After talking with the old man for a while, Arthas and Jaina temporarily left the monastery. Jaina deeply sympathized with the old man's plight.
"I didn't expect the common people to live such difficult lives. The old man said that those few silver coins were their family's entire savings. If they didn't hunt, they wouldn't be able to sustain themselves."
"The Stormwind Kingdom has only just been rebuilt. Varian has already spent a lot of money and manpower to repair Stormwind and Elwynn Forest. It's normal for the entire country's economy to be sluggish." Arthas could only express regret about this.
It was already a blessing in disguise that the old man met him; otherwise, if his able-bodied son, Makbride, had died under the wolves' claws, their already poor family would have suffered even more.
Jaina also just sighed. Compared to Lordaeron, which only suffered a temporary impact, and Kul Tiras, which was unaffected due to its distance from the continent, the Stormwind Kingdom suffered a much heavier blow in the orcish Wars.
They were the first, and most unprepared, line of defense for human civilization when the orcs poured out of the Dark Portal. Even so, the brave humans temporarily repelled the orcs' offensive in the early stages of the orcish Wars.
After this small interlude, Jaina's view on the orc problem deepened. "My previous ideas were truly too naive—the Eastern Kingdoms no longer have space to accommodate a behemoth like the orcs, unless they are willing to abandon fertile lands and retreat deep into the mountains."
"Of course, that's impossible. Not every orc is a saint. Currently, they are confined in internment camps with basic food and shelter, but once they are released, any intelligent creature will desire better living conditions."
Jaina looked deeply at Arthas, "And that means new conflicts."
"Exactly. They destroyed their own homeland. Are we supposed to let them wantonly harm our homes?" Arthas's tone shifted, "But they are not without hope."
"Are you talking about the continent across the Endless Sea that you often mention?" Jaina was also very curious about Kalimdor, which Arthas spoke of. Kul Tiras's fleet dominated the seas, and its shipbuilding industry was extremely developed, yet very little news of that land reached home.
Many people thought Kalimdor was just a legend.
"Yes, I have already dispatched people to find a suitable foothold. Perhaps in a few more years, we will truly be able to establish an outpost city in Kalimdor."
"But will His Majesty Terenas and my father truly allow you to move the orcs to that land?"
"The internment camps actually bring a huge burden to Lordaeron. Keeping the orcs confined indefinitely is meaningless. My father believes this humanitarian measure is a complete folly."
Jaina was puzzled. She remembered that it was Arthas's father, King Terenas, who spearheaded this initiative in the first place?
Arthas smiled bitterly. His father initially didn't want to agree to this proposal, but under pressure from the other Human Kingdoms, Terenas could only reluctantly agree to build a large number of internment camps to imprison the defeated orcs.
The old King was not a fool. Building costly internment camps on Lordaeron's territory and spending large sums annually to support these orcs, who had no economic output? These weakened orcs had even less labor capacity than ordinary farmers!
This was merely a way for other Human Kingdoms to weaken Lordaeron under the guise of an excuse. For Lordaeron's status and reputation within the Alliance, the old King could only suffer in silence, unable to voice his grievances.
He now desperately wished that Arthas would quickly find a place to drive the orcs away. Terenas had long hated these green-skinned creatures to the core: he couldn't kill them, and he didn't know where to drive them, they just kept sucking his blood in his Kingdom.
The old King had told Arthas a long time ago that as long as Lordaeron's safety was not threatened, Arthas could throw the orcs wherever he pleased.
In fact, the current number of orcs is much smaller than when they first invaded. Firstly, because a large number of defeated orcs retreated back through the Dark Portal before it was closed. Secondly, because the orcs in the internment camps now have poor mental and physical conditions, and often succumb to weakness and illness.
"But how can we make the orcs cross the vast ocean to another continent?"
Jaina thought for a while and felt that no matter what, to completely get rid of the orc problem, Lordaeron would still have to pay a huge cost for the aftermath.
"Do you remember the former Warchief of the Horde, Ogrim Doomhammer, who escaped from the internment camps a few years ago?"
Arthas revealed a mysterious smile, making Jaina even more puzzled. "I remember. Haven't they still not caught that dangerous orc?"
"I deliberately had him released."
"?!"
Not every orc had their will completely eroded by defeat and curses. A portion of them still held the desire to revive their entire race.
Ogrim is an excellent leader. He knows that with the current orcs, they are no match for the Human Kingdoms, so his primary goal must be to find a way to perpetuate his race.
Once given new hope and a goal, would Ogrim choose to fight to the death with the remaining old, weak, and sick, or lead his compatriots across the vast ocean?
At that time, Arthas would only need to play the role of a herder, opening a path for Ogrim, and he would lead the orcs out of the Eastern Kingdoms himself. Only the orcs would have to exert effort; Arthas wouldn't even need to worry about how they would build ships to Kalimdor!
...
Far away in the snow-capped Alterac Mountains.
"Ogrim, this is your share."
The old shaman Drek'Thar lifted the tent flap and walked in, carrying a large wooden platter with a thick roasted deer leg on it.
"Thank you, Drek'Thar," Ogrim grabbed the deer leg and tore off a large piece of meat with his sharp fangs.
Drek'Thar found a place to sit, his voice filled with worry, "Ogrim, our hunters encountered Ogres today while hunting—they were also hunting. We lost two young men."
Ogrim's chewing paused. He quickly swallowed his food and said, "They occupy the ruins of Alterac City. Why would they run up into the snowy mountains to compete with us for prey?"
"The elemental spirits tell me that the number of prey in these mountains has decreased. We need to migrate to a new place." The old shaman touched the black cloth wrapped around his eyes. Both of his eyes were blind, but the spirits of nature allowed him to see more.
Ogrim's rugged brows furrowed. He put down the half-eaten deer leg. "Winter is coming soon, and the weather in the mountains will be even worse. Is it really a good time to migrate?"
The old shaman's voice seemed to be mixed with wind and snow. "I know, but before winter, the Ogres will certainly move out in full force to store food for the winter. Our current home is not safe enough."
"Home—?" Ogrim exhaled roughly, his voice becoming urgent, "This is not our home, Drek'Thar. Our home was destroyed! By that traitor, Gul'dan!"
The old shaman couldn't see Ogrim's expression, but he could feel the rage in his chest. However, Drek'Thar was used to it. "But this is our home now, at least for the Frostwolf Clan—Draenor is gone, Ogrim, and you are no longer the Warchief."
Ogrim's raised voice suddenly stopped. He sat stiffly on the animal skin rug, looking at the half-eaten deer leg. After a long while, he slowly said, "I'm sorry, Horde... I'm sorry, Duratan... I'm sorry to every orc."
"It's not your fault, Ogrim. At least we are still alive and can eat," the old shaman shook his head. He didn't mean to scold Ogrim. "But we do still have a turning point, Ogrim."
Ogrim shook his head. He carried the burden of the Horde's defeat, a heavy load that had suffocated him for years. He even had nightmares every night, dreaming of being grabbed by blood-soaked orcs who demanded, "Is this the victory you promised?!"
He didn't even know how he had managed to muster the spirit and strength to escape from human custody back then.
"Do you still remember Go'el?"
The old shaman's question made Ogrim's expression even sadder: this was the son of his deceased friend, Duratan.
The former chieftain of the Frostwolf Clan, Duratan, had openly opposed the Horde's use of fel magic. Gul'dan, the warlock leader of the Shadow Council, then sent assassins to eliminate this dissenting voice.
After Duratan was assassinated by Gul'dan's Shadow Council, his newborn son also disappeared. More than ten years have passed, and everyone believed that the son of the Frostwolf Clan chieftain had returned to his ancestors with his father and mother.
"I heard the call of the elemental spirits. Go'el is alive, at the foot of the Alterac mountains, and has grown up under the care of a human."
"What?!" Ogrim seized the old shaman's shoulders, and a gleam appeared in his faded eyes. "Do you know what you're saying?! Go'el is alive?!"
"The elements will not deceive me, just as they warned the orcs back on Draenor."
Ogrim sighed. If someone had listened to the warnings of the ancestors and elements back then, the orcs wouldn't have ended up in their current predicament. But those were all in the past. He now had new hope, which was to find his friend's son.
The old shaman remained silent. What he said was true, but he also knew better than anyone that finding Duratan's son would not be a simple matter. However, a new goal could re-energize Ogrim, who had been oscillating between despair and lucidity.
The Frostwolf Clan seemed to have made a home in the Alterac Valley, but Drek'Thar, who currently led the clan, knew very well that Alterac's harsh climate and its close proximity to human territory made the fragile Frostwolf Clan precarious. They had to find a new habitat.
Before leaving, Drek'Thar said to Ogrim again, "Go'el has the blood of the Frostwolves flowing through him. I believe you can find him. He can bring change for us."
This was the first time Ogrim had ever believed a shaman's prophecy so strongly. Because this was not just a prophecy, it was his hope.