Magni Bronzebeard had been grinding Scourge bones into powder at the South Sea city-state frontlines just two days prior. One of the primary reasons driving him to personally lead his armies into this apocalyptic war was the devastating news of his second brother Muradin Bronzebeard’s death.
After learning that Arthas had returned and possibly murdered his beloved brother Muradin, Magni’s fury had erupted with volcanic intensity, nearly driving him completely insane. So when Duke’s message arrived, he’d immediately mobilized his entire military machine and launched his forces across treacherous seas to deliver righteous vengeance upon the Scourge.
But Magni quickly discovered that dwarven artillery—which had dominated every previous conflict with overwhelming superiority—was experiencing its first taste of genuine inadequacy.
Heavy bombardment could indeed obliterate those mindless zombies and ghouls, transforming the foul undead abominations into satisfying piles of gore and bone fragments.
Unfortunately, this approach merely scratched the surface of a much deeper problem.
As long as liches lurked behind Scourge lines, these supremely evil bastards could continuously employ dark necromancy to reassemble those shattered or even pulverized corpses into fresh undead horrors, sending them stumbling back toward Alliance defensive positions.
Simply because matter conservation remained an immutable law, the total number of undead had to diminish with each reassembly cycle.
Otherwise, this war would be completely hopeless from the start.
Repeatedly, Magni found himself cursing that his magnificent cannons and unstoppable tanks proved less effective than a handful of paladins and priests. A single casting of Exorcism or Holy Wrath would annihilate vast numbers of undead permanently. No matter how desperately liches and necromancers exerted their twisted powers, they could never resurrect those sanctified bone fragments.
Dwarven artillery remained devastatingly excellent, but Magni felt it fell catastrophically short of his needs. It couldn’t help him purge the consuming rage burning in his heart—the rage of losing his own flesh and blood.
So he composed an urgent letter to Duke, demanding several of the most powerful paladins available. He would personally forge a weapon of such devastating power against the undead and Arthas that legends would be born from its very existence.
When Duke absorbed the letter’s contents, his heart performed an irregular rhythm, then a peculiar sensation washed over him.
But Duke possessed far too much cunning to reveal his thoughts openly.
Learning that Duke actually expected him to journey to Ironforge, Mograine’s instinctive response was refusal: "If I abandon my post, what becomes of the Scarlet Crusade?"
Duke spoke with deliberate slowness: "Mograine, do you still remember your last encounter when you proved utterly powerless against Arthas?"
Hearing this brutal reminder, Mograine’s face flushed crimson before transforming into pure rage. He maintained absolute conviction that his martial prowess far exceeded that traitorous bastard Arthas, that human scum who’d betrayed everything sacred. But when they’d faced each other in direct combat, he’d accomplished absolutely nothing against the fallen prince.
Only one reason explained this humiliation—Frostmourne!
That artifact-level demonic weapon possessed such terrifying power it had completely bridged the strength gap between Arthas and himself. No, it had surpassed that gap by astronomical proportions.
The difference had been that of an infant facing a fully grown warrior. Now he’d learned that after Arthas murdered his own master, he’d become even more corrupted and exponentially stronger. That strength alone was sufficient to crush hope entirely.
"I..." Mograine found himself speechless.
Duke began his masterful deception: "His Majesty Magni Bronzebeard stands as the world’s most legendary blacksmith. If anyone possesses the capability to forge a sacred artifact capable of challenging Frostmourne directly, it must be His Majesty Magni. Depart immediately—Saidan cannot abandon his current position, making you the most suitable paladin under my command."
Mograine continued hesitating.
Duke pressed forward relentlessly: "If we faced only the Scourge, I maintain ninety percent certainty of grinding every last bone to dust. But I’m no deity. Even as Grand Magus, I lack the power to defeat Arthas in single combat. Therefore, destroying Arthas represents the crucial key to resolving this entire crisis."
At this moment, Abendis added her support: "Go, Alexandros. The Scarlet Crusade still has me to guide it."
If Abendis assumed command, Mograine’s concerns evaporated entirely. After all, their territories shared borders and they’d fought as partners for over twenty years.
Mograine surrendered with visible reluctance: "Very well, I’ll make this journey."
Duke’s smile radiated satisfaction: "Depart swiftly and return victorious. Oh, if you possess any special materials you believe might prove suitable for weapon crafting, bring them along. They might prove invaluable."
Duke’s seemingly casual suggestion triggered deep contemplation in Mograine. He stroked his chin thoughtfully while murmuring: "Actually, there is one particularly unique stone."
"Then carry it with you. You may lack expertise regarding ores, but His Majesty Bronzebeard certainly doesn’t suffer from such ignorance, correct?"
"Excellent! Then... I shall depart."
Watching Mograine accept his orders and stride away, Duke allowed himself a secret smile of pure satisfaction.
During the brutal Orc Wars, Alexandros Mograine had slaughtered a Blackrock clan dark sorcerer in savage combat and discovered a shadow crystal among his possessions—the legendary Rizeb Crystal. In reality, this crystal represented the core essence of the Holy Light’s Naaru—you should understand that after Naaru holy light energy becomes completely drained, it automatically transforms into shadow form. This same crystal would become saturated with Holy Light energy after receiving massive infusions of sacred power.
Historical precedent suggested that Mograine would present this gem to Magni Bronzebeard, hoping the dwarf king could employ his legendary forging mastery to maximize the holy light’s devastating potential within this precious stone.
Magni would pour all his grief and burning resentment toward the Scourge into the weapon he was destined to create, thus birthing the legendary and most iconic weapon of all Paladins—the mighty Ashbringer.
Why wasn’t Duke simply cackling with unrestrained glee?
Because only he, blessed with time traveler’s knowledge, understood that Muradin—that tough bastard supposedly hacked to death by a certain idiotic prince—was very much alive!
Muradin hadn’t perished during that fateful encounter. After being knocked unconscious by Frostmourne’s unleashed power, Muradin had remained comatose in Northrend’s frozen wastes for an extended period before being rescued by the ’Ice Dwarves,’ one of Northrend’s original indigenous populations.
However, due to the traumatic head injury, Muradin had completely forgotten his entire past. Although he’d lost his memories, his fighting prowess remained intact. He’d actually utilized this combat expertise to help the Ice Dwarves repel the massive ’Ice Giants’ who’d invaded their ancestral territories, earning election as their new chieftain.
Because his memory had been obliterated, he’d chosen a fresh identity—Yogurt Storm Heart.
Following that transformation, Muradin had led the ice dwarves from their Storm Peaks homeland of Frosthold, training eagles and hunting prey while battling against Northrend’s merciless natural forces and vicious enemies.
Much later, a small expedition of dwarves from the Explorers’ Association had arrived to search for ancient Titan ruins throughout the Storm Peaks mountains. Their leader had been none other than Muradin’s third brother, Brann Bronzebeard.
The Ice Dwarves had rescued Brann from an Iron Dwarf siege, leading to his meeting with Magni, the Dwarf King, who’d journeyed to Northrend searching for his lost brother in Frosthold. The reunion of the three Bronzebeard brothers after countless years had awakened Muradin’s buried memories, along with his complex feelings of gratitude and resentment, love and hatred toward Arthas.
Eventually, the three brothers had celebrated their joyous reunion before leading massive expeditions to hunt down that second idiotic prince.
Duke didn’t dare reveal this truth currently. What if Magni lost his leader’s fury and proved incapable of creating the Ashbringer?