台服和国服暂时没上线，等两天看看会不会放。不会的话会翻译一下(或者抓人翻译一下)。要注意官网电子版的义战和挽歌和典藏版的不同之处是，典藏版是精装版，有许多精美的插图。官网免费版本就没有了。
如果国服不翻译的话，我可能会在做翻译版的时候做一些插图扫描。
在月华之下，听哪
在溪河之畔，听哪
与你的爱人一同，听哪
听那将死之人的哀嚎
听那微风为沉默的死者述说
听我那破碎的心永远的哀悼
听那世界之树的故事
还有那源自它枝丫的
一切梦境的死……
啊，听哪
最后的星之子
听我那破碎的心永远的哀悼
听那世界之树的故事
还有那源自它枝丫的
一切梦境的死……
两边的结尾部分
挽歌的结尾
“Close it!” Genn shouted in a voice made hoarse by the smoke—by the smoke, by the fire, by the horrors he must have beheld.
The mage, his face pale and etched with sorrow, lowered his hands.
The last portal disappeared.
He’d done it. Genn bore not only Mia but a night elf child.
Anduin couldn’t see if any of the three were wounded, so he summoned the Light. He had asked it for aid a thousand times or more in the last several days, and still it came, as always, and the wounds were healed.
No. Not all the wounds. Genn sank to the floor, holding an exhausted Mia. Tyrande gathered the infant to her. Genn took a deep breath and exhaled, resuming his human form. He looked up at Tyrande, and the utter bleakness of his expression spoke more clearly than words the depth of what had happened.
“The tree is burning,” he said. His voice was hard and laced with pain.
“You mean Darnassus?” Tyrande asked, her words catching in her throat.
“The tree,” Genn repeated. “I’m sorry, High Priestess. The Horde has burned the World Tree.” His eyes, bloodshot from the smoke, narrowed. “They will pay for this. I swear to you—they will pay!”
Anduin felt cold with shock. The tree was on fire.
Teldrassil, with all its hamlets and nooks and towns, its hills and valleys and creatures. Everyone and everything in it would burn.
Tyrande closed her eyes. “I said the tree would not be . . .” Her voice broke. She opened her eyes and looked at the child she held in her arms, covered with soot, but whole. Healthy.
Alive. Tears slipped slowly down her cheeks. “What is her name?” she asked softly.
Mia shook her head weakly. “I don’t know.”
“Then, little one, I shall name you Finel. ‘The last.’ For you are the last kaldorei to escape with your life.”
The World Tree was more than a city. It was an entire land, home to countless innocents. How many night elves were elsewhere in Azeroth? Far too few. Now, they were all who remained of their people.
Sylvanas Windrunner had committed genocide.
Anduin had known she was selfish—arrogant, too. Cunning.
Driven. But he had never expected this. Through blurred vision, he saw Genn Greymane’s face as his wife clung to him, and he realized that not even Genn, who hated Sylvanas with his whole heart, could believe it. No one had thought she would put her cruelty before her cleverness. There was no strategic purpose, no possible reason to destroy the tree. Far from it—with this unfathomable decision, Sylvanas had united the Alliance in a way nothing else could.
None of that mattered now. There had been chances to stop her. Chances to attack before she had. Anduin had chosen to reject those opportunities. Now, numberless voices would haunt his dreams until he achieved one thing: stopping Sylvanas.
Permanently.
His eyes met Tyrande’s over the baby’s head. Finel whimpered, and Tyrande cradled her close. Then, so softly that Anduin could barely hear her, the high priestess of the night elves began to sing.
O little last one, listen
To the song my broken heart will ever sing
Of the story of the Tree of the World
And the death of all the dreams
It once cradled in its mighty boughs.
Anduin dragged a sooty sleeve across his wet eyes. His raw,
aching heart broke at what he had to do. Quietly, calmly, he
steeled it. After this, there could be nothing else.
There was no choice.
No doubt.
No regret.
War.
义战的结尾
A troll mage spread fire across the payloads, and with a pull of a lever on half a dozen siege engines,
the Horde flung death into the air.
“No,” Saurfang whispered. He watched, speechless, as fire arced across the ocean.
Every single payload hit its target. Orange flames began to spread across Teldrassil.
Silence fell over the Horde. Even the cries of the captured night elves vanished. Everyone watched in disbelief.
“No,” Saurfang whispered again, louder.
A second volley launched, and that broke the shock that had paralyzed him. “No!” he roared. “Stop firing! Stop!”
It was too late. The second barrage hit, and within moments, the lower half of the World Tree was engulfed in flames. The fire moved as if it were alive, climbing the tree, scrambling toward the city in the heights of its branches.
“Why . . . ? Why . . . ?” Saurfang breathed. He looked again at Nathanos. The Forsaken’s eyes were wider than the orc had ever seen.
Sylvanas had her back to Saurfang, watching the fire spread. Saurfang tried—desperately tried—to rationalize her order.
Did that dying elf tell her something? Were they planning to resist? Is the Alliance about to arrive with reinforcements?
A dozen different explanations rushed through his mind. They all died quickly. There were no sails on the horizon. A couple of kaldorei ships were frantically moving away from the World Tree as burning branches rained down upon them. Even the captured ships were awkwardly steering out of the way.
They had not expected this.
Nobody had.
What about Sylvanas?
That thought struck Saurfang cold.
Was this her plan all along?
No. It couldn’t have been. She’d had a strategy in mind. Conquering the World Tree—taking it intact—would have been a brilliant move. Destroying it was . . .
. . . madness.
The entire tree was now engulfed in flames. Shimmers of blue and white grew and faded as the fire burned hotter and hotter. The edge of the fire circled around the tree. And then, the city of Darnassus began to burn.
Saurfang heard screams. The heat reached across the water, along with the terrible smell of an uncontrolled wildfire. The captured night elves on Darkshore shrieked and wailed, now begging and pleading for the Horde to rush into the tree, to save their families from certain death.
The sounds washed together, a symphony of horrors.
Men, women, children . . . the fire would not care. Fire had no honor, no reason, only the urge to consume until there was nothing left.
Everyone still in Darnassus would die.
And with them, every hope the Horde had of winning a clean war against the Alliance. Teldrassil was supposed to be the wedge that would destroy Stormwind. Now, it would be the Alliance’s rallying cry until every nation of the Horde was rent to dust.
Anduin Wrynn would declare war immediately—and every one of his allies would answer his call.
The Alliance would stop at nothing in their search for vengeance.
“There is no honor in this!” he roared at Sylvanas.
She finally turned away from the World Tree. Her eyes were steady, the anger within them gone.
What was left in its place? Emptiness? Satisfaction? Saurfang couldn’t read her now. Maybe he nevercould.
“They will come for us now. All of them!” he said.
“I know.” She was calm, as though nothing were wrong. “They will attack the Undercity in retaliation. You will need to plan our defenses. Begin evacuating my people.”
He struggled to form words. Finally, pure hatred made him spit out a condemnation. “You have damned the Horde for a thousand generations. All of us. And for what? For what?”
Her expression didn’t waver. “This was your battle. Your strategy. And your failure. Darnassus was never the prize. It was a wedge that would split the Alliance apart. It was the weapon that would destroy hope. And you, my master strategist, gave that up to spare an enemy you defeated. I have taken it back.
When they come for us, they will do so in pain, not in glory. That may be our only chance at victory now.”
He wanted to kill her. He wanted to declare mak’gora and spill her blood in front of Horde and Alliance alike.
But she was right.
A wound that can never heal. That had always been the plan. And Saurfang had failed to inflict it.
The story of Malfurion’s miraculous survival would have spread among the armies of the Alliance as proof that they were blessed in their cause.
War would still have come. That had been certain the moment Saurfang had led the Horde into Ashenvale. And it would have been what he had feared most: the meat grinder, spending so many lives
to achieve so little, ending with a whimper, and thus dooming future generations to a war nobody could win. Once again, Sylvanas had seen it before he had.
And so . . .
She had sent a message. This was not a war that would end in a stalemate. Not now. The Alliance and the Horde would both understand that the only choices were victory or death. Lok tar ogar.
Darnassus would not be the last city to burn. The loss of life on both sides would tower over this atrocity. And it would all rest on his shoulders. Every moment would be a nightmare.
Sylvanas turned back toward the World Tree, watching it burn. Saurfang made himself watch the flames consume city and citizens alike. He would not dishonor himself further by turning away.
The screams continued. They reminded him of Shattrath. He had loved the sound, then. Smoke filled the air, reminding him of Stormwind, of racing through the streets as buildings burned all around him, finding cowering humans and butchering them as they begged for their lives. He had loved the slaughter, then.
And he had loved this war, too, hadn’t he?
Saurfang did not move for hours, not until the screams faded and the flames had burned themselves down to embers. Before him stood a smoking husk that had once been a great civilization. Inside him was a feeling of despair, a feeling of shame. There was no haze of corruption now to soften the horror.
Saurfang would remember this moment in his dreams forever. He would relive this shame, and all the new ones to come, over and over again.
You have led your Horde in the service of death, Malfurion had said.
How could Saurfang face the soldiers he had led into this war? How could he explain what they had done?
He couldn’t. He would never know how.
But the burden would be his, always, until his dying day.
As Saurfang turned away, he hoped that day would come soon.
