I am the Demon King of the Dungeon!

Arthas knew what would happen if he let a large group of trolls into the city. This greedy and unscrupulous race was one of the monsters he hated the most.

Therefore, Dark Hemkas even has goblins, but has never recruited even half a troll.

Furthermore, since monsters are participating in the battle, in order to ensure fairness...

He could certainly choose to join the war.

Arthas did not return directly to Holy City, but stood at the edge of the ruins of the withered pine forest, the snow beneath his feet reflecting a ghostly green from the scorching lava of the meteorite crater.

The cold winds of the North swept past me, carrying steam with them.

The trolls are just pawns; the hand that holds the pieces is still there.

Arthas felt that this was not enough; he wanted to know the real reason behind the war.

He closed his eyes again, sensing an invisible giant net spreading northward, past the ruins of Icelake Town, past the beacon fires of Ash Pass, past the dense military camps on Qingyuan Ice Lake, and finally, on the border of the Kingdom of Grasha, he detected a magical reaction.

Not the strongest, but noticeable enough.

Because that place was a commander's tent wrapped in dozens of high-level protective spells, with layer upon layer of magical barriers as thick as a mobile fortress.

"Found it."

A white light appeared, the wind and snow reversed, and the figures disappeared.

……

Kingdom of Grasha, Legion Front Camp.

Inside the commander's tent, Legion Commander Bald von Grascha sat at a long table covered with maps. He was the king's younger brother and the second most powerful figure in the Kingdom of Grascha. He was a burly, white-haired old general whose left eye had been blinded by the spears of the Icefield Bear Cavalry during a border conflict ten years ago, and he had worn a prosthetic eye made of obsidian ever since.

The prosthetic eye gleamed dimly in the candlelight, creating a strange contrast with the cautious look in the right eye.

Twelve high-ranking officers sat on either side of the long table, while two figures draped in dark green cloaks stood at the very end—envoys from the troll clan, who had come to confirm the allocation plan.

Little did they know, the trolls had already been wiped out.

"The Kingdom of Kada won't survive this winter." Bald used a bronze pusher to knock down the wooden block representing Cold Iron Keep on the map. "The Frost Axe King is dead, the two eldest princes are tied up at the border, and now Cold Iron Keep is run by a mere brat who hasn't even grown his beard yet. As long as we take Ash Pass..."

His words were interrupted by a gust of wind.

The tent flaps remained unmoved, but a breeze carrying a temperature that didn't belong to any season blew past everyone. It wasn't cold or hot, but it instinctively gave everyone goosebumps.

The candlelight flickered at the same time.

The hands of all twelve officers simultaneously rested on the hilts of their swords.

A person appeared inside the tent.

The young man with black hair and brown eyes stood on the table, looking down at Baldr. No one saw how he got in. The guards at the door still stood straight, their posture unchanged, but their eyes no longer held any light.

"Who are you?"

Baldr did not stand up, nor did he reach for his sword. A man who could silently render two elite guards into mere shells would not give him time to draw his sword.

"A passing adventurer." Arthas stepped down from the long table, his boots crunching over the parchment map.

I have a question.

Baldr's right pupil contracted slightly, and his right hand silently pressed down on the hidden compartment under the table.

"What's the problem?"

Why attack Qatar?

Baldr paused for a moment, then replied in an unusually calm tone: "Because the Kingdom of Kada occupies the main mining veins in the North and has sealed all the icefield mines in its own hands. Every winter, the other countries in the North have to consume hundreds of tons of Northern coal crystals to maintain their heating."

"The Kingdom of Qatar is only willing to export at three times the market price, and in limited quantities. Do you know what that means? It means that while other northerners are freezing to death in winter, the Qataris are burning coal as firewood."

He stood up, his imposing figure towering over Arthas by half a head, his single eye looking down at the uninvited guest: "This isn't invasion, it's a redistribution of resources. The Kingdom of Qatar possesses the North not because they are entitled to it, but simply because Yggdal I killed enough people three hundred years ago. Now that he can't kill anymore, it's his descendants' turn, which is perfectly reasonable."

There was a moment of silence in the tent.

Arthas nodded.

"That makes sense, it does make sense, but you shouldn't have cooperated with the trolls, and you shouldn't have let monsters participate in the war between humans."

On either side of the long table, twelve officers simultaneously drew their swords.

The sound of swords being drawn was synchronized, and the cold light shimmered in the candlelight, forming a chilling net. Two troll messengers silently retreated into the shadows, their fingers reaching for the poisoned blades at their waists, attempting to approach from the side or rear.

A few seconds later, all sound stopped abruptly.

The twelve officers remained in the position of drawing their swords, their mouths half-open, their mouths, throats, and chests all frozen from the inside by frost. Their last breaths condensed into fine ice crystals on their lips.

Their eyes could still move, but their bodies were fixed in place, like twelve lifelike ice sculptures.

The two troll messengers remained in the posture of touching their swords, but the one on the left was engulfed in flames and turned to ashes before it could even let out a half-scream; the one on the right was frozen into an ice pillar.

Bald didn't move. He had seen countless powerful individuals and had seen people who could cast two completely opposite elemental spells at the same time, but he had never seen anyone who could make him completely unable to sense any magical fluctuations.

This is not just about strength, but a difference in rank; the gap in strength between the two is so great that even the word "strength" loses its meaning.

He slowly loosened the hilt of his sword from the hidden compartment, stepped out from behind the table, and stood before Arthas, the caution in his single eye finally replaced by composure.

"Who are you?"

"It's not important, retreat."

Baldr's lips curled into a slight smile, a smile tinged with sarcasm and bitterness. "Withdraw your troops? You think you can threaten the entire Kingdom of Grasha by yourself?"

"You alone walked into the command tent of the front-line legion of the Kingdom of Grasha, slaughtered all my officers, burned my guests, and now you want me to withdraw?"

Baldr took a step forward, his one-eyed man staring intently at Arthas. The obsidian prosthetic eye gleamed coldly in the candlelight. His voice was not loud, but every word seemed to be ground out from the depths of his throat.

"This is the North. Whoever has the most men calls the shots! My legion has 30,000 stationed south of Qingyuan Ice Lake, and another 20,000 are crossing the Bingya Mountains. How many can you kill alone? A thousand? Two thousand?"

Arthas raised an eyebrow slightly and said calmly, "That depends on how many of you there are."

"You've got quite the nerve, kid," Bald sneered. "Three hundred years ago, when Igudal I massacred the twelve tribes of the North, he killed more people than I've ever seen in my entire life. Now you're standing here defending his descendants, don't you think you've chosen the wrong side?"

Arthas listened without any change in expression.

"Are you done talking?"

"you……"

Balde was speechless for a moment.

"You're right, the Kingdom of Qatar isn't exactly a good thing either, and your reasons are reasonable."

"You can choose to continue attacking the Kingdom of Qatar, that's none of my business, but human wars should be resolved by humans themselves, is that alright?"

"On what grounds?" Bald sneered, about to continue speaking, when a voice came from outside the door:

"Report!!"

A soldier rushed in, not bothering to look at the situation inside the tent, and blurted out, "Reporting, Commander! The trolls are all... all dead..."

"Death Ray?!" Bald stared blankly at the young man in front of him, his lips moving slightly.

Arthas raised his right hand, fingers spread, palm facing the endless military camp outside the tent.

A surge of magical energy emanated from his fingertips, causing the entire tent to tremble. The wine glasses on the long table jingled, and wooden blocks from the map rolled off the ground one by one.

Feeling the powerful magic, Baldr's body trembled involuntarily. As a veteran who had fought on the battlefield for many years, this was the first time he had felt fear.

"I'll ask one more time," Arthas said with an innocent smile, "Is everything alright?"

"N-no problem..." Baldr's obsidian prosthetic eye reflected the flickering candlelight as it trembled.

"Very good." Arthas raised his hand and drew a circle in front of him. A white light shone and engulfed his figure.

An unprecedented silence fell over the camp.

After a long while, Balde picked up the cold wine from the table with trembling fingers, spilling it all over the floor before even taking a sip.