"The Horde is indeed very strong, and its momentum is immense, no less than the Amani Trolls' allied forces at their peak back then."
"Although the Goblin-made cannons and explosives are not as refined or stable as those made by Gnomes, their power is not weak at all."
"Orgrim Doomhammer's willingness to accept them, setting aside race, truly makes him a remarkable hero."
"Dragons are indeed the most powerful flesh-and-blood race on this planet; the power of their breath far exceeds the Dragon's Breath spells simulated by mages."
"It's a good thing those Red Dragon Whelps can't cast spells, otherwise, with the immense magical power stored within them, the spells they cast would be at least comparable to those of human High Elves."
"One hundred High Elves—besides Quel'Thalas and Dalaran, which other nation in Azeroth could field such a luxurious lineup of spellcasters?"
Chief Archmage Belo'vir sighed, "Fortunately, His Majesty and His Highness were wise and prepared early. Otherwise, we wouldn't have had time to raise the magical barrier, and even if we managed to withstand this attack, more than half of Silvermoon City's residents would likely have been killed or wounded."
Anasterian straightened his back, looking at Kael'thas beside him with pride, "Well done!"
Kael'thas suggested, "Your Majesty, the Horde's first wave of attack has ended. The cannons need to be reloaded, and the Red Dragons need to gather their strength for another breath. It's time to counterattack."
"Good!"
Anasterian nodded, "Kael'thas, you give the orders."
"...Yes!"
Kael'thas did not decline, immediately drew his runeblade, and pointed its tip directly at the sky, which was stained red by gunpowder smoke.
The next moment, an incomparably blazing, colossal fireball, like a miniature sun, shot forth from the sword tip, tearing through the night sky with a roar and exploding hundreds of meters in the air.
Instantly, a dazzling light, as if daylight had descended, illuminated all of Silvermoon City.
Afterward, he summoned his phoenix and flew into the sky.
A great fireball, a thousand troops on the city walls.
Flame Strike was a symbol of kingship, and that great fireball illuminating the night sky was the bugle call for the counterattack!
Almost simultaneously with the fireball's explosion, thousands of High Elf mages and rangers, who had been ambushed for a long time and suppressed their anger, instantly emerged from the seemingly calm city walls, towers, and even the shadows of the streets of Silvermoon City.
Arrows were on strings, staves were raised.
The arrows were fire arrows, with cloth strips soaked in oil and ignited tied to their tips.
The magic was fire magic; all mages uniformly cast fire spells, either Fireball, Pyroblast, or Flame Strike.
From their elevated position, they overlooked the Horde Fleet below, with no need to aim, as the warships were too numerous and too dense, practically filling the entire strait.
Burning arrows pierced into wooden decks, igniting ropes and sails.
Violent fireballs directly penetrated the hulls, exploding inside the ship's cabins.
Scorching Flame Strikes swept across the entire deck.
Dry wood, applied tar, and stored gunpowder barrels were instantly ignited.
The fire spread like wildfire, leaping from one ship to another.
In an instant, the entire narrow strait transformed into a roaring, churning river of fire, stretching for several miles.
The seawater was illuminated blood-red, and the air was filled with the pungent smell of burning flesh and wood.
"Water! Quickly get water to extinguish the fire!"
"Don't jump into the sea, you idiot! This is an Elf-controlled sea! How far can you swim? Do you want to be shot full of arrows?"
"You useless aerial units, what are you doing? Quickly kill those damned long-eared bastards on the city walls!"
The Horde's ships were plunged into hellish chaos.
Orc soldiers ran and howled like headless chickens, attempting to draw seawater with buckets to extinguish the fires, but the speed of drawing water was far outpaced by the spread of the flames.
The fire grew larger and larger, the scorching heat waves distorted the air, and even the cold seawater seemed to begin to boil.
Some artillerymen on the warships tried to reload and continue bombarding the damned barrier.
However, at the crucial nodes behind the barrier, the High Elf mages specifically responsible for maintaining the defense unhesitatingly uncorked bottles of mana potions shimmering with arcane light and gulped them down.
Then, they tightly gripped precious mana crystals, frantically drawing out the energy stored within them, and immediately inputting it into the runestones.
Their faces were slightly pale from the rapid consumption of mana, but their eyes were incredibly firm.
The barrier's light flickered slightly under the impact of the Horde's remaining cannon fire and sporadic explosive charges, but it remained as solid as a rock.
If they couldn't break it before, they certainly couldn't now!
Meanwhile, the Goblin Airships and Dragon Riders, on which so much hope had been placed, were now like clay Buddhas crossing a river—barely able to protect themselves.
Kael'thas's great fireball that illuminated the night sky summoned far more than just the mages and rangers on the city walls.
In the dense golden-leaf forest of Quel'Danas Island, over a thousand Dragonhawk Riders, already fully prepared, soared into the sky like a swarm of bees leaving their hive, riding their swift companions!
They completely ignored the burning inferno on the sea below, their target clearly set on the clouds.
Soon, they ascended to several hundred meters, gaining an absolute height advantage, and positioned themselves directly above the clumsy, noisy Goblin Airships.
"Loose arrows!"
Sylvanas gave the command.
A dense rain of arrows, like streaks of lightning, tore through the air, instantly covering the airships' gondolas and decks.
Goblin engineers operating the airships and Orc warriors responsible for guarding and dropping bombs fell, struck by arrows, like harvested wheat.
The uncontrolled airships spun in the air like drunken men.
Immediately after, hundreds of agile Elf knights, using grappling hooks and their nimble skills, leaped onto the uncontrolled airships like agile apes.
They quickly rushed to the control panels, and following the methods Alleria had taught them, they maneuvered the airships to fly over the Horde Fleet and dropped ignited explosives.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
Deafening explosions resounded one after another.
Dozens of Horde warships, already engulfed in flames or fortunately unburnt, were torn apart at their keels, shattered into pieces, and rapidly sank in the violent explosions.
Huge columns of water, mixed with broken ship parts and desperate Orcs, shot skyward, only to be swallowed by the flames.
Thousands of Horde sailors perished in the inferno or sank to the cold seabed before they could even scream.
At the same time, another powerful force ascended from the direction of Quel'Danas Island.
That was over a hundred Red Dragons, led by the Red Dragon Mage Krasus.
He took the lead, using magic to aid his flight, his speed dramatically increasing. He was the first to fly above the Dragon Riders, took a deep breath, puffed out his cheeks, and let out an earth-shattering roar.
The oppressive aura of a High Red Dragon was like a physical sledgehammer, striking deep into the souls of every enslaved Red Dragon Whelp below.
In an instant, confusion, pain, guilt, and an intense longing for freedom, like a tidal wave, overwhelmed the minds of these young Red Dragons.
Just as the Red Dragon Whelps were stunned by the dragon's might, their movements sluggish and their minds wavering, Valastrasz and Korialstrasz, leading the other Red Dragons, swooped in.
They opened their gaping mouths, and their long-prepared dragonfire, like a breaching lava waterfall, accurately sprayed onto the Orcs on the backs of the Dragon Riders.
Piercing screams were instantly swallowed by the flames; the Orcs, along with their crude saddles, turned into charred remnants in the dragon's breath, falling from the dragons' backs.
As for the Red Dragon mounts, being of the same race, they possessed an innate powerful flame resistance and were almost unscathed in this vengeful inferno, merely hovering blankly in the air.
"Lord Korialstrasz! It's you! You've finally come!"
"Please, quickly save His Majesty! His Majesty is in a terrible state now!"
"Those damned Orcs, they tied His Majesty with thick iron chains, whipped him with spiked leather whips at every turn, poured magma on His Majesty, and branded him with hot irons."
"We could hear His Majesty's screams ten miles away!"
The freed Red Dragon Whelps shrieked excitedly, vigorously shaking off the heavy iron chains and saddle remnants that symbolized their enslavement, and swarmed towards Krasus.
Like lost children finding their parents, their voices were filled with grievance and fear.
"Where is His Majesty?"
Krasus felt increasingly distressed and angry the more he listened.
"Grim Batol, in the deepest dungeon of Grim Batol!"
"Grim Batol?"
Krasus's huge dragon head snapped up, his eyes filled with disbelief, "That cursed ancient dwarf city? It's entwined with Modgud's venomous curse; any living creature that enters will be corrupted by shadow energy. How dare the Orcs..."
His words abruptly stopped, "No, the Orcs drank the Demon Blood of the Pit Lord and were already corrupted by fel energy. They are not afraid; they are the source of pollution themselves!"
In the past few days, he had thought of many places: Blackrock Spire, Stormwind, the Dark Portal, Draenor... He had considered almost every place in the Eastern Kingdoms occupied by Orcs, but Grim Batol never crossed his mind.
Truly Deathwing, to choose such an inconspicuous city; Grim Batol had been abandoned for hundreds of years!
"Lord, when do you plan to rescue His Majesty?"
"Lord, the Orcs have the demon soul; as soon as we dragons get close, we become powerless and are at their mercy. You won't be able to get close either!"
"Lord! What should we do? Please think of a way to save His Majesty!"
The freed Red Dragon Whelps surrounded Krasus, anxiously shrieking and asking questions all at once, their voices filled with helplessness and panic, like a group of children who had lost their leader.
In fact, by the measure of a dragon's long lifespan, they were indeed just several-hundred-year-old "children."
Krasus suppressed the urge to immediately rush to Grim Batol, surveying the young and anxious faces before him, and said in a deep voice, "First, join me in eliminating those damned Orcs below, then we'll figure out a way!"
At these words, the Red Dragon Whelps erupted again.
"No, no, if we attack the Orcs, they will definitely punish His Majesty!"
"What if they kill His Majesty?"
"But Lord Korialstrasz and the others burned those Dragon Riders; the Orcs must be unhappy, and they will still punish His Majesty."
"Then what should we do..."
"All—of—you—shut—up!"
Krasus roared, silencing all the Red Dragon Whelps, then shouted:
"The Orcs will never kill His Majesty, because His Majesty is their only bargaining chip against us."
"If His Majesty dies, they will no longer be able to threaten us and will face our furious retaliation!"
"We cannot let them threaten and manipulate us; we must stand firm, actively attack them, and eliminate them!"
"As for His Majesty... he has already suffered so much, a little more won't make a difference. He will just have to endure it for now."
"Once His Majesty is rescued, we will settle accounts with the Orcs!"
The battle was raging, and he didn't have time to slowly reason with these young ones, so he shouted, "I'm in charge here, listen to me!"
"Follow me!"
He stopped talking nonsense, flapped his wings, and flew towards the Horde Fleet.
"What are you all standing around for! Follow Lord Korialstrasz!"
Valastrasz roared in battle, following closely without hesitation.
The other Red Dragons exchanged glances; though worry still lingered in their eyes, Krasus's decisiveness and power gave them confidence.
Ultimately, the rage of vengeance overcame their fear.
"For Her Majesty! For the dignity of the Red Dragonflight!"
They let out earth-shattering dragon roars, turning their directions one after another, closely following Krasus, and spewing even hotter, more furious flames of vengeance onto the inferno below!
The Horde Fleet, already in dire straits and on the verge of collapse under the High Elves' three-pronged attack by land, sea, and air, was now truly adding fuel to the fire.
Deadly dragon breath fell like divine punishment, igniting ships that hadn't yet caught fire, detonating remaining ammunition, and completely transforming the entire strait into a boiling furnace.
Seeing that there was no chance of victory, the Horde sailors quickly steered their ships towards both sides of the strait, attempting to escape.
The glory of the Horde, the desire for battle—at this moment, nothing could compare to the instinct for survival.
Then they saw the Kul Tiras Fleet and the Quel'Thalas Fleet.
The two fleets were like two massive steel gates, sealing off the strait's exit completely!
"Fire!" Daelin and Alleria's commands echoed through their respective fleets almost simultaneously.
Hundreds of cannons fired at once, instantly blasting a dozen Horde warships in half, rendering them unable to sail, and blocking the path of the ships behind them like reefs.
Above, there were the High Elves' Dragonhawk Riders and the captured Goblin Airships, along with the furiously vengeful Red Dragonflight;
To the east and west, there was the deadly blockade of the two great fleets of Kul Tiras and Quel'Thalas;
To the north and south, there was the High Elf army, continuously unleashing a torrent of arrows and spells like the Grim Reaper.
High Elves and humans, two great races, had jointly set up an inescapable net; the Horde had no wings to flee!
"It's over... it's all over..." An Orc veteran looked at the hellish scene around him, his battle-axe dropping powerlessly, as he muttered with empty eyes.
"Damn High Elves! They knew all along! They were waiting for us the whole time!" A Goblin technician shrieked, cowering with his head in his hands.
"They saw through it! They knew our real target was Silvermoon City, not the forests to the south! Damn it, our feint failed!" A Evil Branch Troll from the Hinterlands let out a mournful howl and leaped into the sea.
"Gul'dan! What is that bastard Gul'dan doing?"
"Didn't he swear he could tie down the High Elves' main army in Zul'Aman?"
"Where's his plan? Where are his assurances? Did they feed them to the dogs?"
On the deck of the Horde flagship, Warchief Orgrim Doomhammer could no longer suppress the fury and despair in his heart.
He swung the Doomhammer, smashing the sturdy oak railing to splinters, letting out a roar like a trapped beast.
The perfect plan had been ruined, all because of Gul'dan.
Something must have gone wrong with Gul'dan's side.
According to the original plan, Gul'dan should have arrived in the Zul'Aman mountains with the Raging Clan and the Twilight's Hammer Clan three days ago.
They would use fire spells to set fire to the southern forests of Quel'Thalas, igniting that forest to make the High Elves believe they would attack from south to north as originally planned.
This would not only tie down the fifty thousand troops in Zul'Aman in the south but also potentially cause the High Elves to send reinforcements south, making the already under-defended Silvermoon City even more vulnerable.
Then he would personally lead the Horde Fleet and air forces to destroy Silvermoon City immediately, occupy Quel'Danas Island, and seize the Sunwell.
After that, the Horde army would sweep south, burning, killing, and plundering its way through Quel'Thalas, entering Lordaeron territory, and, with a pincer attack from north and south, conquer the entire continent.
But he never expected that the High Elves would be so well prepared, waiting for them right here.
"We need reinforcements, reinforcements at all costs!"
Orgrim looked at Zul'dare, the chieftain of the Dragonmaw Clan beside him: "Send word to Nekros with the fastest speed, tell him to bring all the Dragon Riders from Grim Batol, Southshore, and Hellscream's side who can still fly!"
He practically roared, every word filled with despair and madness.
This was his last card, and the only one that could possibly turn the tide: the aerial forces enslaved by the demon soul.
Only spellcasters could use the demon soul.
Nekros was the strongest Warlock of the Dragonmaw Clan, and also the strongest Warlock in the entire Orc race apart from Gul'dan's Shadow Council; he was the only Orc who could use the demon soul.
He could only mobilize the Dragon Riders through Nekros.
Orgrim regretted it!
He shouldn't have split the Dragon Riders into several groups.
One group followed him on the expedition to Quel'Thalas, another followed the remaining fleet to Southshore, and another followed the army led by Grom Hellscream to attack Lordaeron.
He should have also not adopted Nekros's suggestion to leave some Dragon Riders behind to guard against a surprise attack by the Red Dragonflight to rescue the Red Dragon Queen.
He should have brought all the Dragon Riders, concentrated superior forces to eliminate Quel'Thalas, and then attacked Lordaeron.
Dividing forces too much was a major taboo, and opening multiple battlefronts simultaneously was even more ill-advised!
In fact, he shouldn't have agreed to Zul'jin's proposal to attack Quel'Thalas first.
Instead, he should have been more assertive, forcing all the Forest Trolls to join forces with the Horde army to first eliminate the militarily stronger Lordaeron.
Ultimately, he was too impatient, too eager to defeat the Alliance.
He was too confident in the Horde's power, underestimating the Alliance and the High Elves, who were said to have not experienced a major war in 2800 years.
Of course, it was too late for anything now.
The Horde Fleet was completely finished.
Even his own old life would be lost here!
"Warchief, look up!"
Just then, Orgrim heard a cry of alarm.
He quickly looked up and saw an incredibly massive red figure breaking through the clouds, flying towards them at an extremely fast speed, and a look of joy immediately appeared on his face.
Because it was a Red Dragon, an ancient Red Dragon said to have lived for tens of thousands of years.
Its size was so immense that its outstretched wings cast a vast shadow, covering the fifty-meter-long flagship.
Any Red Dragon Whelp looked like a pitiful little thing in front of it!
The ancient Red Dragon quickly landed on the deck, its coiled body weighing more than a thousand Orcs, causing the flagship to sink sharply.
Then, an Orc Warlock jumped down from the dragon's back, his face grim.
"Nekros, you've finally arrived!"
Orgrim strode over, clapped the Orc Warlock on the shoulder: "Good, excellent, I need you right now! How did you know we needed help? How many Dragon Riders did you bring..."
"Wait, why do you look so terrible?"
His heart suddenly sank, as if plummeting into an ice cave, and a chill instantly replaced his earlier ecstasy.
Nekros raised his head, the fel green flames flickering in his eyes now unusually dim, his hoarse voice like sandpaper rubbing:
"Warchief, I don't know the situation of the battle here, and I didn't bring any Dragon Riders. I only brought some terrible news."
"Gul'dan has betrayed us! I told you Gul'dan couldn't be trusted, and this is the price for trusting him!"
Orgrim's heart skipped a beat, and he quickly asked: "What exactly happened? Explain clearly!"
Nekros's eyes glowed with green fire: "Gul'dan didn't go to Zul'Aman at all; he attacked Southshore with his people and sailed out to sea!"
"What?"
Orgrim's hand gripped his warhammer tightly, he suddenly swung it with force, his bloodshot eyes staring intently at his subordinate: "When did this happen? Didn't I tell you to have someone watch him?"
He certainly didn't trust Gul'dan, so he sent Dragonmaw Clan Dragon Riders to watch Gul'dan.
Those Dragon Riders flew at high altitudes; once they detected anything unusual, they would immediately notify Nekros. How could Gul'dan have left?
What were you doing?
Nekros gritted his teeth: "Although I'm reluctant, I have to admit, we all underestimated him!"
"Gul'dan is not only the most powerful Warlock but also the most powerful being among all Orcs, even stronger than Ner'zhul; he can take down a Red Dragon with a single spell!"
"I sent five Dragon Riders to monitor him, and they were all killed by him!"
"If the Dragon Riders hadn't failed to report back on time, and I hadn't worried about something going wrong and personally investigated, finding a soul fragment from one of the Dragon Riders, we would probably still be in the dark right now!"
He took out a soul fragment, infused it with fel energy, and it immediately transformed into a mass of soul power, condensing in mid-air.
Orgrim quickly looked over.
Through that mass of soul power, he saw a sequence of images, memories contained within the soul fragment.
He stood from the perspective of that Dragon Rider, seeing Gul'dan on the ground suddenly look up, raise his staff, and release a Shadow Bolt that struck the Red Dragon Whelp he was riding.
The Red Dragon Whelp cried out in pain, and in an instant, it was corrupted by shadow energy, plummeting from the sky.
Immediately after, the Dragon Rider's soul was shattered, turning into numerous soul fragments.
Most were absorbed by Gul'dan, leaving only a small remnant.
"Damn Gul'dan, damn traitor!"
Orgrim had never hated anyone as much as he did now, not even Blackhand Blackhand came close: "I don't understand why he would do this. Doesn't he fear that I'll kill him? I can eliminate the Shadow Council, and I can take his life too!"
Nekros said in a deep voice: "Because he never cared about this war, never cared about the Orcs."
"What he always pursued was not glory or power, but individual immense power."
"He must have gone to seek something powerful, something that could expand his power to a level sufficient to contend with the entire Horde."
"And that thing, perhaps, is out at sea!"