Dreaming for 10,000 years

Chapter 366 Talk

As the plan progressed to this point, Mal'Ganis narrowed his eerie green eyes, scrutinizing the prince before him. He had to admit that this human was indeed an extremely cunning individual.

In the language of the Nathrezim (dreadlords), the word "cunning" carries the highest praise.

The dreadlords have always prided themselves on cunning, and the number of beings they can recognize as "cunning" is extremely limited in the entire universe.

Asana's young face wore a calm smile, and his composed expression was almost a provocation.

Mal'Ganis felt the evil energy within him begin to stir, and the energy between his fingers jumped uncontrollably.

For a moment, he almost forgot his meticulously planned schemes and only wanted to turn this arrogant human to ashes with the purest fel flames.

But he couldn't. As one of Nathrezim's finest strategists, he bore a dual mission from both death and the Burning Legion. Besides, he had long since passed the age where anger could cloud his judgment.

No, to be precise, the race of Dreadlords was stripped of the trait of "impulse" from the very beginning. Their creator deliberately erased all emotional fluctuations that could affect their judgment when shaping these perfect schemers.

Mal'Ganis forced himself to calm down, his slender fingers rhythmically tapping on his metal armor.

He began to reassess this variable. The prince's maturity far exceeded his expectations. Would this affect the subsequent plans? Would allowing such a cunning opponent to continue to grow bring unexpected assistance to the human camp?

Or should we kill him here and choose a new target? Or, would a goal like corruption and depravity cause chaos in humanity?

In the blink of an eye, countless possibilities flashed through his mind. Physical annihilation was the simplest option, but that was far too crude and lacked any skill.

The Nathrezim have always prided themselves on manipulating people's hearts, corrupting their enemies without them even realizing it, and making them willingly become pawns. This is what makes them worthy of the title "Dreadlords." Such simple and brutal slaughter is something only mindless pit lords would do.

With that thought, Mal'Ganis slowly extinguished the flickering fel flames in his hand, deciding to give this intriguing prince another chance. He wanted to see just how cunning this human could be.

However, what Asa said next almost broke his defenses.

"Men are the most vulnerable creatures! It seems the devil isn't human!" Asa couldn't help but sigh, recalling a comment he'd read in a book.

"You son of a bitch..." Mal'Ganis's fel energy surged instantly, a turbulent vortex of dark green energy forming around him. This seemingly casual taunt sounded strangely jarring.

Damn it, how could those words be so awful! They Nathrezim clearly have genders too! Should I just tear this arrogant human to shreds right now? This thought grew wildly in his mind.

Asa seemed to keenly sense the demon's change in mood, and smiled inwardly, knowing that the time was right.

“Perhaps we can have an open and honest talk,” the prince suddenly said seriously.

“Negotiation?” Mal'Ganis let out a sharp, cold laugh, his bat-like wings involuntarily unfurling. “The noble prince of Lordaeron, you wish to negotiate with a demon like me?”

Asar's gaze was firm and fervent: "I want to save my people. I can pray to the Holy Light, ask the mages of Dalaran for help, and of course I can ask the demons for help and talk to them."

"Hahaha—" Mal'Ganis's laughter was as harsh as the scraping of metal. Interesting, very interesting!
This prince was even more interesting than he had expected.

He suddenly felt that this prince was more interesting and more challenging than the previous princes!
To entice such a clever person to fall into depravity is like savoring a delicious dish that requires careful preparation, for a devil who manipulates people's hearts.

Unfortunately, the prince will probably never know that his true mission is to weaken the human kingdoms. In this game, Mal'Ganis is inherently invincible!

“Cunning prince, what else do you do besides protect your people?” Mal'Ganis leaned down, his stench wafting onto Asar’s face. “If you exchange the people of other kingdoms for me, I can help you get rid of the plague.”

He paused deliberately: "Like Gilneas?"

For Mal'Ganis, weakening any particular human kingdom is unimportant. Although Lordaeron is currently the most powerful, it would be a truly spectacular sight if Athar could exchange the blood of his neighboring kingdoms for the peace of his own city.

Gilneas is the human kingdom closest to Lordaeron and is one of the Seven Kingdoms of Man.

“My former ideal was to be a good king and inherit the honor of Lordaeron, but now, my thoughts have changed.” Upon hearing Mal'Ganis’s words, Asar did not respond to that, but instead changed the subject.

"Oh?" Mal'Ganis's interest was piqued. "What has it turned into?"

He wanted to test Asa's thoughts.

"Do you know how short-lived human civilization is?" the prince suddenly asked.

Mal'Ganis tilted his head, not understanding the significance of this turn of events. Thousands of years might be a long time for humans, but for the immortal Nathrezim, it was but a fleeting moment.

“About 2800 years ago.” Asa’s voice suddenly became deep and magnetic, as if he were reciting an ancient epic.

His slender fingers gently traced the invisible river of time in the air: "Emperor Thoradin of the Arathi tribe, wielding the greatsword Trollbane, unified the scattered tribes with iron and blood, establishing the glorious Arathi Empire."

A flame of ambition ignited in the prince's eyes, a flame hotter than Mal'Ganis's fel energy.

"And then?" His voice suddenly took on a mocking tone: "This great empire fell apart in just a few generations, splitting into seven kingdoms like shattered pottery."

Asa's fingers tightened suddenly, as if he wanted to crush some unseen enemy.

“For a civilization, 2800 years is enough time to accumulate a great deal of knowledge, but what about us humans?” The prince suddenly turned around, “Seven small countries are like seven wild dogs tearing each other apart, fighting over the rotten flesh left by our ancestors!”

“A rabble!” He practically spat out the word through gritted teeth, his voice carrying the characteristic aristocratic meanness and contempt.

In Asa’s view, nearly three thousand years have passed, and humanity has not only failed to recapture the glory of Arasso, but has instead become increasingly entangled in political games.

Those so-called kings who spend their days worrying about a few acres of land on the border, and who wage war over a wedding or a hunt, what are they if not a mob?
(End of this chapter)