Chapter 427: Killing the Father
"Damn it! There are still undead creatures." Medivh closed one eye, and the banshee's piercing screams made him feel pain all over.
Medivh's body is a spirit, and the banshee restrains the soul. This is a banshee that is specifically used to control Kel'Thuzad.
"Hahahahaha! Even if you win today, you will definitely lose in the future! You will definitely lose!" Knowing that he could not escape, Medivh simply gave up resistance and began to curse.
"Noisy!" Richard didn't care about his nonsense and began to pull Medivh up little by little, but then slowly dragged him into the Eye of Sargeras.
"Hehehe! The vessel of the devil!! Stop it, the world will be destroyed because of you!"
"Really?"
"I will watch until the day you perish..."
"Then I'm afraid you won't see it in your lifetime." Richard moved his fingers, and countless chains directly tied him up. He was trapped tightly, and it was clearly visible in the gem.
"Recycling is completed, disband."
Richard and the others nodded, and everyone had their own division of labor. After a while, all the traces here were cancelled, and everyone disappeared.
Medivh was recycled without any surprise, and Alsace got what he wanted without any surprise.
After landing in Northrend, Arthas immediately established a base on the ice field, and then rescued Muradin who was in danger due to archaeological exploration. With the help of Muradin, he obtained Frostmourne and finally killed Mal'Ganis. During this period, he killed the mercenaries who helped him, and Muradin was also in danger, and he himself became a slave of the Lich King...
Frostmourne, the most famous weapon in Azeroth, no one else. The wielder of this sword has eternal power, sharp bloodthirsty, soul-stealing and soul-wrecking. Gaining power will eventually come at a price, and the price of Frostmourne is the eternal curse, and anyone will be completely corrupted.
And the corrupted prince is back now.
What rang now was the bell that Arthas would never forget. They were only rung on state occasions, such as royal weddings, the birth of the crown prince, the funeral of the previous king, etc., all of which were major events that recorded the history of a dynasty. Once, Arthas fantasized that the bell could ring for himself and his beloved female companion. Today, the bell did ring, but it was not for him and his female companion, but for their fighting hero. For him, Arthas. Menethil.
Before he set foot in Lordaeron, Arthas had sent a letter to his father to report that he had killed the mastermind of the plague in Northrend in the north. To make it more credible, he also presented a horn of Mal'Ganis, which was regarded as proof of his heroism by the people. When Arthas walked on the road to the capital, people greeted their beloved prince with cheers and applause, thanking him for saving the people from disaster and for his extraordinary bravery. He accepted it with pleasure, but in his heart he only wanted to see his father.
Behind him, the soldiers who accompanied him covered their faces with their hoods and were as silent as he was. People celebrated the triumph of the army enthusiastically and did not seem to care about their indifference. The huge drawbridge was lowered and Arthas strode in. There were also cheering people here, but they were not ordinary people, but envoys from various countries, nobles, and distinguished guests from elves, dwarves, and gnomes. They not only stood in the courtyard, but also on the high viewing platform. Pink, snow-white, and bright red rose petals fell like rain, sprinkled on the heroes who returned in triumph. Originally, Sylvanas should have been among these people, but she was pressed hard on the bed by Richard, so the ranger general did not come to the scene.
It was here that Arthas had imagined that he held her hand and walked on this road together, the two of them accepted everyone's blessings together, and then watched her smile bathed in the rain of petals, raised her head and kissed him.
Arthas closed his eyes and whispered Jaina's name. Unfortunately, nothing had happened between the two of them until they were separated. Now, he was even more reluctant to do so.
Looking at the rain of petals in the sky, Alsace's heart moved. He stretched out his gloved hand to catch a red petal and gently rubbed it with his thumb. He was thinking a lot for a while. The petals faded in his hands, dried up and withered, and finally turned brown before his eyes. Alsace frowned, gave it a slight twist, threw away the dead petals, and continued walking forward.
Arthas pushed open the door and strode forward into the throne room he was so familiar with. He glanced quickly at Tenarius and smiled at his father beneath his cloak. He leaned on one knee with Frostmourne in front of him, the tip of his sword touching the emblem etched on the stone floor, which was the symbol of their country, very bright.
"Ah, my child. I am so glad to see you return home safely." Terenas said, raising his
body a little unsteadily. Terenas looked in poor health. The old king was old, and the events of the last few months had aged the king even more. He now had more white hair and fatigue in his eyes.
But everything will be fine now... You don't have to sacrifice for your people anymore. You don't have to bear the weight of this crown anymore. I will take care of everything.
Arthas stood up, his armor clanking with his movements. He raised a hand to lift the hood that covered his face and watched his father's reaction. Terenas' eyes widened at the change in his only son.
Arthas' once wheat-blond hair was now bone-white. He knew his face was just as pale, devoid of any color.
It was time. Frostmourne's temptation whispered in his mind. Arthas walked toward his father, who sat dumbfounded and bewildered on his throne. There were several guards in the hall, but they were no match for him, Frostmourne, and two followers. Arthas strode over the carpeted steps and grabbed his father.
Arthas drew back his sword, the runes of Frostmourne flashing eagerly. He heard a voice, not from Frostmourne, but from his own memory: it was the voice of a black-haired prince, and it sounded like it happened in the last lifetime...
"He was assassinated. A trusted friend... She killed him. A sword through the heart..."
Then the voice disappeared.
"What's going on? What are you doing, prince?" Terenas asked tremblingly. He was too old to beat the young Arthas.
"Inherit the throne... Father!" Arthas's expression gradually became filial, and the Frostmourne in his hand stabbed diagonally from bottom to top.
"Clang" the old king's crown was stained with his blood and was crisply worn on the ground...