Loken fled the scene in a state of utter panic. He didn't even stop to consider how Thorim had discovered his crimes; his only thought was to crawl back into Ulduar and never come out again.
Nowadays, Ulduar was less a holy city for the Watchers and more the lair of Yogg-Saron.
Only after hiding back within the depths of Ulduar did Loken finally breathe a sigh of relief. As he recovered his composure and recalled Thorim's performance, a frown slowly creased his brow.
"Thorim is a simple-minded fool with more brawn than brains. For tens of thousands of years, he never once suspected me. Why did he suddenly show up today to interrogate me?"
As he delved deeper into thought, Loken remembered more details he had previously overlooked.
If Thorim were truly certain that Loken was the culprit behind Sif's death, with his explosive temper, he wouldn't have just shown up for a confrontation. He would have smashed that thunderous warhammer directly onto Loken's head.
"Which means... Thorim isn't certain yet. He only has suspicions."
Loken pondered, "Who exactly told him the truth that he cannot yet verify? Could it be..."
At that moment, Loken remembered the mortal who had been standing at Thorim's feet, offering several instructions during the confrontation and brief exchange.
"The Night Elves..."
A cold light flashed in his eyes. Loken walked back to his Halls of Lightning and sat down to carefully review every detail.
"Should I mobilize the Iron Army? No... that would attract the attention of the other Watchers who haven't completely fallen yet. For now, I can only rely on the Dragonflayer Vrykul."
Loken looked down gloomily at the map of Azeroth floating in the Halls of Lightning. "I cannot pin all my hopes on those stupid Vrykul. I must begin making alternative preparations early."
...
The sight of Loken fleeing in panic stood in stark contrast to Thorim, who remained standing firm. Seeing the god they worshipped abandon his followers and run away caused the Vrykul's high morale to plummet instantly.
Loken's flight further confirmed Thorim's suspicions. Several times, the Watcher wanted to swing his hammer and charge into the army of Loken's kin to vent his fury, but remembering his past mistakes, Thorim ultimately held back.
Seeing that defeat was imminent, the Vrykul commander in Voldrun was filled with shock and rage.
After executing a dozen deserters in a row, the warrior—holding a two-handed battle axe in each hand—used a Heroic Leap to jump to the front of the battlefield.
He cast a wary glance at Thorim, who seemingly had no intention of intervening, and then pointed his right-hand axe at Andreas, who stood at Thorim's feet.
"Night Elf! I, Uldir the Dragon Rider, challenge you!"
"Me?" Andreas pointed at himself in surprise. "Are you sure?"
"Yes, you!"
Uldir clashed his twin axes together, producing a crisp metallic ring. A bloodthirsty smile appeared on his face as he said, "A one-on-one duel. The loser withdraws from the Grizzly Hills."
"Heh."
Andreas was so amused he actually laughed. "You've certainly calculated this well. The battle for the Grizzly Hills is already basically decided; this land should belong to us anyway. Are you trying to get something for nothing?"
Looking contemptuously at the so-called Dragon Rider, Andreas mocked, "If you want to turn the tables, you'd better put more chips on the table. Don't take us for fools."
Uldir had initially been "asking for the sky" so he could settle for the ground. Hearing Andreas's response, he proposed a new set of stakes.
"If I am defeated, the Vrykul will not only withdraw from the Grizzly Hills but will also pull our defensive line back to the Skorn area. Everything north of Skorn will belong to you. How about that?"
Currently, Gjalerbron had already been destroyed by the surprise attack from the marines Andreas had dispatched. The territory north of Skorn was effectively a "chicken rib"—useless to the Vrykul but a burden to keep.
Once Voldrun fell, it would only be a matter of time before the Night Elves pushed to the gates of Skorn anyway.
Andreas sneered, "Not enough. You are still playing word games with territory that already belongs to the Night Elves."
"Let me set the terms. If we win, the area north of Skorn, and all the land between Winter's Breath Lake and Lake Kum'uya, will be ours."
Winter's Breath Lake lay between Gjalerbron and Skorn; it would inevitably fall to the Night Elves regardless. However, Lake Kum'uya was located at the foot of Frostblade Peak, east of Winter's Breath Lake.
To the east, it bordered the Giants' Run where Vrykul lived scattered about, and to the south, it led directly to the large Vrykul settlement of Baleheim.
If the Night Elves took this territory as Andreas demanded, they would complete a blockade of Skorn and Utgarde Pinnacle from the north, severely restricting the Vrykul's range of movement.
Though Uldir appeared reckless, he wasn't stupid. Andreas's demands were hard to swallow, but observing the other's seemingly frail caster physique, Uldir felt quite confident in this fight.
"Fine! It's a deal. One battle to decide it all!"
...
Uldir did not know who he had picked. Since the war with the Vrykul began, this was the first time Andreas had come to the Voldrun front.
The Vrykul chieftain who called himself the "Dragon Rider" simply wanted to pick a "soft persimmon" to squeeze. Andreas, being relatively slender and unarmored, happened to be standing at the very front, looking like a fat sheep ready for slaughter.
As one of the Vrykul champions, Uldir did not lack experience in fighting casters. He was confident he could easily achieve victory.
When both sides took their positions, Uldir stripped off his armor, revealing a muscular upper body, wearing only thin linen trousers.
"Night Elf, don't say I'm bullying you. I don't even need armor to deal with you!"
Andreas let out a short laugh. "Don't flatter yourself. Your armor isn't magic-resistant anyway; wearing it while fighting a caster is just a hindrance. Taking it off is only natural."
"Come then."
Andreas naturally spread his feet, assuming a combat stance with a sword in his left hand and a staff in his right.
Soldiers from both sides crowded around the dueling ground. The loud-mouthed Vrykul cheered excitedly for Uldir.
The Night Elf side was relatively quiet. Nawaz looked at the expectant Uldir with pity.
Poor fellow, you have no idea who you are facing.
"Ready? Hehe... then I won't be polite!"
"Hah!"
Uldir raised his twin axes high, his legs exerting massive force as he leaped into the air, hurtling toward Andreas like a cannonball.
A direct frontal assault? Do you look down on me that much?
Andreas curled his lip. Confident in his skills, he waited until Uldir was within five meters before activating an ability.
"Psychic Scream."
Mid-air, a look of sudden horror washed over Uldir's face, and his once-coordinated movements became distorted.
Andreas easily stepped aside to dodge the clumsily landing Uldir. The Blade of the Black Empire in his left hand seized the opportunity to graze the chieftain's flank, leaving a trail of blood.
The density of Vrykul muscle was somewhat beyond Andreas's expectations. Although the Blade of the Black Empire was not known for its sharpness, it was a dark artifact after all, yet it only left a shallow wound on Uldir's muscles.
However, that wasn't the point. Hit by both the Blade of the Black Empire and the Psychic Scream, Uldir soon began his "performance."
"Aaargh! Ungh!"
Veins popped on his forehead. The axe in Uldir's left hand fell to the ground as he clutched his head, let out a mad roar toward the sky.
Xal'atath let out a sinister laugh. "Hehe... truly, the ignorant are fearless. Though this fellow's soul doesn't taste great, its quality is decent enough. Andreas, harvest him."
"Heh, as you wish."