The snowstorm still hadn't stopped.
After Obsidian left Dragonshrines, he traveled north along the still-intact ancient road, then turned east, passing through the crevices between glaciers and rifts.
He flew extremely high, his wings folded, maintaining his flight posture solely by air currents and faint divine power. His occasional silhouette across the sky caused the beasts in the snow below to scatter and hide.
He was not in a hurry.
The door to the demiplane could be opened at any time, just waiting for him to enter.
But before that, he had to complete one thing—
Establish his own church.
A church of God would not appear out of thin air; it must have believers, territory, doctrine, and a divine emblem.
Of course, there was also the most important thing: a patriarch he could completely trust.
And the first problem to solve was: who would believe in Him?
Obsidian's gaze swept over the snowy ground below, which was an ice valley like a gap, winding and roaring with wind and snow, as if a gash had been torn open between heaven and earth.
"Not humans, and certainly not dwarves…" he murmured to himself, "These are Titan constructs, no need to risk it. Let's start with Azeroth's true natives—the trolls."
He knew that after the Great Sundering, the troll empire had disintegrated, and although Zandalar still held the title of co-ruler, the branch kingdoms far from the main island had long since become independent.
Northrend also had trolls, the Drakkari Ice Trolls, right there in ZulDrak.
These guys weren't gentle.
Perhaps they had been hardened by this land for too long; they were more primitive and ferocious than other trolls.
During the Wrath of the Lich King period, these people still retained cannibalistic customs, literally.
However, this was also Obsidian's opportunity.
Chaos was the best ladder.
If he went to Zandalar to preach, he might be seen as some wild loa from the countryside, coming to Zuldazar to beg for food!
Of course, Obsidian did not underestimate these natives of Northrend.
Even in his previous life, as a player, he had slaughtered the priests and monsters of ZulDrak countless times.
But at this moment, here, as he flew high above, looking back at the land, those wild monsters, once mere code, now continued their unique faith and… a relatively nascent civilization in the snow, with astonishing vitality.
ZulDrak.
This name did not belong to a single isolated city, but was a general term for an entire region.
The north was blocked by the mountains of Storm Peaks, and the southeast was Grizzly Hills…
Thinking of this, Obsidian suddenly realized that there would be a deeply world-influencing… World Tree there?
Well, that's a bit of a mouthful.
In short, it was a branch of a World Tree planted by Fandral Staghelm, originally intended to purify Saronite, but it accidentally grew into Yogg-Saron's prison.
Not only was it corrupted itself, but even the Emerald Dream was affected, giving birth to the Emerald Nightmare.
However, none of these had happened yet.
Obsidian shook his head, temporarily putting these aside and focusing on the current matters.
ZulDrak's current appearance was very different from in the game.
The Great Wall separating ZulDrak and Grizzly Hills had not yet been built, nor were there the later, obviously 'man'-made three-tiered steps.
However, the chaos caused by the Great Sundering was coming to an end.
Obsidian avoided areas suspected of harboring powerful existences and scanned the current situation in ZulDrak with his divine sense.
The melee in ZulDrak was nearing its end.
Thousands of years of tribal conflict were about to conclude, and a strong tribe was rising.
They were forcing a group of enslaved Ice Trolls to transport huge stones and build simple stone walls and altars.
The slaves, their hands and feet bound with ropes, toiled laboriously in the wind and snow, and any slight slackness would be met with whips and roars.
And on the opposite side of this tribe, several smaller tribes that had not yet been annexed seemed to have barely formed an alliance, holed up in several strategic strongholds in the southwest corner of ZulDrak, putting up a desperate resistance.
However, Obsidian keenly noticed that this alliance was not solid—some trolls had already quietly slipped away from the strongholds and fled north.
Another point that Obsidian was most interested in now was their faith.
In the center of each tribal camp stood a totem pole, carved with the idols of the loa they worshipped.
Although the trolls' abstract art was somewhat difficult to discern, Obsidian could still make out images of bears, rhinos, and snakes among them.
Obsidian racked his brain for a while but couldn't remember the names of these loa.
Were they the ones eliminated in Gundrak?
Compared to the Zandalar loa that appeared later, their sense of presence was too low.
"Forget it, they're destined to be enemies anyway; I'll think about it then. Eh, what's this…?"
Obsidian multitasked, thinking while continuing to observe the situation, and he truly found good news.
He noticed that some weaker tribes seemed to have lost the protection of their loa.
Their strongholds still had totem poles with crude drawings, but the power fluctuations on them were so faint as to be almost imperceptible.
"These loa are really realistic," Obsidian couldn't help but complain.
The loa gods seemed not to care about the disputes between these believers.
They neither prevented the northern tribe's expansion nor blessed the southwestern alliance's resistance.
To them, no matter who won, the Ice Trolls would ultimately still worship them.
As he pondered, Obsidian suddenly noticed a small team with a peculiar movement.
They had just left their dilapidated stronghold and were heading towards Grizzly Hills.
This team consisted of about twenty individuals, all tall and robust male Ice Trolls, clad in animal hides, carrying spears on their shoulders, and wearing amulets carved from Mammoth tusks around their waists.
Their movements were uniform, and their steps steady, not like refugees, but more like they were dispatched on a mission.
They were a hunting party.
Obsidian recognized them at a glance.
Northrend was too cold for almost any crops to grow, so hunting was the primary source of food here.
The core hunting grounds were monopolized by the powerful northern tribes, and these tribes, struggling to maintain their independence, were scarce on resources, so they had to regularly send out hunting parties to find food, and they went farther and farther.
They crossed ice plains and canyons, braving storms to hunt Mammoths, ice wolves, and even other trolls.
This team was one of them.
Obsidian's eyes narrowed slightly.
"These people have strength, organization, and are elites who can be drawn from the tribe." He began to scheme, "If handled well…"
He was not in a hurry to reveal himself but quietly followed above the team, observing their movements and habits.
He was waiting for the right moment, a moment that would shock them and make them submit.
In Northrend, to gain a foothold, words wouldn't suffice; he had to use strength to awaken their minds.
This hunting party was the best stepping stone.
Obsidian looked down at them as they trudged through the snowstorm, his divine sense gently spreading out, marking the aura of each and every one of them.
"It starts with you," a faint smile played on his lips.