While Nekros was joyfully announcing to his Clan that he had enslaved the Red Dragon Queen with the Demon Soul, Alexstrasza was writhing in agony inside the cave.
"Ooh~ and who do we have here?"
A teasing voice came from the cave entrance; Alexstrasza's eyes sharpened as she lifted her head toward it.
"You!"
A middle-aged man in human guise stepped out of the shadows, arms folded as he leaned against the wall.
A conspicuous metal collar ringed his neck, and molten orange lava pulsed visibly beneath his robe.
"Great Red Dragon Queen Alexstrasza, so easily chained by lowly, savage orcs—where's that famous composure of yours?"
The balding V-shaped man sneered. "Did it never occur to you how the orcs found the burial spot of the dragon soul? You thought sealing it against dragonkind would stop me from using it?"
Alexstrasza glared, teeth clenched. "Neltharion!"
"Hmph! I discarded that name long ago—now I am Deathwing!"
Deathwing snorted. "With the Queen who rules Wyrmrest Temple lost, let's see where that maniac leads our flight. As for you…"
A cruel smile curled his lips as he waved and walked out. "Enjoy your slavery. Don't worry—they won't kill you. You'll bear them fine mounts for conquering Azeroth."
"I'll 'kindly' send word of your capture back to the Temple; your fool mates should come rushing in. Prepare body and mind."
As Deathwing shifted to his true form and prepared to take off for Northrend, the chained Alexstrasza's eyes flashed; she began to draw a slow, secret breath.
Wrapped the whole time in the Void Power N'Zoth had gifted, the jubilant Dragonmaw Clan never noticed the huge black dragon behind them.
"Traitor—where do you think you're going!"
A Blue Dragon, equally massive, burst from thin air, eyes blazing. Before Deathwing could lift off, a solid hexagonal Arcane cage trapped the fallen Black Aspect.
Deathwing gasped; in his triumph he hadn't expected the half-mad Blue Aspect. "Malygos?! That trick again!"
A second's thought chilled him—he'd walked into an ambush.
Before he could spin to check Alexstrasza, a resonant dragon-roar rang from the cave as stored Life Flames struck him from behind.
"Aargh!"
Though weakened by the dragon soul, the two Aspects still outranked him. Caught off-guard two-on-one, Deathwing was instantly on the back foot.
This time Malygos didn't dive in to brawl; as Guardian of Magic, wrestling the earth-empowered Deathwing would be idiocy, and the presently lucid Malygos wasn't fool enough.
Inside the cage, countless ornate mini-arrays flared, spitting condensed Arcane Barrage without pause.
The barrage of surprise attacks left Deathwing reeling; the nearby Dragonmaw orcs could only gape as useless scenery.
Regaining his wits, Nekros raised the golden disc with a dark scowl. "Insolence! Kneel before the glory of the Demon Soul—huh?"
Under his stunned gaze the "Demon Soul" paled to stone, crumbling into dust that scattered on the wind.
High above, Andreas held the real dragon soul, channeling vast energy into the artifact.
A small golden dragonling clawed its way out of the energizing disc, then swam happily around Andreas.
The compressed power shredded his Shadow Veil; busy fending off two fronts, Deathwing finally sensed the lethal threat above.
"Malygos! Alexstrasza! Have you lost your minds?! Entrusting the dragon soul to a Mortal!"
Gone was Alexstrasza's earlier show of pain; without a word she kept bathing Deathwing's back in searing Life Flame.
Trapped inside the cage, Deathwing endured the Arcane Barrage, using earth-reinforced bulk to ram the lattice walls; cracks webbed the diamond walls—freedom seconds away.
Yet despair flooded him: the dragon soul had locked on, the golden wyrmlet's eyes fixed on him, a death-cold terror pounding his soul.
Andreas leveled the golden disc at the despairing Aspect. "Time to exit, fallen Black Dragon King!"
Boom!
A blazing golden beam lanced out; guided by the little dragon, it pierced Deathwing in the blink of an eye.
"Roar! Master, save—"
The cry cut short; wracked by the artifact, Deathwing fell silent, his already unstable body warping further as writhing violet tentacles burst from his carcass.
Crack!
A fracture shot across the dragon soul; startled, Andreas cut the beam once sure the blow was fatal.
Alexstrasza and Malygos looked conflicted—relief mixed with sorrow—gazing at Neltharion's still-twitching remains.
Suddenly Andreas' face changed.
"Something's wrong—pull back, both of you!"
Though puzzled, the two Aspects trusted Andreas and beat their wings, veering into opposite skies.
Void energy erupted from Deathwing's carcass, folding the broken body into a black sphere.
A single eerie eye opened on its surface, locking onto Andreas who had dealt the fatal strike.
A voice thick with malice echoed in his mind: "Mortal… it's you again."
A demigod who also commanded Void Power, Andreas was little rattled by an Old God's whisper.
"N'Zoth?"
"Hmph! Saving Deathwing comes first. I'll spare you today—beware."
"Mortal named Andreas."
N'Zoth's eye stayed fixed on him.
At the Old God's appearance the Dragonmaw orcs gaped, while Alexstrasza and Malygos hovered, too tense to move.
"Someone asked me to pass a message: she's looking forward to your reunion after ten thousand years."
Swish!
With that, the eye melted into the earth and vanished, its dark aura dispersing.
"A reunion after ten thousand years…"
Andreas drew a slow breath; he already knew who had sent the words.
'Queen Azshara… so she truly still lives.'
"Does this count as... having killed him?"
The two Dragon Aspects flew to Andreas' side, Malygos' tone clearly lacking confidence.
"I don't know."
Andreas let out a breath. "Logically speaking, a chest-piercing wound like that is definitely fatal, but... N'Zoth said he wanted to save Deathwing, so I can't be sure if the Old Gods have a way to resurrect him."
"Regardless... *Roar!*"
Alexstrasza vaporized all the Dragonmaw orcs who had been flaunting their power before her with a single breath of fire.
"At least the hidden threat of Deathwing has been eliminated in this war of orcish invasion, and..."
Alexstrasza and Malygos both looked at the dragon soul in Andreas' hand; a crack had appeared on the surface of the small golden disc.
"It wasn't entirely without gain."
For many years, the Aspects, including Malygos, had been researching how to destroy the dragon soul and reclaim their lost power, but until today, they had made no progress.
Unexpectedly, this artifact underwent a change when used at high power. Through the crack, the power of the Aspects was slowly leaking out, and all that energy was being absorbed by the small golden dragon.
The little dragon continued to circle around Andreas, behaving quite affectionately.
"Who would have thought?"
Malygos sighed with emotion. "After years of being nurtured, the dragon soul has actually developed a semblance of a soul. I wonder what this artifact, which shouldn't even exist, will become in the future."
As the Guardian of Magic, the Blue Dragonflight oversaw most of the world's artifacts and Arcane treasures, but even the well-traveled Malygos didn't know what state the dragon soul was in now.
Andreas rested his chin on his left hand and reached out with his right to stroke the little dragon, feeling it.
The warm scales didn't feel like a body of pure energy; it felt like flesh and blood. Feeling Andreas' caress, the little dragon circled his right hand coquettishly.
"Forget it, we can study it slowly later."
Malygos looked toward the gates of Ironforge in the distance. The massive commotion from the battle between the three Aspects had alerted the nearby orcish siege forces. Warriors from the Bloodfury Clan had already sent scouts in this direction.
Malygos immediately cast a teleportation spell to send the three of them away. The Bloodfury scouts found nothing but a devastated battlefield. None of the Dragonmaw orcs who had stayed there to experiment with the artifact remained... Orgrim, in Grim Batol, had just received good news from Zuljin and was overjoyed that the Horde was about to have a powerful air force. However, bad news followed immediately. Orgrim's face turned ashen, causing Zuljin to lower his head, not daring to speak.
The solid defense of the Thandol Span made Orgrim consider retreating; he didn't want to waste too many troops and time on this bridge.
If, during the battle, the humans grew desperate and blew up the bridge, the orcish invasion force would fall into the turbulent seawater below the cliffs, and survival would be unlikely.
Orgrim's plan was to bypass the defenders of the Thandol Span by sea and land on the relatively poorly defended coast of Hillsbrad Foothills.
But the orcs' shipbuilding technology was practically non-existent. If they had the protection of the Red Dragon air force, he would have more confidence in getting the Horde warriors to the other side, but now everything was ruined.
Just then, a race of small, green-skinned creatures called Goblins approached them, claiming they had a big business deal to discuss with the Horde.
Meanwhile, through the reports from King Thoras and the observers from various nations at the Thandol Span defense line, the Alliance witnessed the Horde's combat power for the first time.
After more than a year of bickering, the Alliance finally abandoned their disputes under Lothar's call. If they couldn't unite, the northern kingdoms would eventually be picked off one by one by the orcs, ending up as refugees in other lands like the Kingdom of Stormwind.
At Witherbark Village in the southeast of Hillsbrad Foothills, Celeste, Alleria, and Vereesa were staked out outside the village, observing the movements of the Withered Trolls.
Although they weren't sure which Forest Troll Clans the orcs had made deals with, as the medium-sized Clan closest to The Wetlands, the Withered Trolls were indeed very suspicious.
Celeste had previously taken the Windrunner sisters to quietly observe near the Thandol Span front. There were indeed many Forest Trolls with moss growing on them in the Horde camp, likely the Ragefang and Firetree Clans living in The Wetlands.
Celeste watched the peaceful life of the trolls in the village and said thoughtfully, "There's no visible movement from the Withered Trolls for now, and the Vilebranch don't seem very interested in the Horde either."
Vereesa questioned, "Maybe they just haven't seen any value worth gambling on from the Horde yet?"
"That possibility certainly can't be ruled out." Celeste didn't mind Vereesa's questioning; she knew the young girl had always been blunt.
Alleria pondered for a moment before asking, "Sister Celeste, do you really think the Horde will launch a frontal assault from the Thandol Span?"
Celeste laughed and shook her head. "You're definitely asking the wrong person about military matters. If Sister Shandris were here, she could discuss it with you in detail."
Vereesa perked up her ears with interest and asked, "Is that the other wife of that scoundrel?"
Celeste smiled wryly and rubbed Vereesa's head. "You really hold a grudge, girl. Andreas has no ill will toward you, so why keep calling him that?"
"Hmph!" Vereesa crossed her arms and turned her head away displeased. "I'll only forgive him when he apologizes in person. Who told him to look down on me like that!"
Knowing Vereesa still had a childish temperament, Celeste didn't explain further and just smiled to comfort her.
Alleria ignored their interaction, her brows furrowed as she thought about the Horde's marching route.
"I have a feeling... the Horde won't pin all their hopes on capturing the Thandol Span. Perhaps they have other plans."
Celeste's expression shifted. "Such as?"
"For example, going by sea directly to the Hillsbrad Foothills, taking Dunhollow Keep to rescue Zuljin, and using that to unite the various Forest Troll Clans?"
...Due to the Kingdom of Lordaeron's exclusion of the Night Elf Republic, there was significant disagreement within the Alliance over whether to accept reinforcements from the Night Elves.
The Kingdom of Stormwind, Gilneas, Kul Tiras, and Stromgarde, which was closest to the front lines, all believed the Night Elves should be allowed to join the war to reduce their own nations' losses. Dalaran remained neutral for the time being.
However, the other three nations, led by Lordaeron, opposed this. They believed it was an internal struggle within the Eastern Kingdoms, and involving the Night Elves would lead to complications when distributing the spoils of war.
King Llane was amused to the point of laughter by the mysterious confidence of these three; the war hadn't even officially started, and they were already thinking about dividing the spoils.
Lothar pressed down on Llane's shoulder and shook his head, finally managing to help the fuming Llane suppress his anger.
*Bang!*
Back at the Kingdom of Stormwind's embassy in Lordaeron, Llane slammed his fist onto the table in anger.
"Aren't the reports from Thoras and the observers clear enough? Can't they see the threat of the orcs? What on earth are Terenas and Genn thinking!"
Lothar said calmly, "Perhaps it's not that they aren't clear, but that they are too clear."
Llane was taken aback. "What do you mean?"
Lothar sighed. "The individual combat strength of an orc is very high, and their threat when attacking in groups is even greater. So... what about the Night Elves?"
"As the strongest nation on Azeroth that has existed since ancient times, their active intervention in the affairs of the Eastern Kingdoms will inevitably cause those with other hidden agendas to overthink. They are likely worried that it's easier to invite a god in than to see him out."
Lothar's clear-headed reminder was like a revelation to Llane, who immediately understood the three kings' considerations.
Such situations were not uncommon; a small, unfortunate country before Andreas' transmigration, currently being extorted for exorbitant protection fees by its overlord, was a prime example.
During wartime, some small nations indeed needed the protection of a powerful 'big brother,' but it wasn't so easy to send that 'big brother' away once the war ended.
The 'big brother' would find all sorts of ways to extort and demand, even establishing military bases within your country and wantonly enjoying the celebrities the small nation's people called goddesses.
Ahem~ I've strayed a bit.
When Andreas returned to Hildegard and learned of the Alliance's decision from Niana, he indeed had this very suspicion.
And this suspicion left Andreas somewhat speechless.
He had never actually considered using this opportunity to establish bases in the Eastern Kingdoms; if the Night Republic truly had such intentions, they would have already claimed territory long before the rise of humanity, so why wait until today?
The only powerful nations in civilized history that could rival the night elves were probably the pandaren of Pandaria and the Zandalari trolls.
Since the hosts were unwelcoming, Andreas didn't press the issue for now; one day, Terenas, having tasted bitterness, would rush to him for help.
Moreover, although Andreas hadn't directly confronted the orcs, his covert arrangements had, to some extent, already reduced the difficulty for the Alliance in fighting the Horde.
Without the support of the red dragons, it was almost impossible for the orcs to break through Kul Tiras' defenses by sea.
After the Alliance was formed, King Daelin of Kul Tiras proactively requested the position of Grand Admiral, taking overall command of all Alliance naval battles.
The naval veteran Daelin, who had dominated the seas for half his life, had no reason not to see the same strategic opportunities that Alleria could.
At this time, the Kul Tiran fleet was patrolling the waters near Hillsbrad and Arathi Highlands, constantly guarding against any chieftain attempting to cross from the Wetlands.
The Night Republic's Third Fleet, on the other hand, had rounded the Cape of Stranglethorn and arrived on the other side of the Eastern Kingdoms, using hippogryph scouts carried by the fleet to investigate the situation near the Dark Portal, and also retrieving scouts like Prisim who had ventured deep behind enemy lines.
Perhaps because there was no way by sea, Orgrim ordered a frontal assault on Thandol Span, but his greatest fear finally came to pass.
Seeing the defense becoming increasingly difficult, the soldiers of Stromgarde, under Thoradin's command, blew up Thandol Span, completely severing the land route from the Wetlands to the Arathi Highlands.
With the northern route blocked, the Horde could only stare blankly at the broken bridge, and for half a month, the Horde made no moves.
The kings of the Alliance thought the orcs had been deterred and were discussing how to reclaim the southern territories of the Eastern Kingdoms under naval cover.
But at this very moment, the night elf fleet, which had traveled north from the Black Morass, unexpectedly discovered an orc shipyard on the eastern coast of the Wetlands.
To be precise, it was a goblin shipyard.
The orcs had given the gold plundered from the Kingdom of Stormwind to the goblins, and these green-skinned dwarves, who would abandon their own mothers for money, were building a fleet for them.
Due to the collapse of Thandol Span, the Thandol Span Strait, which connected east and west, was blocked by a large amount of bridge debris, preventing Daelin's navy from scouting the situation on the other side of the Wetlands, which gave the orcs an opportunity to deceive them.
Although the Night Republic's fleet immediately destroyed the goblin shipyard with long-range bombardment, the orc fleet had already bypassed the Arathi Highlands, which had no accessible coastline, and arrived further north in the Hinterlands.
Through the connivance of the Revantusk and Firetree trolls, the Drakkari trolls living near the Eastern Plaguelands agreed to join the Horde after receiving Orgrim's promise to rescue Zul'jin.
The main Horde forces, led by local Drakkari guides, traversed the Hinterlands, repelling the unprepared Wildhammer dwarves and Evilbranch trolls along the way, and emerged from behind the heavily fortified Alliance lines.
The mighty Thoradin's Wall had no effect whatsoever; instead, it was occupied by the orcs and used to block reinforcements from Stromgarde.
At the same time, Celeste and the Windrunner sisters in the Arathi Highlands also noticed something amiss.
The previously seemingly indifferent Amani trolls suddenly became active; they launched sudden attacks on human strongholds throughout the Arathi Highlands while Stromgarde was caught off guard and still adjusting its defensive Center of gravity.
At the same time, the Wildhammer dwarves and Evilbranch trolls, whose defenses had been breached, took different actions.
The Wildhammer dwarves dispatched their gryphon riders to travel day and night, delivering news of the Horde's breakthrough in the Hinterlands to Durnholde Keep.
As for the Evilbranch trolls, after witnessing the powerful military strength of the orcs, they seemed to have changed their minds, and were secretly communicating with the troops Orgrim had left behind in the Hinterlands to cover the retreat.
Although the Wildhammer dwarves dispatched their gryphon riders as quickly as possible, by the time they reached Durnholde Keep, it was already too late; the lightning-fast orcs had already captured this fortress castle used as a prison.
Orgrim smashed the head of the local lord, Blackmoore, with a single hammer blow, and while searching the castle, he unexpectedly discovered a young orc being cared for by a human girl; he was a gladiator-in-training in the castle.
This gladiator-in-training, not yet five years old, called himself Thrall, a name given to him by Blackmoore.
Thrall, who had been raised by humans since childhood, saw his own people for the first time, and while excited, he also appeared somewhat bewildered; under Orgrim's breathless questioning, the young Thrall quickly told him his entire origin.
"Indeed... indeed!"
Orgrim's steady hands trembled for a rare moment; he held the animal skin inscribed with the Frostwolf clan's emblem, looking excitedly at the bewildered Thrall.
"Child!"
Orgrim's eyes were red, and he suppressed his tears as he picked up Thrall, who barely reached his waist, and hugged him.
"Ancestors be praised, I never thought you would be lucky enough to survive that assassination; I thought you were long gone..."
The animal skin that wrapped Thrall was something Blackmoore had found with him when he picked him up as a child, and it was the only important token that could prove Thrall's identity.
Blackmoore couldn't understand the orc markings, but Orgrim, whose heart was filled with immense guilt towards his friend, would never forget the Frostwolf mark, even though they had all moved north to live in seclusion because they disapproved of the warlocks' actions that disrupted the balance of nature.
"Child, your name is not Thrall; in human language, that means slave, it is a name of shame!"
Orgrim suppressed the excitement in his heart and said seriously to the bewildered Thrall, "Your parents told me your name; remember, you are Go'el, son of Durotan and Draka, chieftain of the Frostwolf clan, destined to become the new chieftain of the Frostwolf clan!"
Andreas, still in Hildegard, did not yet know that a major change had occurred in Thrall's history; news of the orcs landing in the Hinterlands had just reached his ears through an urgent report from the Third Fleet.
"The Hinterlands?"
Andreas stroked his chin and gestured on the map, his brow gradually furrowing.
"This is bad, the situation in Hillsbrad is going to be troublesome."
"And considering the subtle shift in the Evilbranch trolls' attitude, once Zul'jin, who is imprisoned in Durnholde, is rescued... Eastweald and Quel'Thalas might also be in danger."
Andreas had long guessed Orgrim would not sit idle just because he lacked air cover.
The Third Fleet's detour around the Stranglethorn Vale cape to the east coast was meant to keep the orcs from marching north along The Wetlands' eastern shore, yet even Andreas hadn't expected the Horde to move so fast.
The port where goblins built ships for the Horde sat at the tip of a long peninsula on The Wetlands' eastern side; Orgrim named it Blackrock Harbor.
Judging by the Horde's marching timetable, Orgrim must have prepared for two contingencies even before the Thandol Span collapsed, constructing ports on both the western and eastern banks of The Wetlands, though with differing emphasis.
When news of the Thandol Span's collapse broke, Orgrim swiftly shifted shipbuilding priority, transferring large numbers of goblins to The Wetlands' eastern shore—later known as the Twilight Highlands.
By the time the Night Elves' naval fleet reached Blackrock Harbor northward, the goblin-built vessels had already ferried the Horde's main force ashore at the village of Hiri'watha on the Hinterlands' eastern coast, where they forged an alliance with the local Forest Trolls.
Had the Third Fleet not arrived in time to sink the Horde's troop transports on the spot, those ships might have carried a secondary force straight north to the Eastern Wilds.
Andreas vaguely recalled a deep-water cove behind Tyr's Hand in the Eastern Wilds that would serve as an excellent harbor; in the original history the Scarlet Crusade had used it to build ships for their northern campaign into Northrend.
Even though large numbers of Horde ships had been destroyed, half of Orgrim's strategic goal had already been achieved.
He had crossed what could be called a natural moat—the Thandol Span—bypassing the defenses of Stromgarde and Thoradin's Wall, broken through the Hinterlands, and now struck into the Hillsbrad Foothills from the opposite direction.
Fortunately, the main Alliance army was currently encamped along the line between Terenas and Southshore.
Though the city-state of Durnholde had fallen to Orgrim in a surprise assault, a Gryphon Rider from the Wildhammer Dwarves managed to reach Terenas just in time to deliver the news to Alliance Supreme Commander Anduin Lothar.
By outflanking the defenses, the Horde not only bottled Stromgarde's reinforcements on the far side of Thoradin's Wall but also gained the strong fortress of Durnholde as a forward base.
Shocked, Lothar dispatched light cavalry scouts to confirm the report; once their word came back, he began mobilizing troops at once, despite supply lines that were still being organized.
Now the two sides have thrown up defensive lines in central Hillsbrad, Alliance and Horde staring at each other across a narrow brook.
Because of Terenas' exclusion, the Night Elf army could not move freely within the Alliance's core territories, and the Third Fleet, having rounded to the continent's eastern coast, had to halt in the Hinterlands—any farther north would unavoidably intrude into Lordaeron's waters.
On the front line, Lothar regarded the dark masses of Horde troops across the brook with the utmost vigilance; no one in the Alliance understood orcish battle-prowess better than he.
Yet the human monarchs farther to the rear remained comparatively optimistic, convinced that an Alliance mustering the bulk of the eight human kingdoms could surely halt the Horde's advance.
Though Orgrim was overjoyed to meet his best friend's son again, he kept public and private matters separate and did not let Gul'dan delay important business.
Gul'dan was still very young; even by orcish tradition he could receive only the most elementary combat instruction.
Truth be told, Blackmoore had trained him well in this regard: years of gladiatorial drills had given the still-tender Gul'dan a physique far surpassing human children of the same age.
With a great war imminent, Orgrim could not keep Gul'dan at his side.
When Gul'dan was found, a human girl sent by Blackmoore to look after him was with him; after a few questions Orgrim learned her name was Taretha.
Before setting out for the battlefield, Orgrim asked Gul'dan himself and, with the boy's consent, left him again in Taretha's care; at the same time, following information once provided by Durotan, he dispatched riders north into the Alterac Mountains to seek the Frostwolf Clan's hidden refuge.
Orgrim knew the present state of the Horde all too well: these battle-crazed beasts were not what orcs had originally been; letting Gul'dan grow up among them too early would only instill the wrong outlook.
Since the boy could not yet shoulder any real burden, better to send him back to the clan where he truly belonged—the Frostwolf Clan, who still honored the old orcish traditions—rather than let him run with the red-eyed orcs and risk infection by their madness.
On the eve of battle, Gul'dan—pressed and threatened repeatedly by Orgrim—finally produced results under threat of death.
Abandoning Fel Energy, he turned instead to the power of death, raising the corpses of human soldiers to give the Horde an entirely new unit: the Death Knight… Across the brook, soldiers of both armies gripped their weapons. Compared with the Alliance's disciplined silence, sporadic, bloodthirsty war-cries rose now and then from the Horde ranks.
Claaang!
From his central command position Lothar drew the great royal sword at his waist and pointed it forward. "Soldiers of the Alliance! Charge! Crush these savage orcs and reclaim the land that is rightfully ours!"
"Oorah!!"
At the same moment Orgrim roused his warriors in the orcish fashion.
"Lok'tar ogar! Strength and honor!"
Masses of red-eyed, green-skinned orcs, blood afire, roared as they surged from the camp: "Blood and thunder!"
The brook that meandered through Hillsbrad could not keep the two sides apart; fully armored human soldiers crashed into orc vanguards wearing only scraps of metal, water and blood spraying everywhere.
Pressed for time though he was, Lothar had drilled his troops on the basis of his own experience fighting orcs.
The human infantry on the front fought in coordinated groups, creating local situations of many against one, catching the orcs off-guard in the first clash.
When one human soldier raised a stout shield to block the crushing axe-blow of an orc footman, the comrades at either side struck in perfect unison; one of them lopped off the orc's head before he could react.
"Hmm?"
Seeing what befell his vanguard, Orgrim's brows knitted slightly.
He had encountered such tactics before, used in concert by troops under a bald human general from the Kingdom of Stormwind.
He had not expected the human alliance to master the old general's methods so quickly.
Meanwhile, at the sound of bright horns, a body of heavily armored cavalry burst from the Alliance rear.
"The Light protect us—for the Alliance!"
Led by several commanders, the cavalry accelerated across the brook and slammed into the Horde flank.
Orcs who had drunk demon blood might have gained great physical power, yet against these steel-clad knights they could not hold their line, and a huge gap was torn in the flank.
"Tch!"
At that moment Orgrim sorely missed the Warsong Clan's wolf-riders; alas, the Warsong wolves had long since been eaten by their own riders, and the entire Warsong Clan, maddened by demon blood on Draenor, could no longer obey orders.
"Gul'dan! Let your toys plug that hole—those cavalry must not break our formation!"
"As you command, Warchief."
Gul'dan, stooped and gaunt, turned toward the silent "human" knights behind him.
"Teron Gorefiend."
"Heh-heh… leave it to us."
A "human" knight bared a hideous, stiff grin. "Death Knights, time to show our strength—attack!"
These eerie knights, shrouded in the aura of death, silently joined the battlefield, their target the human cavalry units charging through the tribal formations.
The leader of these Death Knights was named Theron Gorefiend, formerly a warlock of the Shadow Council and one of Gul'dan's confidants.
After the Shadow Council was massacred by Orgrim, Gul'dan secretly preserved their souls. After ensuring he could demonstrate his value to Orgrim, Gul'dan pondered for a long time before thinking of using necromancy.
He infused the souls of Theron Gore and other warlocks into the bodies of fallen Stormwind generals, granting these warlocks a second life. Thus, the first generation of Death Knights was born.
Due to the original combat habits of Theron Gore and the other warlocks, the primitive Death Knights created by Gul'dan were not as versatile as future mature versions, which skillfully employed both physical and magical attacks.
The Death Knight leader, renamed Theron Gorefiend, still relied more on spellcasting, simply replacing the fel energy they originally used with necromantic spells.
Human soldiers who had fallen on the battlefield swayed and rose again under the shroud of death mist spread by the Death Knights, turning their weapons on their unsuspecting comrades.
"What?!"
"The bodies, the bodies are moving!"
"Light protect me... Ah!"
Under the cover of the Kirin Tor mages, the Alliance had initially gained a certain advantage, but the sudden reanimation of corpses caused widespread chaos in the Alliance formations.
Under the effect of the Death Grip spell, many cavalrymen, along with their horses, were forcibly dragged before the Death Knights and were struck by the Death Knights' runeblades, which had attached spell effects, before they could even understand what was happening.
Lothar, stationed at the Alliance main camp, twitched an eyebrow. He noticed the chaotic situation on the front line, and with his keen insight, quickly discovered the source of the reanimated corpses from an observer's perspective.
Calling over a refined man in full battle armor nearby, Lothar solemnly said, "Turalyon, do you see that group of monsters shrouded in the aura of death?"
The young Turalyon nodded heavily. "I see them. They should be the masterminds controlling the corpses from behind the scenes."
Lothar patted Turalyon's shoulder approvingly. "Good, that saves me a lot of explanation. You should know what to do. Go."
"Yes!"
Turalyon was originally one of the most renowned priests in Lordaeron City. He was a disciple of High Priest Alonsus Faol and had received special favor from the Light since childhood.
Even Alonsus' other disciples from earlier years could not compare to the youngest Turalyon in their understanding of the Light.
High Priest Alonsus Faol deeply felt the vulnerability of priests on the battlefield. After secluded contemplation and numerous practical attempts, the new profession of Paladin, possessing both the physique of a warrior and the holy power of a priest, was born.
There were five original Paladins, two of whom were disciples of High Priest Alonsus: Uther and Turalyon.
Among the other three knights, Saidan Dathrohan was the Lordaeron Warlord, Tirion Fordring was a noble lord devoutly believing in the Light, and the last was General Gavinrad the Dire from the Kingdom of Stormwind.
After the five original knights received the baptismal blessing of Alonsus Faol, the Paladin profession officially began to spread among the Alliance nations.
Lothar highly regarded these powerful knights who could wield the Light on the battlefield. He requested Turalyon and Uther from High Priest Faol to serve as his adjutants.
But even Lothar hadn't expected that he would need to use the Paladins, originally intended as a secret weapon, in their first encounter with the orcs... "Hmph!"
A warhammer, shining with brilliant holy light, smashed into a reanimated undead, and the bursting ripples of holy light affected over a dozen nearby zombies. These undead creatures immediately collapsed again without a word.
The Paladins' attacks had an unexpected effect on the battlefield. The zombies resurrected by the Death Knights felt no pain, and unless their brains were destroyed, minor injuries could not stop their advance.
However, the Holy Light wielded by the Paladins on the battlefield quickly turned the tide. Zombies attacked by Paladins could no longer rise, and even the death mist spread by the Death Knights was dispelled by the shining Holy Light.
"Clang!"
The Death Knight's runeblade clashed with the Paladin's holy warhammer. The Death Knights, who had previously posed a significant threat to the Alliance, finally met their match.
Theron Gorefiend looked gravely at the dignified middle-aged knight opposite him. The Holy Light emanating from the knight caused him, who had long lost the sensation of hot and cold and any living touch, to feel a long-forgotten burning pain.
"Evil undead! I am Uther the Lightbringer!"
Urging his warhorse towards Theron Gore, the righteous Uther raised his warhammer with astonishing momentum and brought it down on the enemy's head.
"This world does not belong to you! Return to the realm of death!"
"Hehe~"
Maneuvering his deathsteed, which was linked to his soul, to dodge, Theron Gorefiend sneered, "Perhaps one day I will return to the realm of the dead as I wish, but... it will certainly not be today."
A ball of greyish-white death energy gathered and was hurled at Uther. The Paladin frowned deeply, and the holy book on his belt glowed golden as Holy Light was infused into it, dispelling all surrounding evil energy.
The stalemated battle on the front line made Orgrim very anxious.
He had already received news from Darkspear Village and Blackrock Harbor that an unknown steel fleet had attacked their supply lines.
Without ships to transport supplies, the Horde's rear was almost completely cut off.
Although they could still temporarily obtain sufficient supplies with the help of the Forest Trolls in the Hinterlands, who knew how far these cunning trolls would help them.
Speed was of the essence. A supply-deprived Horde could not afford to remain in Hillsbrad fighting a war of attrition with the Alliance. They had to quickly take Lordaeron, the leader of the Alliance.
After hesitating for a while and mentally rehearsing the upcoming march routes, Orgrim finally made up his mind.
"Eitrigg, bring that troll who calls himself the Amani Warlord here. Tell him I've agreed to his demands."
"Warchief!" Eitrigg's eyes widened as he pleaded, "Won't you reconsider? These trolls clearly have their own agenda, and what if they betray us after achieving their goals...?"
Orgrim shook his head with a heavy expression. "We have no choice. Time is pressing. Go quickly. I will leave Varok to lead the army in Hillsbrad. Get my direct forces ready; we are to continue north."
Eitrigg opened his mouth, but seeing the resolute expression on Orgrim's face, he ultimately sighed and said, "...As you wish."
A forest troll meditating in a half-crouch suddenly opened his eyes, looking up outside the tent. The heavy footsteps made him instinctively curl his lips into a smile.
'Finally, they've come. The Amani will rise again in my hands!'