Although thanks to Alaric's efforts, Lothar did not meet the fate he originally would have, dying at the hands of Orgrim, he was still severely wounded in the earlier battle.
His ability to command during the final phase of combat had only been possible thanks to Alaric's healing magic and the holy light of the paladin, barely holding him together.
It had been necessary to keep up the Alliance's morale, to prevent a collapse due to the disappearance of their commander, after all, the fallout from Orgrim's death had already proven what losing a leader could mean.
Now that Lothar was temporarily recovering, the command naturally passed to Alaric.
Having personally slain the Horde's Warchief, Alaric's prestige within the Alliance now stood on equal footing with Lothar's.
After the fierce battle, the Burning Steppes gradually quieted down. Occasionally, groans from wounded humans and the angry roars of prisoners could be heard.
Their current mission was to pursue the remaining orcs.
Before long, someone came to report on the enemy's movements, it was Kurdran Wildhammer.
"A group of them, around four hundred strong, fled southward across Redridge Mountains."
"Good." Alaric nodded at the dwarf, then summoned Alleria and Sylvanas.
The Windrunner sisters swiftly arrived at his side. Their eyes were practically glowing as they looked at Alaric, as if they wanted to devour him whole.
To the high elven mages, the feat of slaying Orgrim Doomhammer was merely something brutes would boast about, perhaps worthy of a bit of praise, nothing more.
But to rangers like the Windrunner sisters, immense strength was worthy of admiration, and such a battlefield feat, slaying the enemy chieftain and saving the world, was nothing short of awe-inspiring.
And when the one who accomplished it was none other than Alaric, the man they saw as both a younger brother and a lover, their feelings were, without question...
Wet.
Yes, at this moment, they were already impatient to express their inner worship and excitement to Alaric.
Only because they were still on the battlefield did they restrain the stirrings of their hearts.
Yet in their moist, glistening eyes, Alaric detected a trace of unspoken desire.
'Maybe tonight... we can try all three together?' A bold idea surfaced in Alaric's mind, though he kept a serious expression as he issued orders.
"Allie, Sylvanas, take your rangers and pursue them, but don't move too quickly. Tell your subordinates, we're not trying to capture them."
"Not capture them?" the two asked, puzzled.
Seeing the confusion on their faces, Alaric asked in return, "Do you know where the Dark Portal, the one that leads to the orc world, is located?"
Both of them shook their heads.
"We're not entirely sure," said Sylvanas.
"You were part of the battle for Stormwind, you should know better than we do," she added.
"That's true. But even I only have a general idea," Alaric admitted. "Somewhere in the Swamp of Sorrows."
He paused, then continued asking the two:
"Now that the orcs have suffered an undeniable defeat, where do you think the survivors will run to?"
Alleria and Sylvanas both broke into knowing smiles.
"Home."
"Exactly," Alaric gestured. "We'll follow them, to the gate."
He brought his hand down with force.
"And then settle this once and for all."
The Windrunner sisters accepted the command and began gathering their rangers.
Under Alaric's orders, the Alliance's main forces began a slow march, clearing out scattered Horde remnants along the way, while he personally led the rangers in pursuit of the orcs fleeing toward the Dark Portal.
Of course, part of his decision had to do with wanting to spend more time with the Windrunner sisters.
That night, Alaric got what he wished for.
Whether it was a moment of impulse or a reward for his achievements, he did in fact experience the allure of the Windrunner sisters.
Their long, firm legs left him utterly enchanted.
However, by the next morning, the sisters acted as if nothing had happened, pretending the encounter never occurred, leaving Alaric somewhat disappointed.
Even so, he firmly believed, once there's a first time, there will surely be a second. He was nothing if not patient.
...
It took them roughly a week to follow the orcs into the Swamp of Sorrows, the very place where the orcs had first appeared.
They could have moved faster, but Turalyon had warned his soldiers that it wasn't yet time to confront the orcs directly.
First, they needed to locate the portal. Only then could they launch their attack.
Crossing the swamp was difficult and unpleasant, but with the war nearing its end, not a single ranger complained.
Their sentries stayed at a distance, tracking the orcs and reporting back regularly.
This allowed the slower-moving Alliance forces behind them to keep pace without fear of losing the target.
The remnants of the Horde fled in chaos. Though all the orcs were heading in the same direction, they didn't regroup, instead, each moved at their own pace.
Alleria and Sylvanas hoped this situation would continue.
They suspected Doomhammer had left behind some troops and a lieutenant to guard the Dark Portal.
If that commander was strong enough, he might be able to rally these scattered remnants into a united force.
Combined with the warriors who had stayed behind, they could still pose a serious threat.
Alaric himself wasn't too concerned about this, after all, compared to the original timeline, he was well aware of just how weakened the Horde had become.
Still, out of caution, he warned all his subordinates to stay alert.
Underestimating the next battle could cost them all their lives.
Another week passed in the swamp, and they arrived at the heart of the Swamp of Sorrows, a place known as the Black Morass.
Even with his knowledge of the original story, Alaric was stunned by what he saw before him.
"This twisted terrain must be caused by magic," said a mage, crouching to study the ground.
"This should be a swamp! It should look like the places we passed through before, wet, filthy, and reeking."
He lightly tapped a piece of red stone in front of him and frowned. The red-stone terrain stretched as far as the eye could see.
"Terrifying magic indeed."
"This place looks like it was burned by fire."
Brann Bronzebeard, standing beside him, spoke up.
The dwarves from Ironforge were all experts in stone and gems, so the fact that Brann couldn't identify the nature of the ground made some of the others uneasy.
"But I don't know what kind of fire could do this," he added, scraping the surface with his fingernail.
"There's no way any fire could burn such a wide area. I've never seen anything like it."
"Actually, I know what this is," Alaric said, rising to his feet again.
"This kind of terrain doesn't belong to our world, this is exactly the kind of landscape found in the orcs' world."
He didn't explain how he knew all of this, but everyone believed him.
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