"Has the message been sent?"
In the camp at the border of Barrens and Ashenvale, the war room tent was lit all night. Varian lifted the curtain and walked in.
Arthas pulled his attention away from the map and looked up at Varian, "Lordaeron and Kul Tiras are already on war footing. The Silver Hand and the First Legion, along with Kul Tiras's navy, will arrive in Kalimdor in the shortest possible time."
"Stormwind's expeditionary force is also on standby at Stormwind Harbor," Varian said, looking at the map almost completely marked by Arthas, and couldn't help but ask, "It seems the opponent we face is unprecedentedly terrifying."
Arthas stopped his writing and drawing, "That might be the most terrifying enemy in the entire history of Azeroth."
"I know, I know, otherwise you wouldn't be so on guard," Varian pulled out a chair and sat down, "I never saw you this serious back when you were ordered to conquer the orcs."
"The orcs destroyed more than half of human civilization, almost pushing the human race to the brink of extinction. If it weren't for Sir Lothar and those brave expeditionary heroes who stepped forward, you and I wouldn't be sitting here today."
Arthas placed his quill on the desk, looking at the map he had covered with drawings, and sighed, "But the enemy we are about to face has destroyed countless civilizations. They are the enemies of all life in the endless void outside Azeroth."
Yes, for humans, the orcs were formidable foes that could only be barely defeated by the combined strength of the entire race, but they were merely pawns arranged by the Burning Legion in their leisure time.
The Burning Legion, which could destroy planets as easily as drinking water, was not on the same level, or even in the same dimension, as the orcs.
Even Arthas felt that Azeroth's ability to repel the Burning Legion's attacks again and again, while certainly due to countless heroes who sacrificed themselves for their homeland, was mostly because the Burning Legion underestimated them and because of Azeroth's inherent luck.
Therefore, even Arthas dared not claim he had absolute certainty that they could defeat the Burning Legion.
But no matter what, this battle was inevitable. Since Tichondrius could summon Mannoroth, then they could also summon Archimonde, and many other demons.
While notifying the Alliance members to prepare for this unprecedented war, Arthas also sent letters to Thrall.
…
Thrall held the crumpled letter and fell into deep thought.
Grommash, sitting beside him, saw Thrall's solemn expression and asked, "What did that human prince say?"
"He said Mannoroth is hiding in the southern valley…"
When Grommash heard that name, an uncontrollable rage surged up. The Warsong Chief clenched his fists, temporarily suppressing his anger. He had already made a mistake because of anger once; if he still couldn't control his rage, he would sooner or later cause even greater trouble.
Thrall looked at the elder and friend beside him with a mix of satisfaction and helplessness, sighing, "You can finally control that endless rage, Grommash… But, before we deal with the Pit Lord, there's an even more troublesome matter waiting for us.
The elves will not forget the blood they shed in Ashenvale. Their army is heading our way. If we can't temporarily appease their emotions first, we might face a devastating blow."
The nascent Horde was still very fragile and could not withstand an attack from a behemoth like the elves. Thrall understood that if they wanted to gain a foothold in Kalimdor, they had to be extremely cautious, looking before and after.
The other orcs were not chaotic individuals who had drunk demon blood; they did not have the ability to fight the elves to the death. Moreover, Thrall, with all his might, could not allow the orcs and elves to wage war again.
This was the situation the demons most wanted to see: the beings of Azeroth slaughtering each other, falling into chaos and bloodshed, oblivious to the arrival of the Burning Legion.
By the time everyone came to their senses, it would already be too late.
Thinking of this, Thrall gave an order in an undeniable tone—this was the first time he had spoken to Grommash in such a tone.
"Take our people and withdraw from Ashenvale first. I'll take a small squad and personally go negotiate with the elves!"
Grommash's eyes widened, and he slammed a fist on the wooden table, "Are you crazy, Thrall? In their eyes, we are just savages; they won't negotiate with us!"
The Warsong Clan and himself were driven to desperation by the elves' unprovoked attack. Now Thrall said he was going to negotiate with the elves, which, in Grommash's eyes, was undoubtedly seeking death.
But Thrall gave a bitter smile, "Is there any other way?"
This left Grommash speechless for a moment. His mind raced, and he finally suggested, "Then let me go. You must live to lead the Horde!"
"Don't be silly, Grommash. If I go, there's still a chance to talk to the elves. If you go, they'll probably act immediately—they don't know the difference between a mad Hellscream and a sane Hellscream."
Grommash anxiously ran his hand through his hair, "I can't just watch you fall into danger! This is my responsibility. Even if those elves kill me, I'll accept it."
"There's nothing to discuss about this. Only I can go, and it must be me. And… things might not be as absolute as you imagine." Thrall seemed confident. He patted Grommash's shoulder, "Go take the soldiers and withdraw from the forest, or just stay at the forest's edge."
With that, the Warchief picked up Doomhammer, walked out of the tent, and did not give Grommash more time to persuade him.
Thrall, leading the troops to prepare for contact with the elves, was also filled with apprehension. His connection with the elements allowed him to clearly feel an ancient, vicissitudes of life aura coming from the north of the Ashenvale forest; it seemed the entire forest was being awakened by something.
It seemed the elves were truly enraged—the blood they had shed over thousands of years was not as much as what the demon-blooded orcs had brought them.
"Warchief." A deep voice roused Thrall from his contemplation.
"Ah… Saurfang," Thrall responded, "Is something wrong?"
The old orc named Saurfang paused, seemingly hesitating whether to voice his concerns.
Thrall also noticed Saurfang's hesitation. He chuckled, "It's fine, you can tell me any opinions you have."
"That human prince… I don't think we should trust him too much. I have to admit, that guy might be the most difficult human to deal with, not only because he seems to foresee everything and is always prepared, but also because he makes no secret of his hatred for the orcs."
"I know."
To his surprise, Thrall simply said very calmly, "Of course I know. Arthas has never fully trusted us. In his eyes, orcs are just temporary tools to protect his country and this world.
However, our goals are the same now: we cannot let Azeroth suffer the same fate as Draenor. If we fail to do that, then whether orcs shed blood or not makes no difference.
Moreover, this prince's undisguised attitude, in the current situation, is not a bad thing. At least it makes it clear to us that he has no goodwill towards us, which ironically makes me more at ease in cooperating with him.
Someone who is good at hiding their true thoughts is the most terrifying, while someone who puts their hatred on the surface is not so daunting.
However…"
Thrall didn't finish speaking, seemingly also somewhat hesitant, "Never mind. If it really comes to that, then the choice is also not up to us. For now, we just need to temporarily persuade the elves… temporarily…"