaction.
After so many years of hiding throughout the universe, countless loyal servants and children had been cruelly murdered by demons, and even Aralia, her last refuge, had almost been destroyed by the demons' appearance. This was not only her revenge, but also the revenge of countless lives lost because of the Legion.
That life force did not entirely originate from Eonar's power; in her current state, casting a spell of that magnitude would likely take a very long time to recover from. However, as a Guardian of life, life would also protect her.
Aralia's vibrant life energy provided the foundation for casting the spell, while Eonar's authority as a Titan allowed the spark of life to bloom on Argus, a place where life was forbidden.
"This is all I can do for now. Next, I need to gather some strength. After Antorus's gates were breached, I heard the wails of my kin. I implore you all, help them escape Sargeras's clutches as much as possible."
After saying these words, Eonar's voice gradually faded. The mark she left on Arthas remained, but for now, there was no activity from it.
"Your Majesty, are you sure you want to help the Titans reclaim that supreme throne?"
Xal'atath was a little confused. With Arthas's ability, he could completely eliminate both the Titans and Sargeras, seize their power, and become the sole and supreme ruler of this universe.
Eonar was so weak that she would be exhausted even by casting a slightly large-scale spell. Such an ally, in Xal'atath's eyes in the past, might have had some value, but now, she saw them as almost worthless, apart from the Titans' own knowledge and authority.
Arthas didn't mind Xal'atath's opportunistic thoughts; in fact, he would have found it strange if Xal'atath hadn't thought that way.
"The supreme throne? Xal'atath, what if I told you that such a thing is meaningless?"
"Meaningless? How could that be?"
Xal'atath didn't quite understand. She had always yearned to overcome the great mountain of Dimensius to regain freedom and a path to advancement, yet with Arthas, such a temptation was worthless?
"If it truly had meaning, then the Pantheon hundreds of thousands of years ago could have done it, Sargeras now could do it, and some of the Eternals could do it. But why haven't any of them done it?"
"Perhaps it's because they were bound by their duties? No… that's not right. Others might be, but Sargeras has long since abandoned those shackles."
Xal'atath realized the problem. She began to doubt herself. Were her past ideas truly wrong and unattainable?
"Don't forget the First Ones, Xal'atath. They had the ability to shape the entire universe. Yet, has our world improved to this day?"
Arthas made Xal'atath recall those beings said to be the oldest in the universe. Even to godlike beings like the Eternals and Titans, the First Ones were a distant, unfathomable legend.
And the truth was just as Arthas said: the First Ones completely disappeared at some point. No one knew whether they chose to leave this universe themselves, or still existed somewhere in the universe, or if a major upheaval caused these oldest gods to fall one by one.
Xal'atath was speechless because she had never possessed the power to change the entire universe, so she couldn't put herself in the First Ones' shoes to imagine their thoughts.
If it were her, she would definitely use those powers to change the universe as she pleased, until the entire world became the way she desired.
"But to know the answers to these questions, don't we first need to acquire abilities like those of the First Ones?"
Xal'atath still didn't understand.
"That is destined to be an extremely long path. The Jailer spent countless centuries and did not succeed. Or do you think our starting point is higher than an Eternal's?"
Xal'atath stopped pressing the issue. Arthas's words clearly indicated he wanted to end the topic. "Alright, alright, you're the boss now, you call the shots."
Arthas wanted to pat Xal'atath's shoulder, but his outstretched hand retracted—Xal'atath's shoulder armor was too angular, making it difficult for him to find a place to touch.
Xal'atath glanced at Arthas's hand, frozen in mid-air. "Should I hand the front-line coordination back to you?"
"No, you continue to push forward. I need to deal with other issues on Argus, after all, Sargeras isn't the only enemy we face."
Both of them knew clearly that Sargeras was not the Burning Legion's only Titan. The transformed Argus World-Soul was now completely dominated by Sargeras. Although most of the time his power was extracted to maintain the Legion's continuous operation, when the Legion was completely defeated and resurrecting demons became meaningless, Sargeras would certainly not forget this useful weapon.
However, to resolve Argus, some preparations would first be needed.
So Arthas found Velen, who was still recuperating. The battle with Kil'jaeden hadn't caused this prophet too severe injuries, but the mental and physical exhaustion was real. The intense depletion left the prophet in a state of weakness.
Velen was also surprised to see Arthas. "Arthas? You've returned."
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"You've worked hard, Prophet. If not for you, the hindrance Kil'jaeden could have caused us would have been beyond imagination."
Arthas did not stint his gratitude. The prophet had indeed removed a huge obstacle for them. An opponent like Kil'jaeden was much more troublesome than Archimonde. If not for his obsession with Velen, had he insisted on escaping, the difficulty of killing Kil'jaeden would be unimaginable.
After all, Kil'jaeden was only stalling for time, not directly confronting the Azeroth Allied Forces. Without Velen's presence, they would have spent a great deal of effort dealing with Kil'jaeden, potentially even delaying the war opportunity.
"I merely sent an incorrigible old friend on his way." Velen shook his head. He did not rejoice at the death of his enemy, for before becoming an enemy, Kil'jaeden had been his most important friend.
However, the prophet had more than just this one matter to face.
"You should still remember what I told you about Argus." Arthas mentioned those secrets; he had once told Velen to prepare for it.
Velen's expression stiffened, then he asked, "So there's truly no other way?"
Arthas shook his head. "Unlike the other Titans, Argus was controlled by Sargeras before he had even fully matured. All the suffering he endured no longer has a chance of being undone. Argus's chance to become a benevolent Titan has vanished, leaving only a shell filled with pain and hatred."
There was an undeniable sadness in Velen's eyes. They had spent ten millennia returning to their homeworld, but the final outcome was so cruel: Argus could no longer be restored to its original state. This planet was beyond saving the moment the World-Soul Argus was twisted into a Death Titan by Sargeras.
And after the Titan Argus's death, the Eredar's former home would completely lose its last shred of vitality. This verdant planet would become a barren wasteland that even demons would find desolate.
This was the final, and most painful, price paid by countless Draenei who yearned to return home.
Arthas also knew that this outcome was a bit too cruel for Velen, or rather, for all Draenei; it was undoubtedly pushing them to personally issue a death sentence for their own homeland.
But Velen was more open-minded than Arthas had imagined; after only a slight hesitation and sadness, he made his decision.
"Please do not consider us, Arthas. We came here to end everything. We should have been prepared for this long ago."
Argus was beyond saving. As early as when it fell into Sargeras's hands, regardless of whether a world-soul existed on this planet, for Velen, who chose to abandon Argus and flee, they had given up the chance to save Argus.
However, was it truly correct to stay and fight to the death back then?
Velen didn't think so. The choices that could be made in each era were bound to be different. They could fight the Burning Legion now, but that didn't mean they could have fought Sargeras back then.
In Kil'jaeden's dying whispers, Velen sensed his old friend's confusion and fear. What kind of existence could make even Kil'jaeden feel fear?
There was probably only one answer.
"I understand, Prophet. Although Argus is beyond redemption, this does not mean you need to discard everything from the past."
Arthas took out a rough letter and handed it to Velen. "This is a small discovery. The letter's owner said that if you still want to save 'Argus,' you can contact him."
Velen took the letter, and before he could open it, he suddenly frowned. "The demonic aura on this is…?"
"Living on Argus for many years, they are bound to be tainted by those corrupted auras. It wasn't entirely voluntary, but these auras also provided them with protection."
Opening the letter, the moment Velen saw the first sentence, his hands gripping the paper suddenly tightened.
Even after tens of thousands of years, he would not forget the owner of this handwriting.
"Hathun… How is this possible?!"
The content of the letter was as follows:
"Velen, when I heard you appeared on Argus again, my first reaction was to scoff, because no one would believe that a prophet who had fled for tens of thousands of years would return to this cursed land."
"But the Holy Light in the sky does not lie. I must admit, when I saw that light shine on Argus again, my heart was shaken."
"However, this is not enough to quell the resentment in my heart and the hearts of my people, Prophet. You abandoned us, but we will not treat you in the same way. If you are willing to talk to me, come to the border of the Antoran Wastes. I will be waiting for your esteemed presence there."
At the end of the letter was a rather simple map. Velen recognized the material of the map; it was made from the hide of a talbuk, and the production method was quite primitive.
However, the Eredar had not used this ancient method to make scrolls for a very long time. After their magic and technology reached a certain level, this ancient production method would almost only appear in a few remote handicraft workshops.
After Velen finished reading the letter, he was speechless for a long time. Hathun's appearance and the mention of his people in the letter indicated that a large number of survivors likely still existed on Argus.
But such a discovery made Velen even more tormented, because he couldn't imagine what kind of torment and humiliation these people, trapped on Argus, unable to escape, and unwilling to submit to the Legion's tyranny, had endured.
And how did they watch their once beautiful homeland turn into a wasteland?
Velen suddenly realized a cruel truth: compared to his own imagined scenes of Argus's fall, these surviving Eredar were likely eyewitnesses to countless catastrophes.
"It was I… who failed them… failed my people."
"It is too early to say such things, Prophet," Arthas reminded Velen to regain his spirits. "If you truly want to repent, you need to solve all the difficulties first, otherwise everything is just empty talk."
Velen cheered up. "You are right, Your Majesty. I must go see Hathun immediately."
Just as he was about to dispatch a group of people to accompany him to meet the Argus resistance, Arthas said, "Don't worry about that, Prophet. I will go with you. Chief Hathun's tens of thousands of years of experience fighting demons are very valuable for us to learn from."
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The small airship landed at the border of the Antoran Wastes. What appeared to be a towering black wall was actually the exposed rock face after Argus's surface land had fractured.
The height of this fault line far exceeded all mountains on Azeroth; even the majestic Mount Hyjal was but a small pebble beneath this massive fault line.
Yet, above these sheer cliffs, countless simple ropes and walkways had been constructed, indicating that a large number of indigenous people lived nearby... or were looking for a path directly to the demons' lair.
The Antoran Wastes were surrounded by such rock faces on all sides. For the beings still living on Argus's surface, the Antoran Wastes were not only a terrifying demon's den but also a bottomless abyss in a physical sense.
Flying creatures would also find it difficult to evade the Legion's eyes and ears, so they could only choose a primitive yet effective way to enter the Antoran Wastes.
Next to the seemingly ancient camp, Velen saw a burly figure in a black robe. He walked forward, barely containing his excitement, wanting to give the other person a hug.
"Hathun, it really is you, I—"
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"That's enough, Prophet. There's no need for these hypocritical gestures. I'm not here to reminisce with you."
Hathun's voice was quite stiff. He even raised a hand, stopping Velen.
Velen sighed, lowering his hand. "I am very sorry, Hathun. I did abandon you all. This is my fault."
The Prophet wanted to say more, but the man in front of him suddenly pulled down the hood covering his face, revealing a terrifyingly distorted countenance—a face more repulsive than an Eredar demon's, with a deformed visage, cracked skin, and a gaping maw filled with fangs.
This shocking face made the Prophet's breath catch. He realized why Hathun had covered his face with a black robe. He should have known long ago that in Argus, a demon's nest where corruption and pollution were everywhere, his kin would inevitably be corrupted by this evil energy.
Velen had already seen countless compatriots who had suffered this fate in Outland, but he hadn't expected that in their homeland, Argus, a group of people had already transformed into this appearance, which they themselves would find disgusting and hateful, even earlier.
The most tragic thing was that, even to this day, the Prophet had found no way to heal them.
"Let's talk openly, Velen. Our people are constantly thinking of revenge, and now, it seems you also need our help."
Hathun directly stated his purpose. These ancient survivors had had enough of being ravaged by the Burning Legion. Now, they didn't need the Prophet's comfort, but revenge.