The time of the night is fleeting.

Before the sun had even risen, the planting of the old Darsun's farm was over, and although there were a few minor accidents in the process, the replica planters finally completed their task before dawn.

These stupid black machines cut through the fields with sharp steel plows and scatter seeds into them, a technique that has stood the test of time in the Defia Federation, and the technicians of the Black Iron District have modified it several times, in short, just like last autumn's harvest, it took only a negligible amount of time to complete the complicated cultivation process.

Old Darson washed his face with cold water, stood on the edge of his big farm, looked at the neat ploughing land, and the old farmer, who had planted the land all his life, couldn't help but fall into deep thought.

In the past, his family's farm, whether it was harvesting or cultivating, had to temporarily hire a lot of hired farmers from the city of Andorhar, and it took a long time, not to mention the salary and food paid to the hired farmers, which was enough to make him suffer for a long time.

The peasants are at the bottom of the society, but they also have their own wisdom of life, which is more cost-effective to use machines or hired farmers, which hardly needs to be compared, and this is still in the northern Xinjiang when mechanical imitation is just beginning, if it is really as sparsely populated as the Difia Federal District, and the large-scale use of machinery, the price of farming and harvesting will be lower, and you can even buy your own machinery.

This was probably the first time in the life of a farmer like Darsson Sr. who had been involved with something as tall as engineering, and Darsson Sr. vaguely remembered that when he was a child, when he went to Stratholme under his father's leadership, he saw those small, noisy gnomes selling those strange mechanical dolls along the street.

The mechanical frogs and doll soldiers who could dance for a while as soon as they were wound up, he had dismantled a toy or two, and he had dreamed of learning from those gnomes and making his own steel toys when he was young and frivolous, when old Darsson had not yet become so philistine and miserly.

But now, that dream seems to have come true...

The old farmer walked over to the planter that had stopped, and he reached out and stroked the cold steel creature that was like a quiet monster for old Darson to touch.

"What's wrong? Old man, do you like this big guy? ”

The foreman, who had been busy all night, walked up to old Darsson with red eyes, smoked a cigarette and coughed, and asked:

"It's spectacular, it's great, isn't it?"

"Hmm."

The farmer nodded silently, and after a moment he looked back at the foreman, looking at the old fellow with whom he had grown up, and he asked in a low voice:

"Are you there, I mean, the Royal Apothecary Company, recruiting apprentices?"

"What do you mean?"

The foreman blinked, and heard old Darsson say:

"I wanted to send my son over, and that kid was as fascinated by these machines as I was when I was a kid, but what did my father say at the time? These things are toys for the aristocracy, luxuries that we commoners should not touch, but you see, now, I can pay machines to help me clear the fields, and I think these things are supposed to be for the people. ”

The old man laughed a few words:

"So, since my son likes to fiddle with these things, why don't you let him learn them, and even if he can't learn them, he can come back and inherit my farm."

"Then you'd better send him to southern Xinjiang, the machinery on our side is actually "stolen" from southern Xinjiang. ”

The foreman, who had seen the world before, washed his face with cool water and explained to the old Darsson, whose face had changed slightly:

"Don't be afraid, old friend, I didn't mean to let little Darzon go to refuge in the undead, Black Iron District, you know? It's over the Burning Plains, that city is not run by the undead, I've been there once, it's full of dwarves and gnomes, it's a "mechanical city"! It is said that the best engineers and mechanics in the whole world gather here. ”

"The Black Iron Zone does not prohibit the delivery of machinery to northern Xinjiang, but the price of those things is too expensive, and the merchants in northern Xinjiang are not afraid to cross the border to go there, so there has not been much business contact, but I heard that the factories there are recruiting, and the treatment is very good, you can let little Darsun try it."

"It's the territory of the undead, after all."

Old Darsson hesitated, while the foreman shrugged:

"Don't listen to the nonsense of those paladins and priests, old man, the undead on the side of the Dark Blade are only very fierce to the soldiers who oppose them, you probably don't know, the death knights of the Dark Blade do not kill unarmed civilians, I have heard a lot of such things in the bars of the Black Iron District, the Difia district, under the rule of the undead, it is said to be more just than the old nobles."

"Okay, let's not talk about that, come on, start boiling the potion."

The foreman, who had eaten a cold bread in three or two, waved his hand at old Darson, and in a moment they came to the potion pot, which had been installed, a rudimentary stone platform, under which dry wood was burning, and hot water was boiling in the pot.

The foreman, under the command of several pharmacists, put on a simple mask, and divided it between old Darsson and his son, the process of boiling potions was simpler than old Darsson imagined, and not at all as mysterious as the legendary apothecary, they carried several large vats of raw materials, stood beside the pot, and according to the pharmacist's instructions, took up a shovel, and poured some strange materials into the pot from time to time.

After more than an hour, the viscous liquid in the pot had completely fused, and old Darson tilted his head and stole a glance at the pot, where the water had turned viscous dark green, and it also emitted some strange light, and from time to time disgusting bubbles came out from under the pot, which made people feel unappetizing when they looked at it.

"Wait, it will take 1 hour for these potions to be ready, increase the fire, let the water dry, and produce some smoke, but this is normal... Ahem..."

The pharmacist took off his mask, coughed twice at the pungent smell, and then said to the others around him:

"When the crystallization is complete, you can turn off the fire, then break the crystals and store them in the warehouse."

"Got it, Mr. Pharmacist, go and rest first."

The foreman nodded and sent the pharmacist away, and then waved his hand at old Darsson, and the two old fellows sat down in the house by the field and drank, and after a while little Darsson rode his horse and waved to his father:

"Dad, I'll take a trip to Andohar and I'll be back in the afternoon."

After speaking, without waiting for his father to answer, he threw off his horsewhip and rushed out of the farm, and looking at this scene, the drunken old Darsson said to the foreman beside him:

"Look at him, he knows all day long, he dreams of being a knight all day, and he thinks I don't know what he's going to do... Tsk, lo and behold, the smoke has risen, and the smell has improved, and there is a hint of sweetness. ”

The foreman turned his head to see that in the open space of Darsong Farm behind him, above the three potions that had been scorched by the flames, there was already billowing yellow smoke, and the same smoke was rising from other nearby farms, and these strange smoke rose into the air, and did not dissipate immediately, but dispersed little by little, as if it had settled in the air, and in less than 20 minutes, it enveloped Darsong Farm and the surrounding trees in it.

"Ahem..."

Old Darsson took a sip of wine, then stood up tremblingly, and he took a few steps forward, and a blush flashed on his face, which looked old from years of hard work, and he rubbed his heart, and whispered:

"I'm some... Some are not... Comfortable. ”

"Bang"

The figure of the old farmer was planted on the ground that had just been planted, and behind him, the foreman was already lying on the wine table, as if he was sleeping, but the shocking stains of blood were flowing from the corners of his mouth.

The pale yellow mist in the sky became thicker and thicker, and under the blowing of the wind in the forest, this mist drifted in the direction of the northwest, like the mouth of hell composed of smoke, and in the early morning of the first rays of the sun, at a speed visible to the naked eye, all the creatures below were enveloped in this cruel end.

—————————————————

"Where did all this smoke come from?"

In the barracks near the big city of Andorhar in the western district of Stratholme, Arthas, who had just finished his morning training, looked up and could see the pale yellow smoke rippling in the sky in the distant direction of the Valley of the Hearth, which hung over the land like a cloud that would not disperse.

This strange sight made Arthas feel a little puzzled.

Alsace. Minethir, Prince of Lordaeron, Terenus. The son of King Minethir and the future prince of the kingdom of Lordaeron, it stands to reason that at his age, he should have stayed in the court to learn the art of rule, or gilded in the barracks near the capital, but Arthas was very stubborn and plunged headlong into the barracks of the Knights of the Silver Hand.

Many people know the reason why the Prince of Arthas joined the army, and a few years ago, the Kingdom of Stormwind was attacked by the undead, and the King of Stormwind Kingdom, Varian. Having lost his wife and son and was seriously wounded himself, King Varian, feeling deeply incompetent, chose to leave alone after arriving in the north.

This incident spurred Arthas, who had grown up with Varian since he was a child, and in his heart, he regarded Varian as his closest brother, and Varian's plight made Arthas empathize, and on the day of King Varian's disappearance, he secretly vowed to avenge his brother and nephew with his own hands.

This belief drove His Royal Highness the prince to train very weekdays, as if there was a fire burning in his heart, pushing him forward, this desperate energy made the young prince stand out among the recruits, coupled with the personal request of King Terenus, 2 years ago, the famous Grand Knight of the Silver Hand Uther. The Lightbringer became his mentor.

His Royal Highness the Prince's talent is also very good, originally in a few months, Arthas will be able to pass the training of the high-level knight of the Silver Hand and become a real high-level paladin, but at this time, there is another unexpected incident.

Tyrion, King of the Blades. On one night, the Blade of Dawn kidnapped Gianna, the daughter of Kul Tiras. Proudmoor, who was also the lover of the Prince of Arthas, and that night, His Royal Highness gave everything to save his lover, but was easily defeated in front of Tyrion's eyes, like a bug that could not help himself.

He almost lost his life, and the most terrifying thing for him was that he almost saw his lover fall before his eyes, that impotent anger, that pain, that crisis made Arthas become more persistent, more stubborn, and more crazy after the catastrophe of that day, and it is said that he also planned to go to the ocean, to the Borean tundra, to learn the battle skills of the Holy Light from the Draenei garrisons who lived in seclusion.

All the experiences of the past have shaped the prince, like steel that has been thrown into a forge and constantly beaten, and constantly shaped, has become more tenacious and more dangerous, and he knows that he will have to face Tyrion one day, and when that day comes, he will not want to fail again.

"Faric!"

The resting prince noticed the smoke rising from the northern sky, and he shouted the names of his attendants, and after a moment a tall guard came up to the prince, and he asked in a deep voice:

"Your Highness, what do you need?"

"Those smokes! What's the deal with those weird smokes? ”

The young prince asked with a frown, and the royal guard Farrick also looked up, and he stepped aside, and after inquiring about a few of the local knights, he hurried back to Arthas, and said to the prince:

"That's the smoke from Crown Pharmacist's brewing of this year's fertilizer potions, which is said to be normal."

"Fertilizer potion?"

Arthas shook his head, he had also heard of the series of agricultural measures promoted by His Majesty the Emperor, but he had no good feelings about the undead in southern Xinjiang.

"It's the ghost stuff made up by the undead again."

The young prince shook his head, gulped down a glass of cold water, and prepared to return to the barracks for the afternoon training, but at that moment, in the meadow outside the barracks, the mournful cry of horses made the prince turn around, and he saw several knights running out of the camp, and a moment later they carried a shivering young man back to the camp.

"Who is he? Do you know him? ”

The prince walked up to the knights who were rescuing, and when confronted with his question, one of the knights replied:

"Your Highness, this kid has been coming to train with us every day lately, and it seems that he wants to join the Knights, but he... He was so thin that he was said to live on a farm in the north and was a native of his duty. ”

"And what's wrong with him?"

Arthas looked down at the young man and saw that the thin young man had a sallow face and cold sweat on his forehead, as if he was sick.

"I don't know, but it looks like I've been poisoned."

The paladin, who specializes in healing, wrapped his hands around the holy light, trying to help the painful young man get rid of the toxin, and after more than ten seconds, the young man's eyes opened suddenly, and the corners of his mouth overflowed with disgusting white foam, but he grabbed the wrist of the rescued paladin and said with difficulty:

"Poisonous! That smoke... Medicament... Poisonous, save... Save my father..."

"Huh?"

Hearing these staccato words, Arthas almost immediately raised his head and looked at the fog that was getting thicker and thicker in the northern sky, and the next moment he crouched down and took little Darson's hand, and he cried out loudly:

"Son, tell me... Where are you from? ”

"Ahem... Prince of Alsace... I know you... Save my father... At... At Darsun Farm... Those smokes, poisonous! ”