It would be a lie to say that Thrall wasn't nervous facing the entire Night Elves alone; in fact, due to the responsibility on his shoulders, he was even more nervous than any ordinary Orc.
Not long after Thrall and his subordinates set up camp at the entrance to the deeper parts of Ashenvale, his scouts sent him a message.
"Warchief, the Night Elves... they've arrived."
Thrall took a deep breath, his fingers tightening unconsciously around the grip of Doomhammer, knuckles turning white, an invisible pressure settling on his shoulders at that moment.
Lifting Doomhammer and resting it on his Black Iron shoulder plate, Thrall led a few elite Orc soldiers to the road to await the Night Elves' arrival.
He could already feel the approaching sense of oppression.
The Night Elves' mounts are typically giant Night Sabers, blessed beasts that are not only more agile and robust than any other predator in the forest but also possess intelligence comparable to that of an ordinary person.
They obey their masters' commands meticulously, relying on their strong bodies to swiftly carry the Night Elves through the forest.
Moreover, even without carrying Night Elves or their sharp Moon Glaives and swift arrows, their own fangs and claws are extremely deadly weapons.
Even an Orc warrior wouldn't dare claim to single-handedly fight a Night Saber in the forest.
The Night Elves abandoned the common path of Arcane and magic, turning instead to the embrace of the forest; tens of thousands of years of tradition have made them protectors of the forest, and in turn, the forest has done its utmost to protect the Night Elves.
The orcs felling trees was tantamount to destroying the foundation of the Night Elves' race, which is why it provoked such a fierce reaction from the Ashenvale sentinels.
However, the orcs didn't know this at first; they were merely following tradition and habit, felling trees in densely forested areas—so, this was not just about revenge and war, but also a clash of ideologies and cultures.
However, from the moment the orcs drank the demon blood, they were the party in the wrong; otherwise, Thrall would not have personally come to seek peace with the Night Elves.
Even when stepping on fallen leaves in the dense forest, the Night Sabers' footsteps made no sound; by the time Thrall and his subordinates noticed the Night Elves, they were already targeted by countless sharp arrows, Moon Glaives, and spells.
Thrall's skin broke out in goosebumps; years of gladiatorial life taught him that he was in an extremely dangerous situation, where any movement could lead to him being shot like a porcupine.
Thrall enveloped his voice with elemental power, ensuring that even those who didn't understand Orcish or the Common Tongue could clearly understand what he was saying.
"Please wait! We mean no harm! We are here to negotiate!"
The Night Elves' sentinels parted, and a female Night Elf riding a giant white Night Saber emerged from the ranks; she was dressed in a pure Priestess's robe, predominantly white, its smooth surface seemingly reflecting peaceful moonlight.
"You invaded our territory, felled these ancient and precious trees, and slaughtered our sentinels and people. What more is there to discuss?"
The Priestess's voice was cold and ethereal, as if she were a noble goddess descended from the moon itself.
Thrall humbled himself greatly, hoping that this simple conversation would allow the Night Elves to temporarily set aside their differences and unite against the demons: "Respected lady, we did not intend to offend, but our people were deceived by the demons; they did not willingly fall."
The Priestess's long, beautiful eyebrows furrowed. She questioned, "If such an excuse can wash away the orcs' sins, how can I face the innocent victims?
I will no longer trust any orcs who have committed numerous crimes against the forest and my people."
After hearing the Priestess's statement, Thrall's expression became very bitter, but he still didn't give up hope and wanted to continue explaining, "Please give us another chance. The orcs also harbor a deep hatred for those demons; what they want to see is us fighting in the forest, giving them an opportunity to infiltrate."
The Priestess remained unmoved; she even stopped responding to Thrall's words, merely looking at Thrall and the orcs behind him with a hint of disappointment, shaking her head, and turning to re-enter the ranks.
The Night Elves' gazes immediately sharpened; since their Priestess had given up talking to the orcs, it was now time to deal with Thrall and his group.
Thrall noticed that the Night Elves had already drawn their bowstrings taut. He gritted his teeth, just about to use elemental power to protect his comrades behind him, when a deep yet penetrating male voice entered the tense situation.
"Respected Priestess of the Moon Tyrande Whisperwind, Archdruid Malfurion Stormrage, this Orc's words are not false. The current situation is more urgent than ever before; we cannot instigate any more pointless conflicts. We must unite to fight the demons."
"The prophet from my dream?!"
Thrall turned his head, staring in shock at the man in the brownish-gray robe, leaning on an exquisite Raven Staff. He had thought it was merely an illusion existing only in a dream, yet he appeared alive and well before him.
"It's you again?"
The Night Elves also reacted; a tall, muscular Night Elf male with a bare upper body stepped forward. His beard reached his chest, antlers sprouted from his head, and the outer sides of his arms were covered in raven-like feathers. He wore simple attire, but merely standing there, he seemed to embody the entire wilderness and woodland.
Arch Druid Malfurion Stormrage was already somewhat annoyed by this mysterious man's reappearance: "Suspicious fellow, stop playing games here. While we won't implicate the innocent, if you continue to blindly protect the orcs, don't blame us for showing no mercy."
"Haha."
The mysterious man was completely unfazed by Malfurion's threat. He simply leaned on his staff, chuckling softly. "Respected Arch Druid, if my words are not enough, perhaps someone else will soon arrive to confirm what I'm saying."
No sooner had he spoken than a series of urgent hoofbeats came from the other end of the forest path. A team of human knights, clad in armor and bearing blue and gold sashes, were charging rapidly towards the center of the two armies, holding high the banner of the Lordaeron First Legion.
"Stop—!"
The blonde youth leading them pulled on the reins, and his warhorse's front hooves reared high, kicking up a cloud of dust. He shouted loudly in ancient elven language, "Archdruid Malfurion, please do not be angry for now! I have proof that this fellow's words are true!"
His human face speaking the ancient elven language, which many Night Elves had not fully mastered, already attracted a great deal of the Night Elves' attention. Even Tyrande and Malfurion looked at this blonde knight with considerable surprise; his accent sounded just like that of a Highborne noble from ten thousand years ago.