As Alaric and the Windrunner sisters idly chatted, the battle between the demigods and the empowered warriors had come to an end.
The conclusion was swift and decisive.
Though the demigods had been severely weakened due to their power being siphoned, their actual combat prowess was still far beyond the reach of mere thieves who had stolen their strength.
Like a karmic retribution, the four trolls who had betrayed their gods and stolen divine power to strengthen themselves ultimately perished under that very power.
Akil'zon was reduced to dust in the tempest and lightning of the eagle demigod.
Nalorakk was torn in half by the sheer brute force of the bear demigod.
Jan'alai was incinerated into ashes within the dragonhawk demigod's flames.
Halazzi was shredded into pieces under the razor-sharp claws of the lynx demigod.
The Alliance warriors stood in awe, watching the spectacle unfold. Though their four formidable foes had been vanquished, they did not feel as victorious as they had imagined. Instead, a lingering sense of fear and reverence settled in their hearts.
Until now, they had only known that trolls worshipped the Loa gods, considering them part of a primitive and savage faith.
They had assumed that troll faith functioned similarly to their own belief in the Light—providing power through devotion but not to an excessive degree.
Now, they realized how wrong they had been.
Unlike the intangible and elusive Light, the Loa gods, despite their bloodstained and ancient faith, were very much real.
Of course, these gods were far from the omnipotent beings people might imagine.
While incredibly powerful, they lacked the absolute invulnerability of true deities—they could even be manipulated and exploited by their own followers.
Yet, what made the Loa gods truly terrifying was that, unlike the divine beings of legend who remained distant and unseen, these gods could manifest in the physical world at will.
From the battle just now, it was evident that the power of the Loa gods was nearly invincible in the mortal realm.
Aside from a few exceptionally strong individuals, no one could hope to stand against them.
The only potential means of countering them seemed to be the collective efforts of mages casting apocalyptic-level spells.
However, if Alaric had known their thoughts, he would have chuckled and told them: You're overthinking it.
The Wild Gods, while powerful and capable of freely traversing the world, were not inherently hostile toward humans or high elves who did not worship them.
For the most part, they merely received offerings from the trolls and bestowed them with strength in return.
By nature, they rarely interfered in mortal conflicts.
Of course, the Loa gods of the Zandalari trolls were a notable exception.
As the oldest and most revered troll lineage, the Zandalari were essentially the royalty among their kind. They valued knowledge and ritual above all else, forging a uniquely close bond with the Loa.
The Loa of the Zandalari trolls frequently appeared in their true forms, accepting offerings and protecting the tribe—a relationship that had existed since the founding of the ancient troll empire thousands of years ago.
But back to the matter at hand.
Having slain the four warriors who had sealed their divine power, the demigods' fury had slightly subsided. However, there was still one final traitor left to deal with.
Yet, when the four demigods converged upon their greatest betrayer—the Hex Lord Malacrass—they were surprised to find that he was no longer the same as before.
It was not because he was overcome with regret, panic, or despair. If that had been the case, the demigods would have understood and even found satisfaction in his suffering.
But no—it was something far stranger. Malacrass had fallen into a state of eerie madness.
His towering figure, much larger than any human, had curled in on itself. His robes were in disarray, his staff discarded haphazardly on the ground, and his lips murmured ceaselessly, whispering, "Stay away… It's all my fault… Don't haunt me…"
"What… happened to him?" Alleria asked curiously.
"He looks like he's gone mad," Sylvanas said, casting Alaric a suspicious glance.
"During the time you were asleep… what exactly did you do to him? Was it… direct mental manipulation?"
Realizing that Sylvanas had completely misunderstood the situation, Alaric let out a helpless chuckle and explained.
"Direct mental manipulation? I don't have that kind of power." Saying this, he activated Retroactive Vision on Malacrass.
This was one of the most advanced divination spells, allowing the caster to witness past events.
Under normal circumstances, Alaric's level of magical expertise wouldn't have easily allowed him to wield such a high-tier spell.
However, he possessed a unique insight into time and space magic, and having studied the Harry Potter world's Pensieve—a spell that could retrieve past memories—he had managed to refine Retroactive Vision into a much simpler version, accessible to any archmage well-versed in divination magic.
Through Retroactive Vision, Alaric saw the source of Malacrass's downfall.
It was the revenge of the restless souls.
When Malacrass had been weakened by the backlash of his own magic, the spirits of those he had slain finally found their chance.
The moment they were released, they disregarded their newfound freedom and launched a relentless assault upon him.
As a powerful spellcaster, Malacrass, though temporarily weakened, still possessed a soul far stronger than those ordinary spirits.
However, the vengeful ghosts knew no fear. Relying on their overwhelming numbers and unrelenting fury, they attacked his mind incessantly.
In the end, they drove the once-mighty Hex Lord to a complete mental breakdown, pushing him into insanity.
After learning of Malacrass's fate, everyone fell into silence.
A spellcaster who had lost his mind, spiraling into madness—there was no telling if he would ever regain his sanity.
In a way, he was no longer Malacrass. Who, then, would the demigods seek vengeance upon?
In the end, they decided not to torment the self-destroyed Hex Lord any further.
Granting him release, they cast his body into the sacrificial pit, forever binding him to the very souls he had sacrificed in his pursuit of power. This was perhaps the cruelest irony of all.
With the exception of Warlord Daakara, who had fled at some unknown point, the last of the Amani trolls had been eradicated. Combined with the countless elderly, women, and children who had perished in blood rituals, this once-glorious tribe had now reached its final days.
Of course, according to scout reports, a small number of Amani women and children had managed to survive.
However, their numbers were pitifully low—perhaps a mere hundred or two.
Even if Daakara managed to rally some surviving warriors and reunite with these remnants, they would never be enough to revive the Amani trolls.
In essence, the Alliance had successfully completed its campaign against the Amani trolls. Now, their sights turned toward the trolls of the Hinterlands.
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