A day earlier, Tichondrius had received a message from Detheroc: Naxxramas had fallen, and Balnazzar and Varimathras had both died under the siege of the Undead Scourge.
Suddenly short two teammates, Tichondrius felt his heart grow weary. He didn't know if these guys were there to help him or to cause trouble.
In just one month, three of the five Dreadlords were gone. If that prince continued to rage, he wondered if in another month, he and Detheroc would also have to report back to the Twisting Nether.
But he certainly couldn't be driven back so ignominiously. If the Legion's plan failed because of his death, returning would be worse than death.
Having lost control of the Undead Scourge—the only way to overthrow Dalaran and seize medivh's book—Tichondrius knew that the chance to unleash a tidal wave from the Eastern Kingdoms was gone, and staying there any longer would just be a waste of time.
Human civilization had risen too recently. Besides the Guardian Medivh, who possessed something useful for the Legion's arrival, it was difficult for other things to connect with the Burning Legion.
So Tichondrius could only choose to travel far to the continent of Kalimdor, searching for useful artifacts among the ruins of the ancient elven empire.
However, it seemed luck wasn't always on the side of that human prince. Tichondrius had quite a few gains during the time he infiltrated the orcs' arrival in Kalimdor.
He found a method for constructing a portal in the ancient elven texts. Although it required more stringent conditions than the Dark Portal, with Tichondrius's magical knowledge, he could still construct a temporary portal to allow some demons to descend.
As long as enough spellcasters were gathered, Tichondrius could have them form a ritual to summon Archimonde.
"Damn humans, once Lord Archimonde arrives and destroys the Elves and their ridiculous civilization, it will be your turn."
Tichondrius utterly loathed Arthas for repeatedly disrupting his plans, but at the same time, he was extremely surprised that every one of Arthas's actions seemed to know what he would do, making him dare not act rashly.
Fortunately, it seemed none of this mattered now. Those foolish orcs had indeed gotten into disputes with the Elves, and these lower beings had learned their lesson.
Night Elves were not a weak, nascent race like humans; their ability to repel the Burning Legion's first invasion ten thousand years ago already spoke volumes.
Facing an insurmountable enemy, the orcs' traditions and customs would not allow them to retreat. They would surely find a way to defeat the enemy.
The method was old, but it was quite effective when used on hot-headed orcs.
As Tichondrius pondered, the deep, dark-green portal beside him slowly opened, revealing a desolate landscape on the other side, and a pungent sulfurous smell surged out.
A thick leg stepped out of the portal. Around its foot, the surrounding plants and shrubs instantly withered and became parched, as if scorched by intense flames.
Under the Pit Lord's trampling, the once vibrant green land instantly transformed into the scene on the other side of the portal.
The towering Pit Lord Mannoroth emerged from the portal. His enormous body was like a mountain, exuding a heavy sense of oppression. He brazenly stretched his body, and fel energy, like molten lava, completely contaminated the surrounding land.
"It's been ten thousand years, and I'm finally back," he took a deep breath, a terrifying smile appearing on his ugly face. "Well done, Tichondrius."
"Contain your aura a bit. Our main force hasn't arrived yet. If you attract those forest-guarding Elves, everything will be ruined!" Tichondrius said with a stern face. He didn't want to confront those Elves right now.
"Oh ho ho, your nerves are too tense. It seems you've been bullied quite badly by the creatures here," Mannoroth plunged his two-headed great axe into the ground. "I won't hide like you."
"Suit yourself. If the summoning ritual is interrupted midway, I won't be the one punished."
Tichondrius already knew Mannoroth wouldn't listen to him, so he simply waved his hand and stopped caring what Mannoroth did.
Upon hearing the word "punished," Mannoroth reluctantly reined in his aura, a fierce look appearing in his eyes. "What does the great Mannoroth need to do?"
"Blood. I need your blood to make those orcs fall into a frenzied state again, just like on Draenor."
Tichondrius took out an Orc skull. The owner of this skull had died long ago, but within his skull, fel flames, seemingly never to be extinguished, still burned.
Mixed within these flames were deep-seated hatred and anger, indicating that the skull's owner must have suffered some injustice or betrayal before his death.
Mannoroth recognized the familiar aura on the skull, "Is this... Gul'dan's head?"
"Precisely."
Tichondrius toyed with the skull in his hand. This Orc warlock had died in the "Gods'" tomb, his body torn apart, but most of his demonic knowledge and chaotic energy were preserved within his skull.
Gul'dan sought greater power; he was no longer satisfied with what the Burning Legion had given him, so he led his clan and betrayed the Horde at the most crucial moment of the Orcish Wars.
Without spellcasters, the orcs were defeated by the Alliance's offensive. Ogrim's hatred for Gul'dan stemmed not only from Gul'dan sending assassins to kill his friend and destroying Draenor but also from Gul'dan's betrayal leading to the Horde's complete defeat.
But now, this Orc warlock's skull was in Tichondrius's hands!
"When the orcs crossed the sea, I detected a familiar energy fluctuation, so I went to check it out. I didn't expect such an unexpected gain."
"Hmph, but he's just an Orc. What do you plan to do with this thing?"
Tichondrius's smile turned sinister, "The Elves have abandoned the traditions of magic and instead practice the path of the Druid, seeking balance in nature. The forest is their backing, but what if the forest betrays them?"
Mannoroth, understanding Tichondrius's intention, lost interest in it. Compared to using underhanded tactics to sow discord among the Legion's enemies, Mannoroth preferred the feeling of destroying everything with violence.
"You go do what you want. I will guard this place until the great army arrives."
Tichondrius bowed very politely, "Don't forget about those orcs."
The Pit Lord impatiently waved his hand, "I know, can't I even handle a bunch of orcs? I told you, you go do your thing, the Legion's arrival here is my responsibility!"
Seeing Mannoroth's behavior, Tichondrius showed no outward emotion, but inwardly, he was utterly contemptuous of this stupid large lizard. If Lord Archimonde hadn't appointed this fellow as his subordinate, why would he endure this frustration?
But arguing with an Pit Lord was pointless. Once Azeroth was destroyed and all tasks were completed, he wouldn't mind giving this "large lizard" a good lesson in the Twisting Nether.