"I saw three hounds." Itrieg said.

He held out his hand. Albert hesitated for a moment and accepted the help, allowing himself to be dragged through the last few steps and regain his footing at the top of the hill. He hadn't been in the field in a while, and it was a bonus to keep up with the flat stone path of Stratholme: "Where?" ”

"Under that cloud." The orc stood still, oblivious to Albert's hurry to relax his aching calf muscles.

Albert glanced in that direction. Itreig's description is vague, like everyone who has been neighbors of the wilderness all their lives, always more attracted to trees, stones, rivers, and wind than to man-made road signs. Albert spent most of his teenage years behind the city walls, so he couldn't handle this kind of information very well. Still, Dinning, Albert was proud of it.

"It's far enough here, let's get things done." Albert said. He's tired of the monotonous and dreary walks and desperately needs some changes to strain his brain. In his free time, his mind would involuntarily slip in a bad direction. Doing too much cranky thinking about the predicament he was about to face did nothing but make his stomach twist into a ball.

He scanned his surroundings distraughtly. At this time, they are resting at the top of the hill, and those who are interested in tracking them can easily find them in the trees that are withering in the autumn. The forest stretches down the hillside and grows into strange shapes on the flat ground: "Which route do you think they will take?" ”

Itreig's so-called hounds are those who stalk. They must be caught so that no one can know where Itreig is. If handled properly, Albert could claim that this was just an excuse to lure the Silver Hand out of the city, and that no orcs were actually involved in the series of things—and that they would be in much less trouble.

"Right side." Itreig's gaze followed something he couldn't see, "and when they came around, their vision would be blocked. We went down from the front and waited for them to come. ”

So planned. But as they approached the location Itreig had chosen, Albert found that this side of the hill was quite steep, and that they might fall badly if they tried to reach the bottom without the help of any tools. He looked at Itreig, wondering what he thought about it. The orc didn't say a word, and raised his hand behind him. Albert unloaded his bag from his shoulder in surprise: "But I didn't...... Oh. ”

A coil of rope had been quietly hanging behind his backpack for some unknown time. Albert racked his brains for a moment to remember that Dineen seemed to have dragged him before going out last night. But Albert was so distracted that he forgot to ask why.

Albert's bad mood was eased by the episode, and he decided to forgive Dineh for taking the rag from the table to wipe the windowsill the previous morning—in fact, he knew that the waiters in every diner they stayed at would do it unconcernedly, but he just couldn't bear to see it happen.

"I must tell you that this is the cloth you appointed to wipe the windowsill," said Dinen unhappily, "and the day before yesterday Darion took it to wipe the table, for the original one was in Tyran's hand. You also gave him two pieces of candy and praised him for offering to help. ”

Albert pondered for a moment, wondering why he had the urge to laugh in the face of such a tragic truth.

In the end, all he could say was, "Do you want candy too?" ”

Dinen gave him a complicated expression that was somewhere between disbelief and disgust: "Please, man, I'm twenty-seven, okay?" ”

Albert couldn't convince himself that he hadn't just remembered this.

He gathered his thoughts, tied the rope, and dropped the other end down the hill. As Itreg began to slide down, the sapling, which was just right but not strong enough, bent violently and made a miserable sound. Albert had to take a step forward and grab the rope to make sure the orc landed safely on the ground.

It was much faster when it was his turn. When he landed, he shook the rope, untied the slipknot, put it away, and hurried after Itreg into the bushes. But he had chosen the wrong path, and within a few steps he found himself surrounded by dead branches and leaves, and in either direction he landed made a noise that sounded deafening at this time. Unable to choose, Abel took a leap of his life, almost planting himself in the bush, causing the bush to shake violently along with his heart.

Itreg didn't say anything. Albert thinks this means the situation is still under control. But he was still annoyed by his carelessness. He shouldn't have made this mistake, he's going to mess everything up.

Thankfully, he didn't. Stalkers may be sophisticated, but orcs are undoubtedly better hunters. When they launched a surprise attack, the other side behaved completely unprepared. Albert and Itreig each caught one, and the other ran the way he came without hesitation. But Itreig immediately threw out his axe, the Ten Rings.

"Hey!" Albert shouted, jumping up from the stunned man and rushing to the side of the dying man. He summoned the power of the Light almost without even thinking about it. But the moment the other party caught a glimpse of the light in his hand, he began to scream in fear, waving his limbs indiscriminately to try to drive him away. Albert was hit on the ankle. Not heavy, but enough to make him stagger back, standing at a distance that would not be touched, watching the man take his last breath, exhausted and disgusted, realizing that he had once again made something wrong.

"What's going on?"

Itrieg was already standing behind him at some point. Albert didn't hear his footsteps at all, but he was too tired to even muster the energy to be frightened, or turn away: "I thought they might have been hired local hunters......"

"That kind of person is with your Knights." Itrieg said.

"How do you know?"

"Your partner said about it."

Damn it. Now Albert remembered, too. Dineen casually embellished the phrase with a flurry of sarcasm and swearing, followed by a sneer and a fist swing — probably the only way he could express his concern smoothly. Albert covered his face and stared through his fingers at the damp dirt beneath his feet, trying to clear his thoughts. But everything in his head was like a ball of thread that had been twisted around haphazardly, and everything he had ever done was so tangled that any thought could only make it start rolling around and make it worse.

"So, what's going on?"

"What?" Albert had barely come to his senses, so he understood the phrase in the simplest way: "I have told you that I treat them as ......"

"I'm talking about where you are today."

"Oh." Albert said.

Once again, he was at a loss. If Dinen was here, or even Tyran, he would take the initiative to chat with the other party. But with an orc? It's weird, even for someone like him who usually has a friendly conversation with an alien. However, the tracker had already been dealt with, and Itreig chose to stay when he could walk away, just to ask if he was okay. It seemed like a concern, and Albert should perhaps say something in response to it.

"You already know what we've done to the south." He said. This is a declarative sentence. Albert himself never mentioned it, he didn't want to say it. And Dineen knew his attitude. So Dinein will definitely tell Itreig about those things for him. They will always do things for each other that they know they don't want to do.

As he expected, Itreig nodded.

"That's what I'm thinking about." Albert said succinctly, hinting in tone that Itreg should not ask any further.

Sure enough, the orcs didn't say anything. Instead, Albert was silent for a moment and then suddenly developed an untimely curiosity: "What are you going to do with this situation?" I mean, what happens to helping people of hostile races under the laws of the orcs? ”

Itreg said bluntly: "Death penalty." ”

"It doesn't matter who that person is?" Albert continued.

"That can only affect how you die. Do you feel like you've done something wrong? ”

"Nope." Albert said. That's exactly what he believes, except for the last step, "I'm just worried, after all, most people won't understand why we're doing this." ”

"Does the overwhelming majority of people's perceptions make you change your stance and treat the right things as mistakes?"

"No!" Annoyed by the possible implication of his words, Albert turned sharply and glared at the orc, "I can't be as firm as Tirio, but I'm not going to give in to what I think is right, just to cater to others. ”

Itreg shrugged.

"Then I don't know what else you need to think about." He said.

Albert was tempted to say that of course you wouldn't know. But politeness prevented him from doing so. His thoughts flickered and his words paused for a moment, unleashed by the impetus of his anger, which calmed him down a little. He looked at the orc's face, trying to find some expression to confirm his understanding. But Itreg remained calm, silent.

"Before something actually happens, we always have to imagine the possible outcome." Albert defended himself with some frustration.

If Itreig had heard his frustration and lack of confidence, he didn't show it. The orc just nodded in understanding.

"It's time for me to go." He glanced at the sky, and the position of the sun indicated that it was now close to noon, "You too." If you go west, you will see the main road out of the forest. ”

Albert unloaded his bags and handed them to him. The orc took it and slung it over his shoulder, turning southeast, apparently intending to continue his walk in the wilderness. Despite his mixed feelings, Albert couldn't help but say, "Have a safe trip. ”

Itreg turned to look at him, "May your ancestors show you the way, too." The orc patted the position of the heart with his hand, and the meaning of it was self-evident.

Then they went their separate ways.

Albert walked slowly through the forest, not caring how loud he was making it. He walked in the shadows of the trees for ten minutes before finding the main road. It looks old, unrepaired, and most of the stones that were originally paved have been covered by dust, almost like a dirt road trampled by pedestrians, but fortunately it is still solid and flat. There is still a row of fences leading the way by the side of the road. Albert tried the wood with his hands and decided that it would be better not to sit on it. But it at least scraped some of the mud off his boots for him. So Albert patted it again, as if to soothe a well-behaved animal.

Then he folded his arms and paced on the side of the road, waiting. He thought for a few words, then forgot about them. He casually recalls incoherent fragments, sometimes even just a feeling. The light gleamed in his hands, the hammer struck the undead, the hot, brittle spider legs, and the glass vials containing healing potions collided with each other. Viscount Talvin's basement was as damp as the intricate tunnels beneath Talemmere, and the wind and snow in the Alterac Mountains made his cheeks ache. He heard the drums of the orcs again, and the dragon crashed to the ground, dozens of voices shouting in unison. The next moment it was as if he was standing in the library at home, smelling the smell of old paper and ink, and the sunlight that slipped in through the half-closed window illuminated the dust flying in the air, and everything was just a dream brought by the book in his hand, and he was still a child.

The sound of horses' hooves woke him up. The young paladin turned his face sideways to look at the source of the sound and saw a group of knights marching along the road, several men in hunter's outfits following on foot. Despite the distance, he was effortlessly sure that it was the Silver Hand's team. He was amazed for a moment at how calm he was, then put it aside and walked to the middle of the road with his head held high to meet them.

The knights gradually slowed down as they approached, eventually coming to a complete halt in front of him. All eyes were on him, some with bewildered expressions, others with undisguised surprises, but none of them hastily chose to speak. The young man only glanced at them cursoryly, and fixed his gaze on the leading knight.

He watched as the other dismounted, then took off his helmet. He'd known the face for years. It's just that unlike the last time they met, he can clearly see the traces left by time on this man's face. He pondered with a hint of confusion as to when this began, and calmly greeted the other party, "Uther. ”

The gray eyes were staring at him tightly, as stern as ever. But the young man was unmoved. From the night when he slipped out of camp in a rage, leaving everything for the first half of his life behind, every day of his unexpected journey, every step of the way, was for this moment, and now he was ready.

So when Uther spoke, he didn't flinch.

"—Arthas."

***

Hurried footsteps and whispered, eager conversations could be heard in the hallway, and a few pairs of combat boots stepped over the level, marble floor. Many doors were closed and pushed open, and every once in a while someone was shouting for something or handing it out. The atmosphere of tranquility is long gone, and the entire building is filled with the tension of the pre-war preparations.

Alexandros closed the door, keeping the noise out. He was fully armed, and there was no need for any more preparation, only one thing he wanted to deal with.

He walked over to his desk and picked up a letter from a multitude of books and documents. Envelopes are the kind of bargains that can be found casually in a grocery store. It was carefully sealed, and the bark had been mixed in with too much bark and turned brown with a simple inscription: Alessandros Mograini. Like every letter that God had unwittingly slipped into the crack in the door of his room in the church every morning of the week.

Alexandros gently opened it, pulled out two pieces of letter from it, and read it carefully. Darien's handwriting still took up the vast majority of the letter, telling in a cheerful tone everything he had done and everything he had thought of, reporting to his father what he had learned the previous day—how to use the crossbow, new chapters of the Holy Codex, making rabbit traps, orienting by constellations, omelizing eggs, and reducing the swelling of the fingers (not me) that had been hit by a hammer.

On the other piece of paper, a simple sentence was scribbled: Okay, don't read it. It's the same as every time before. Alexandros had reason to believe that the eldest son probably wrote enough sheets in one sitting, and then waited for the news of his younger brother to be taken away.

He was about to put the paper back away, when he saw a few words peeking out of the corner on the back. Alexandros flipped the letter over. Compared with the sloppy greeting on the front, these lines are much more well-written, as if they have been carefully copied. He muttered, "The prophet commanded, 'Go and ring the bell.'" And Jager went—"

He paused, for a bell did ring outside the window. Alexandros looked out the window, and there were people walking around in the courtyard talking, not his hallucination.

So he went on to read: "Light was born out of it and spread throughout the city." and all that fell to the ground with blood were healed. All those who panic and tremble have courage. When the evil saw the light, he was terrified and fled. ”

Someone knocked on his door with his fist and pushed it open without waiting for a response. Da Sohan, also wearing armor, strode in with an angry look on his face: "Did you hear the bell, Alexander? Rivendell is rallying the militia! That traitor, how dare he! ”

Instead of looking at his angry colleague, Alexandros remained at the piece of paper and recited the parts that had not been written: "The Prophet said: 'The light loves His people as a shepherd loves his lamb. Whoever has righteousness in his heart and believes in sincerity, calling on His name, will be saved. Those who are narrow-minded and seek only to care for themselves, the Light will ignore them. It is not the appearance or identity of the person, but the human heart, the righteousness and the courage of the person, which are lovely in the eyes of the Light. ’”

"The Book of Miracles, Chapter 9:16." Dassaulthan raised his eyebrows and said.

Alexandros smiled, folded the letter in his hand, and put it back on the table, "That's not Rivendell, Sedan, I can guarantee it." ”

"Who would it be?" Dassaulthan wondered.

"I don't know yet. But it must be a friend, not an enemy. We're not the only ones in this city fighting evil. Alexandros picked up the hammer leaning back in his chair and looked unconcerned, "Let's go to the cemetery." The sooner we complete our mission, the faster we can eliminate the First Evil. ”

"It's time for the Light to shine on Stratholme again, my brother."