In the prisoner camp, Samuro was recounting his experiences: the unfair treatment he had faced in the Burning Blade Clan, the Horde's recent abnormal behavior, and his pursuit of honor. None of it seemed to elicit much of a reaction. The defeated Orcs were bound in iron chains, the influence of the Demon Blood not yet faded, their tempers still volatile.
Arthas went to the prisoner camp alone. Emeriss did not follow, choosing to take a short rest instead. She had just been with Arthas while standing; whether it was windy or rainy, they would do it once, committing adultery in the name of healing. There was no need to confess their thoughts. Being together at a time like this was enough. They both knew what was in each other's hearts, and that was sufficient.
Samuro shook his head at Arthas in shame. "Master, it had no effect. They still don't believe me."
Arthas clapped Samuro on the shoulder. The Orc Blademaster's muscles were particularly exaggerated; his arms were already thicker than some of the slenderer elves, and they were sharply defined. It was hard to imagine the explosive power they contained.
"Don't worry, just leave it to me."
Walking into the prisoner camp, Arthas looked at the orcs who still glared at him with fury. There were both male and female orcs, and without exception, they all stared at him with hatred, longing to tear him to shreds.
Faced with so many orcs, his heart was unstirred. He even felt a little like laughing.
"Haha, interesting. Truly interesting."
He slowly made his way to a higher spot. Looking down at the orcs, Arthas's lips curled into a sneer. "Should I call you beasts, or orcs?"
The moment he finished speaking, all the orcs erupted in rage, struggling against their bonds. One orc even charged toward Arthas. He simply raised his shield to block, sending the orc bouncing back.
"Still have some strength left? Good. Then you can continue to starve."
None of the orcs were given food, not even a sip of water. Arthas didn't even bother to explain. Until their eyes glazed over from hunger, he had no intention of communicating with them. They were just a group of slaves. They were to be conquered, not reasoned with.
Compared to these warriors, the other orc peons surrendered quickly. They were among the weaker members of orc society, unable to become warriors, and held the lowest status within their clans. It was survival of the fittest; weak orcs were meant to be bullied and dominated.
"The system of the orc clans is already outdated. Are peons people? In the eyes of most clans, peons are not people, just slaves. You think you deserve to be slaves, is that right?"
"Do you want to receive plentiful food and be guaranteed a full stomach every day?"
"Do you want to be able to marry a wife after a day's work?"
"Do you want to be respected, to become a revered presence in your clan?"
As Arthas spoke, he used the Holy Light to heal the orc peons. "There is nothing wrong with these desires. Any intelligent creature will have its own aspirations. Those without are the true slaves. The honor of the orcs has been lost. Those orcs lost in the slaughter no longer deserve to be called orcs; they should be called beasts. Submit to me, and I will grant you status within the clan.
Obey my rule, and I will ensure you are well-fed and warmly clothed as reward for your work. No matter how great a mistake you make, as long as you sincerely repent and undergo labor reform, you can all receive redemption!"
The Holy Light descended, healing the wounded orcs. Even an orc who had lost a leg was made whole again. These older peons had a wealth of artisan experience, making them the best choice for teaching others.
A classroom? An apprentice's classroom was watching the old masters work and explain, listening and doing at the same time, not sitting in a classroom dozing off.
"I am willing to submit to the Master."
"I am willing as well."
"I am willing."
"I object!"
Squelch! Arthas drew his sword and lopped off the head of a somewhat frenzied orc peon. Blood dripped from his blade.
"Then you can go die. The only reason I don't kill you is because you are still useful. Serve me, and I can give you safe shelter and food. Oppose me, and you die."
Decisive slaughter was the best way to rule orcs.
Arthas's ruthlessness made all the orc peons tremble. A little mercy occasionally bestowed by a powerful superior would make them weep with gratitude. This was the fate of the governed lambs. To be an obedient lamb and not think of causing trouble—that was the best fate.
Samuro watched, stunned. It wasn't until they had left the prisoner camp that he asked, "Master, why did they surrender so easily? I can feel that their surrender is genuine." An orc still understood orcs. He knew what it looked like when a peon submitted, even to a human.
"They pursue different things." Arthas smiled mysteriously. Through conversation, he had learned about the treatment of peons; it was worse than that of dogs, truly like beasts. So what if he gave them a little taste of sweetness now and turned them into what were essentially his lackeys? They were slaves in essence. The only difference was whether they were treated worse than dogs or about the same as dogs.
The next day, when Lireesa was preparing to leave with her people, a portion of the Windrunner family members refused to go. Instead, they insisted on staying, even if it meant leaving the High Elves and renouncing Quel'Thalas.
"Give me a reason, Mareecia," Lireesa said, looking at the family member before her. Mareecia was not of the Windrunner bloodline, but her parents had served the Windrunner family, so she was considered one of them—an external member who loved magic. Being a Ranger and a mage were not mutually exclusive; whether one used a bow or magic, it was all treated the same. It was all power.
"I have already sacrificed myself for Quel'Thalas once. It was the Prince of Lordaeron who brought me back from the brink of death. I choose to follow him. This is an enlightenment of life. My lady, you once taught us to walk our own paths. You also chose your own path to become a Ranger instead of a mage. Now, I want to choose my own path." Mareecia was a mage with silver-white hair, wearing an elven circlet, and she was obsessed with power.
Merely because of her attachment to the Windrunner family, she could never receive guidance from the Silvermoon Council. To this day, she only knew simple Fireball and Cone of Cold spells. They simply wouldn't teach her any high-level magical knowledge, which made her very unhappy and angry.