The snow was covering it, as if a pair of invisible hands were pushing the snow away from the platform.

The top of Icecrown is probably the loneliest place in all of Azeroth.

Tyrion stepped forward slowly. He looked at the throne above the ice stairs. In the ice that imprisoned the soul, the tired Lich King Ner'zhul was also in a good mood at this time. When the great lord approached,

Sometimes, you can even hear the song humming by the soul. It is the war song of the orc tribe in the world of Draenor. It is not elegant, very rough, but unexpectedly has a shocking feeling.

Especially the singing of the soul has more rhythm.

"Is it here?"

The High Lord stood in front of the ice, he asked softly, and the Lich King Ner'zhul said in a pleasant and satisfied voice:

"Of course, it has been here for several days...Shh, keep it down, don't wake it up...After a soul-cutting ceremony, it needs time to recover, that's

...It’s a very painful, very painful process.”

"Oh? You cut open its soul?"

The great lord blinked:

"Isn't this too cruel?"

"No no no!"

The Lich King whispered, his voice blowing across the platform like an unchanging cold wind. He said:

"A small ritual, some melting of hatred, is not without benefit to a confused and weak soul."

"Go and take it away, High Lord."

"We have completed our revenge, and the remnant soul of the fraudster belongs to you!"

"In addition, thank you... you have fulfilled your promise to us, and we, these other ghosts from another world who will never rest, we will regard you as king, we will..."

"Fight for you!"

Following the words of the Lich King Ner'zhul, like a deep iron curtain falling, the tall death knight Grom Hellscream held the cold Frostmourne in his hands and strode forward. The orc's face was once again

Without a trace of arrogance, he bent slightly, stood in front of the great lord, and held up the long sword that represented the power of the Scourge Legion with both hands.

The death prophet Drek'Thar also walked out of the vortex of elements. The blindfolded orc lightly clasped on Ner'zhul's ice. The thick ice cracked like spider web patterns, and the orc's hands penetrated deeply.

Among the ice cubes, he picked up the blue helmet that controlled all spirits and handed it to the great lord. It was the symbol of the king representing the leadership of the Scourge Legion, the helmet of command.

Ner'zhul's finally free ghost, the spirit body suspended like a pale banshee, also lowered its head in front of the great lord.

"The mission of the Scourge Legion has ended today. Yes, we finally..."
Chapter completed!