"At sea?"
"What's at sea?"
Orgrim looked despondently at the distant ocean, the peaceful and serene seas of Draenor appearing in his mind.
Orcs had an innate fear of the ocean.
Before coming to Azeroth, he had barely been to sea, only hearing legends about it.
But as he grew older and gained more experience, he knew all legends were false.
Giant beasts lurking in the abyss, twisted, writhing, unspeakable horrors, dark whispers capable of tearing souls apart—all were just stories to scare children.
The ocean was not as terrifying as he had imagined in his youth!
"I don't know, but I heard Gul'dan mention that the oceans of this world harbor endless dangers, with the most terrifying evil and primal darkness lurking in their depths, and many beings capable of destroying the world."
"Perhaps… perhaps the High Priests of the Trolls know; they are the true natives of this world."
Nekros shook his head, bewildered.
He had only been in this world for a few years and did not understand everything about it.
At this moment, a continuous barrage of rockets and fire spells rained down from the sky.
Orgrim swung his warhammer, smashing a large fireball in mid-air, his hate-filled eyes fixed on Silvermoon City, still majestic, beautiful, flowing with the light of the sun, moon, and stars, and arcane energy, his voice filled with unwillingness: "We… have been defeated!"
"Defeat is not terrible, Warchief, we still have hundreds of thousands of troops, and we still have the demon soul and the Red Dragon Queen."
Nekros comforted him, "If Silvermoon City cannot be taken, there is still Lordaeron. As long as Lordaeron is captured and the strongest nation on this continent is destroyed, the final victory will still be ours!"
Zul'dare also added, "Nekros is right, defeat is nothing. As long as our fighting spirit remains, as long as our honor and courage remain, even if we are defeated ten or a hundred times, we will still win the final victory!"
"You are right."
A Warchief was a Warchief after all. After a brief period of dejection, Orgrim's fighting spirit soared again: "Let's go!"
The Horde Fleet could no longer escape, so they had to make a decisive move.
Those who undertake great deeds, what do they fear from sacrifice?
Orcs were never afraid to die in battle; they revered strength and conquest, and they had no tradition of loving their people as their own children—
At least he didn't!
Orgrim, Zul'dare, and Nekros leapt onto the dragon's back.
The ancient Red Dragon let out a mournful cry, its massive wings beating vigorously, stirring up scorching winds as it flew into the distance.
"Tyrannastrasz, it's Tyrannastrasz!"
"No wonder we couldn't find him, he was enslaved by the Orcs!"
Above the strait, the young Red Dragon Valastrasz cried out in ecstasy and immediately flapped his wings to pursue.
Krasus suddenly turned his head and saw the ancient Red Dragon Tyrannastrasz, who was the Red Dragon Queen's eldest consort.
He saw the three Orcs on the dragon's back and sensed the terrifying energy emanating from two of them.
He recognized Orgrim, recognized that iconic legendary weapon, the Doomhammer, which contained powerful elemental forces capable of shaking demigods.
But his eyes did not linger on the Doomhammer for even a second, moving instead to Nekros, seeing a disk-shaped object hanging around his neck, emitting a golden glow, with faint dragon shadows flowing within.
"The demon soul!"
Krasus's face changed drastically: "No! Valastrasz! Get back here!"
But it was all too late.
The impetuous young Red Dragon was too fast, while the ancient Red Dragon ahead suddenly hovered and turned at the cold command of the Orc warlock.
Tyrannastrasz's dragon eyes, once filled with wisdom and majesty, now held only endless pain and murky despair.
"Foolish child, run… Ah!"
He roared loudly, followed by a piercing scream.
On the dragon's back, Nekros held the demon soul, withdrawing the power that tormented the ancient Red Dragon, and aimed it at the young Red Dragon instead.
In an instant, a terrifying power, originating from the same bloodline but even more ancient, more brutal, and more irresistible, descended.
It ignored the young Red Dragon's will, tormented his body, scourged his soul, and drained his spirit.
He immediately lost all his strength, unable even to flap his wings, letting out a short, desperate wail.
His massive body, like a kite with a broken string, plummeted straight down from ten thousand feet in the air.
Below him was the magical barrier protecting Silvermoon City, and beneath the barrier was a towering spired mage tower.
"Valastrasz!"
Krasus hesitated slightly, wanting to rescue him but not daring, because if he got too close, he too would be restrained by the demon soul.
That wouldn't be a rescue, but a pure sacrifice!
Just then, an undeniable voice entered his ears.
"You go to the rescue, I'll deal with him!"
A fiery red light streaked past him.
Kael'thas, who had a high-level view of the entire situation, couldn't find the tiny Orgrim amidst the raging flames, but the enormous ancient Red Dragon couldn't escape his eyes.
He arrived on his phoenix at the first opportunity, intending to hunt down the Horde Warchief, to catch the leader first.
"Thank you, Kael'thas."
Krasus no longer hesitated and flapped his wings towards the young Red Dragon.
Phoenix wings soared, drawing a burning straight line across the sky, getting closer and closer.
Kael'thas chanted a spell, his favorite Flamestrike.
Nekros, who had intended to eliminate Krasus along with the young Red Dragon, saw the rapidly expanding fireball from afar, his face changing dramatically: "Run!"
The enslaved ancient Red Dragon dared not disobey, its speed even surpassing that of the Phoenix God, but it couldn't match the mentally controlled Flamestrike fireball.
It quickly flew across the sky, targeting the Orc Warchief.
"Break… for me!"
In a flash of lightning, Orgrim swung the Doomhammer, striking the Flamestrike fireball.
With a bang, the fireball exploded!
Heat waves rolled, sending Orgrim and the Doomhammer flying, only to be caught by the ancient Red Dragon. The skin on his face, chest, and right arm was scorched, looking particularly horrifying.
The Warchief endured the intense pain and struggled to his feet, looking at Kael'thas, staring intently at the Elven Prince who had caused his first devastating defeat, intending to engrave his appearance into his mind.
Kael'thas, knowing he couldn't catch up, chuckled and made a throat-slitting gesture, silently declaring war.
The ancient Red Dragon disappeared into the sky.
"I didn't expect even Tyrannastrasz to be enslaved by the Orcs. Among our Red Dragon race, he is second only to the Red Dragon Queen."
A resonant voice filled with helplessness, sadness, and emotion belonged to Krasus.
Beside him was the young Red Dragon, who had recovered a little strength but was still in a weakened state.
"Kael'thas, thank you…" The young Red Dragon's voice was low, somewhat ashamed.
If this Elven Prince, whom he didn't think much of, hadn't driven Nekros away, he would have either been shaken to death by Silvermoon City's magical barrier or impaled by the spires of the mage tower below.
There would have been a suitable way for him to die.
"No need to be polite. I'm not just saving you, but also the citizens of Silvermoon City."
Kael'thas chuckled, "With your tonnage, you would definitely smash through the magical barrier and collapse the mage tower, and the High Elves inside and nearby would also be affected."
Krasus's expression was solemn: "Tyrannastrasz is a demigod-level being, and now he has become an accomplice to the Orcs. The difficulty of rescuing the Red Dragon Queen is much greater than anticipated."
The young Red Dragon also looked grim: "Yes, Tyrannastrasz has been with the Red Dragon Queen for tens of thousands of years; their bond is incomparable to others. For the Red Dragon Queen, he is willing to give everything… Krasus, I'm not talking about you, your relationship with the Red Dragon Queen is also very good, really!"
"It's fine."
Krasus was expressionless.
Kael'thas turned and looked at the strait battlefield: "The war is not over yet. After we eliminate all these damned Horde, we can discuss how to rescue the Red Dragon Queen."
The ancient Red Dragon flew over dozens of miles of sky and landed on the highest peak of Sunstrider Isle.
Orgrim leaped down, his Doomhammer smashing violently onto a ten-thousand-ton boulder, the power of Northrend's elements fully displayed at this moment.
With a loud crash, the boulder's surface shattered, and fist-sized rocks flew everywhere, just like his shattered mood.
"Kael'thas, High Elf, Silvermoon City, Quel'Thalas, and the Red Dragonflight!"
Name after name was squeezed from his tightly clenched teeth.
He didn't make empty threats; that was the impotent rage of the weak.
But the seed of hatred had been planted in his heart, watered by time, taking root and sprouting, and one day it would grow into a towering tree, wielding hard branches to pierce all his enemies.
"One day, the Horde's iron cavalry will sweep across the lands of the High Elves."
"One day, the Horde's Dragon Riders will burn the forests of Quel'Thalas."
"One day, your warhammer will smash Kael'thas's head."
"But not today, not now, we have more important things to do."
As the most trusted subordinate of two Warchiefs, Zul'dare was mature and steady, offering timely advice:
"The High Elves have already allied with the humans, and after this battle, they will surely march south. Our army has just suffered a major defeat, so with their strength increasing and ours decreasing, once the High Elves and humans combine forces, this war will be difficult to fight."
"Warchief, what we need to do now is mobilize all our forces, and no matter what, we must break through Lordaeron and destroy the Kingdom of Lordaeron before the High Elves can reinforce."
He pulled out a beast-hide map from his Huai and pointed to various locations on it, saying:
"Southshore and Sador Bridge, these two vital communication routes, are still in our hands. The Kingdom of Alterac still stands with us, and we still have three hundred thousand troops on the continent of Lordaeron."
"The Dwarves of Ironforge and Aerie Peak, the Gnomes of Gnomeregan, and the troops of Stromgarde are still besieged by us."
"Kul Tiras is mainly a navy and has little combat power on land."
"Gilneas is half navy, and the other half must defend its long coastline, so it cannot send many troops to support Lordaeron."
"Menethil Harbor still has dozens of warships, and Goblins, Trolls, and Ogres are still building new warships day and night. Although our navy has lost the ability to attack any kingdom, it can still harass and tie down the Alliance's naval forces."
"And for our three hundred thousand troops, the true enemies are only Lordaeron, Dalaran, and Stormwind."
"We still have an advantage in troop numbers, and we still have many Dragon Riders."
Zul'dare pointed to the capital of Lordaeron and said, "Warchief, don't waste time at Icewind Pass and Andorhal. Move all forces to Lordamere Lake and directly attack the capital of Lordaeron to decide the outcome in one battle!"
Orgrim pondered for a moment and said, "That's the only way!"
The Horde's theoretical strength was still superior to the Alliance's. At this time, they shouldn't think about dividing their forces to compete in tactics or strategy, but rather engage in a full-scale team fight, forcing the Alliance into a team fight.
Team fights were the most direct test of strength, and this was the Orcs' most Good at area.
In the face of absolute power, no amount of trickery would be useful!
The Warchief agreed, and Zul'dare breathed a sigh of relief: "Alright, Nekros, immediately send Dragon Riders to inform the chieftains of the major clans—Blackrock, Blacktooth, Warsong, Shattered Hand… move all available troops to the east bank of Lordamere Lake, and prepare for the decisive battle!"
"No, Blacktooth Clan is excluded!"
Orgrim suddenly interrupted: "Have the Blackhand brothers lead their men to Southshore, have the warships from Menethil Harbor go there, and have them take the ships to pursue the Raging Clan and Twilight's Hammer Clan, those traitors."
"Kill all of them, throw all their bodies into the sea, and bring me Gul'dan's head!"
The Blacktooth Clan was a branch of the Blackrock Clan, with a large number of members, and every soldier was brave and skilled in battle, consistently ranking among the top clans.
The chieftains of the Blacktooth Clan were the two sons of the former Warchief Blackhand, Rend Blackhand and Maim Blackhand. They were extremely capable and fiercely loyal to him, and like Zul'dare, they were his most trusted subordinates.
Although the Raging Clan and Twilight's Hammer Clan had extremely strong individual power, their numbers were too small. The Blacktooth Clan was enough to hunt them down!
Zul'dare was greatly alarmed: "Warchief, traitors can be hunted down at any time. The most important thing now is the decisive battle. We don't even have a guaranteed victory, and if we send out the Blacktooth Clan, our forces will be even fewer!"
He gave Nekros a look.
Nekros quickly chimed in: "Yes, Warchief, don't let hatred affect your composure. What Gul'dan wants isn't easy to get, and even if you don't send people to hunt him down, he might not make it back alive!"
Orgrim said in a deep voice: "No, I am calmer now than ever."
"For us Orcs, the most important thing has never been victory, but honor."
"Gul'dan's betrayal is far more terrifying than defeat. If he is not killed, even if we win this war, the Orcs will be divided and corrupted by the loss of honor."
"Losing the war means losing only a part; losing honor means losing everything."
"Only by eliminating the traitors can we win back honor for our people!"
"Gul'dan must die!"
"But Warchief…" Zul'dare and Nekros still wanted to persuade him, but Orgrim sharply interrupted them.
"The Blacktooth Clan is not enough. To track Gul'dan across the Great Sea, they need eyes that can see a hundred miles away!"
Orgrim looked at Nekros: "Send out one-third of your Dragon Riders. Eliminate the traitors and then return to the battle. This is an order!"
"...Yes!"
Nekros had no choice but to comply.
The sea of fire in the Quel'Thalas Strait lasted for a full day and night.
The towering flames illuminated the night like day, and the terrifying high temperature made the water in the nearby sea boiling hot, steaming up thick white mist.
Countless corpses of marine creatures floated up, bellies-up.
Over three hundred warships were burned to ashes, and tens of thousands of crew members either perished in the flames or in the bellies of fish.
The casualties of the High Elves and humans were almost negligible; the greatest casualties actually came from the mages maintaining the magic barrier.
Every attack received by the magic barrier would be fed back to the Runestones in the form of mana shockwaves, which would then affect the nearby mages.
Under normal circumstances, mana shockwaves weakened by the Runestones would not have much impact on them.
However, to maintain the magic barrier, most High Elf mages had their mana drained, becoming extremely weak and unable to withstand the mana impact, which was only equivalent to a low-level mage's Arcane Explosion, resulting in over a hundred casualties.
The greatest loss was not mages, but supplies.
Mainly, war always incurs consumption, and the greatest consumption came from the magic barrier.
A magic barrier capable of covering the entire Silvermoon City consumed enough mana every second to drain any veteran Archmage, and even more when under attack.
The High Elves' accumulated mana potions, mana crystals, and other supplies over two thousand years were more than half depleted in this single battle.
A very low casualty rate looks good, doesn't it? It came at the cost of massive supplies, and precious magical supplies at that.
Even Dalaran might not be able to produce so many supplies!
What was even more frustrating was that this war yielded almost no spoils of war.
Over three hundred Horde warships were completely burned, and the supplies on board also turned to ashes.
Over a hundred enslaved Red Dragon Whelps regained their freedom and returned to the Red Dragonflight.
The only thing that could be considered a spoil of war, the Goblin Airship, was crudely made and worth how much money?
Kael'thas stood on the high walls of Silvermoon City, once again bathed in arcane radiance, overlooking the messy battlefield below and the busy cleanup crew, listening to the quartermaster's report on supply consumption figures. There was no joy of victory on his handsome face.
"This war… was a huge loss!"
"I have to make up for it elsewhere!"
He looked at Krasus, who was chatting with Anasterian nearby.
The Red Dragon mage felt his gaze and walked over: "Your Highness, how do you plan to rescue Her Majesty the Queen?"