ZulDrak, Gundrak.
Moragon stood on the cold stone platform of Gundrak's North Tower, looking down at the capital city that once belonged to all Ice Trolls.
The cold wind swept over the tower top, tugging at his heavy cloak, occasionally revealing the shoulder armor embedded with pale beast bones and cold rivets beneath.
Three months had passed since the humiliating defeat in Gray Tooth Valley.
He had spent three full months suppressing the resulting unrest and doubts, sacrificing hundreds of his clansmen's lives for it.
However, at this moment, what worried him so much was not the hidden dangers that this bloody purge might leave behind;
Nor was it the setback in Gray Tooth Valley—that was merely a feint, he had only sent a detachment;
Nor was it the annihilation of the Mammoth Guard—the Frostmane Clan still had several other Loa guards of equal combat power.
What truly filled him with worry, like a thorn in his throat, was the fall of the Loa God.
No, to be precise, he wasn't worried about Matos's fall, but about the being who killed Matos—that terrifying Dragon God. If even powerful Loa fell like ants beneath that Dragon God's claws, what could the warriors of the Frostmane Clan do?
Moragon stood frozen in the swirling cold wind.
From a young age, he had deeply believed that he was destined to unify all of ZulDrak and end the division, but at this moment, he was plunged into unprecedented confusion and helplessness.
Just then, a cold, slimy will, like a venomous snake, burrowed into Moragon's mind.
He had arrived.
"Come to the temple to see me…"
Though the Loa's will was silent, it pierced deep into Moragon's consciousness like venom, carrying an irresistible sense of oppression.
His body trembled imperceptibly. He instinctively looked towards the direction of the temple complex, then turned and walked down the tower without a word.
Passing through the streets still permeated with a hint of bloody Stern, Moragon, accompanied by his silent guards, arrived at the heart of Gundrak—the Loa's temple complex.
"Stay here." He said without looking back, his cold voice leaving no room for doubt.
The guards hesitated but dared not disobey, only bowing their heads in assent.
Moragon's cloak fluttered as he stepped onto the stone stairs leading to the temple alone.
The true core of the temple complex lay in the darkest depths beneath Gundrak.
He wound his way through countless staircases to reach their secret chamber.
Inside the door was a narrow corridor, its sides carved with abstract snake-like figures. Moragon remained silent, his fists clenched, as he continued deeper.
The moment he stepped into the inner chamber, he saw "him."
Not a physical entity, but a smoky, misty existence, hovering between reality and illusion, coiled between the altar and the dome.
His silvery-green scales gleamed with a strange, faint light in the dimness, and his huge body writhed and slithered in the shadows.
Two slender vertical pupils quietly opened, coldly locking onto him.
Moragon stopped, speaking in a deep voice that echoed in the empty stone chamber: "You summoned me?"
His voice struggled to remain steady, but all the muscles in his body were unconsciously tensed.
He did not respond immediately, but instead, like admiring prey, slowly circled him, observing.
In the air, a faint, sweet, and fishy smell scent gradually diffused.
"So impolite… you're starting to doubt." The Loa's voice was soft, slimy, genderless, and even carried a mesmerizing rhythm.
Moragon remained silent.
"You're thinking, why would a god die?"
"You thought only mortals would fail."
"But now, you see, that Mammoth, couldn't even escape."
The wind serpent's image, condensed from smoke, slowly gathered, forming a translucent, massive serpent head illusion before Moragon.
"You've always done well before, Moragon. You are a born ruler, the perfect executor of our plan."
"But the appearance of that Dragon God… is an irresistible force that none of us can stop."
"The previous plan can no longer be realized."
"The more you kill, the more you are personally sending those terrified souls into his embrace."
In Moragon's mind, the blueprint they had repeatedly rehearsed and meticulously constructed clearly emerged:
To crush the resistance of various tribes with iron-fisted methods, slaughter all adult male warriors, forcibly incorporate women and children into the Frostpaw furnace, using their blood as sacrifices and nourishment to recast a pure and unified Ice Troll regime and belief system dominated by Frostpaw.
He wanted a great Drakkari Empire, and he wanted to enjoy all the offerings alone.
This was the most direct path, and most consistent with Troll tradition, to end the chaotic situation in ZulDrak since the Great Schism.
But now, everything had become an illusion.
"That being is far more powerful than you can imagine. Confronting him directly is tantamount to seeking death."
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