"Are we just going to sit here in this lifeless fortress?"
In the central hall of Naxxramas, the three remaining Dreadlords were discussing their next course of action.
Varimathras scoffed contemptuously at Banazar's suggestion, "Not hide? What else do you want to do? Challenge those Paladins with Holy Light in their brains?"
"You are a complete coward, Varimathras," Banazar's face showed a hint of anger. He had already convinced Detheroc to cause some chaos in mortal civilization to facilitate stealing artifacts from Dalaran.
However, Varimathras's ridicule and mockery made Detheroc doubt Banazar's plan and abandon the idea of leaving Naxxramas for Lordaeron.
"I'm a coward? Then what are you, an arrogant fool?" Varimathras immediately retorted, "Think carefully, if you die in a mortal city, you won't see the two of us, but Kil'jaeden."
Hearing Kil'jaeden's name, Banazar uncharacteristically fell silent. As the group of lieutenants Kil'jaeden most frequently used, they naturally knew what that name represented among demons.
But Banazar quickly recovered, retorting, "Then how long do you think the three of us can hide on Azeroth?"
"I don't know, but until Tichondrius finds a way for us to fully manifest in this world, the best option is to wait." Varimathras spread his hands and said, "But if we all get killed, we will bear full responsibility."
As they spoke, the two Dreadlords began to argue again. Detheroc, on the side, was meticulously checking the Naxxanar (Floating City)'s operation until he could no longer stand his brothers' useless bickering.
"Enough! How long do you two plan to argue?!"
Banazar and Varimathras spoke almost simultaneously, pointing at each other and saying, "Until this disgusting guy rolls back to the Twisting Nether!"
"Are you idiots? I'm telling you now, Naxxramas's flight energy is almost depleted! If you're really that idle, I suggest you figure out how to solve this problem!"
Detheroc pointed at the nearly depleted magical energy source, his expression extremely displeased. After the Scourge's betrayal, their manpower had become very scarce, and now these two large bats were still engaging in useless arguments.
"Energy is insufficient? Have all those low-level undead been thrown into the furnace?" Banazar asked.
"It seems my thought was correct, you are a complete idiot. Have you forgotten that we already sacrificed the last batch of usable cannon fodder?" Varimathras seized the opportunity to continue mocking Banazar.
Detheroc also nodded and said, "If we use Naxxramas's own undead reserves again, some of the Naxxanar (Floating City)'s facilities will inevitably cease to function."
As a massive Naxxanar (Floating City), Naxxramas had strict area divisions, and each facility required a certain number of undead to maintain operation.
Because they had lost the Lich King's support, Naxxramas was now almost at the point of energy depletion. Before this low-energy situation arose, they had already sacrificed a batch of undead as an energy supply for Naxxramas.
However, the energy from those low-level cannon fodder could not sustain Naxxramas for very long, and now they faced this problem once again.
"Are we going to throw all the undead and those Necromancers into the furnace?" Banazar said with some uncertainty.
"No, we can't do that, otherwise Naxxramas's barrier will immediately disappear, and the new 'Lich King' will immediately trace our source." Detheroc denied this approach, "Tichondrius told us to keep those Necromancers for this reason before he left."
"I suggest we immediately abandon Naxxramas and find a new place to hide," Varimathras offered his suggestion, "This Naxxanar (Floating City) will eventually run out of energy. Staying here will only lead to us being discovered faster."
"It's best not to do that either," Detheroc's pale face showed a hint of helplessness, "Many of the materials and items we need are still stored on this Naxxanar (Floating City). If we abandon Naxxramas, it will delay our plans."
"This won't work, that won't work, then let's directly search for energy that Naxxramas can utilize!" Banazar seized control of the Naxxanar (Floating City)'s flight, "If it really falls into the ocean, those materials will be even harder to preserve."
"Let's stop Naxxramas in the mountains southwest of that High Elf kingdom. Outside that cursed barrier, they aren't so perceptive."
"There's no other way for now, but we can't just rely on Tichondrius…"
The three Dreadlords finally reached a temporary consensus, preparing to first wrest Naxxramas from the Lich King's hands. If that new Lich King were to seize more power to strengthen himself, their mission would likely truly fail.
Moreover, their failure would only delay the Burning Legion's arrival. Kil'jaeden could not entirely rely on just a few of them.
But if they didn't want to fall into a fate worse than death, it was best to complete the mission, rather than return ignominiously to the Twisting Nether to await Kil'jaeden's personal intervention.
Just as the Dreadlords were discussing how to avoid Arthas's attention and hide Naxxramas, Kel'Thuzad, who had received Arthas's command and was preparing to regain control of Naxxramas to restore his status, also left his fortress in Icecrown Glacier.
Arthas had given Kel'Thuzad a ship laden with soul crystals and magic crystals. The Archlich intended to use these to lure the Dreadlords into a trap.
Of course, just a pile of stacked crystals certainly couldn't deceive the Dreadlords, but Arthas told him that extraordinary things were buried in the mountains west of Tirisfal Glades. He could use the mysterious influence of that place to attract the Dreadlords.
… … … …
A few days later, Grommash, covered in blood, burst out of the dense forest with his remaining troops. In the forest, they had encountered terrifying opponents, causing Grommash heavy losses.
"What exactly are those creatures with pointed ears like High Elf?" Grommash was furious. The encounters of the past two days reminded him of his days being chased by the Lordaeron First Legion in Silverpine Forest and Tirisfal Glades.
Those races he had never seen before had attacked Grommash and his troops in the forest. At first, Grommash was excited to have found enemies, but gradually, this excitement turned into unease.
They had suffered a "baptism" of arrows from all directions in the dense forest, and there were even hidden beasts in the darkness that ambushed isolated soldiers.
After a few days, not only had they not resolved the trouble, but they had also lost many elite Horde warriors.
In the forest, the orcs were no match for those Elves. Moreover, Grommash had a misconception that the entire forest was helping the Elves attack the orcs.
Despite his reluctance to retreat, to prevent the orcs from sacrificing themselves in vain, Grommash still led the charge out of the Elves' encirclement.
What frustrated this furious and powerful warrior was that the Elves kept hiding in the shadows, attacking with bows and arrows, giving him no chance for a direct confrontation. He had immense strength but couldn't use it, and instead was struck by several Elven arrows.
Fortunately, most of the Elven arrows were parried or dodged by Grommash, only causing him some minor injuries.
But this defeat made Grommash realize that the orcs were no longer the red tide that swept through the Eastern Kingdoms. Although they had gained reason and freedom after losing the demon blood, their eroded bodies were no longer as strong as they once were.
Not to mention, it had been more than a decade since the Second War ended. Grommash was also older, and although he was still one of the strongest warriors in the Horde, he could still feel his condition declining day by day.
Even the strongest warrior is powerless against the erosion of time.
If he could, Grommash wished to die on the battlefield, like Ogrim—but the responsibility of a chieftain and the hope of revitalizing the Horde made him not want to be buried so soon.
Leading a group of disheveled Orc soldiers, Grommash's expression was grim. He knew what this defeat meant.
The orcs would lose control of the Lumber Camp. They would be forced back to the barren lands under the Elves' relentless pressure, worrying about the timber needed for construction.
Countless thoughts flashed through Grommash's mind: Thrall had entrusted him with this task out of trust, but now he had to return ignominiously and admit before the entire Horde that he had failed even such a small matter?
Impossible!
Grommash's face was flushed with anger. He could not endure such humiliation. Rather than return like this, he would rather die in battle against the Elves!
This desperate, crazy thought stirred up the corrupted thoughts that Grommash had suppressed. A certain mad, bloodthirsty, and utterly dark influence began to erode Grommash's consciousness.
—"Go… go find power, power enough to solve all problems!"
Grommash's body, sitting on his wolf, suddenly tensed. He felt another voice whispering to him from the bottom of his heart, an indescribable yet bone-deep itching and pain spreading throughout his body.
Under this torment, Grommash's eyes were bloodshot, but he endured, showing no physical reaction, so as not to further depress the already low morale of the orcs.
"Hoo… hoo…"
The low growl from his throat made the hearts of the surrounding orcs tremble. They thought their chieftain was angry at their incompetence, so they dared not make a sound during their march.
Therefore, Grommash's abnormality was not discovered by the orcs. He persisted until he returned to the Lumber Camp, to his tent, and only then did he lean against the tent pole, gasping for breath.
This strong Orc was drenched in sweat, as if he had just been pulled from a river. The blood vessels all over his body pulsed like wriggling worms, constantly contracting and expanding.
The painful after-effects lasted for an unknown amount of time before Grommash gradually felt the sting of sweat entering his wounds. He licked his chapped lips and tremblingly sat on the animal hide rug.
His usual trusty Bloodhowl was difficultly placed aside by Grommash. The Orc picked up a bowl of water and gulped it down, trying to alleviate the thirst.
Grommash casually tossed the empty wooden bowl aside, wiped his mouth, his expression and body utterly exhausted: just as Thrall had thought, the demonic blood erosion within Grommash was irreversible.
For this reason, Grommash wanted to do more for the Horde before he was completely crippled by the demonic blood's torment.
He fought and killed enemies desperately, not because he particularly enjoyed the feeling of being covered in blood, but because he feared that everything he had done was not enough to atone for his past mistakes.
"Not much time left… How can I solve these troublesome opponents?" Grommash sat dejectedly in his seat; his usual sharpness was no longer visible on his face.
The orcs needed a stable home to recuperate. Provoking difficult opponents at this time was definitely not a good idea, especially this time. Grommash's intuition told him that those Elves might be the most dangerous enemies he had ever encountered.
"I can't bring this trouble to Thrall…"
Grommash struggled to his feet. He staggered to the wall with the map, extending a rough finger to point at the map supported by leather.
The orcs had not explored the entire Ashenvale. The furthest Orc scout had only managed to reach the forest not far from Warsong Lumber Camp. Beyond that, no scout had ever returned.
Initially, Grommash thought there were fierce beasts and other powerful creatures in the forest, but now he realized that the entire forest was actually under the rule of a powerful race.
And the orcs' act of felling trees had incurred the displeasure of these fellows.
What Grommash didn't quite understand was that the orcs' logging location was at the edge of this forest. Across the river, they could see the mountain canyon where the orcs' main city was located.
And the place where the orcs chose to settle, they had already investigated it, was just a wild land with no intelligent life. To fell trees on the border of two such areas, they were still attacked.
Grommash felt an inexplicable humiliation. The orcs had finally found a new home where they could settle down, yet they were to be driven away and treated unfairly again?
One must know, this time the orcs were not the ones who started the conflict; they only cut some wood!