Samuro, Juhwei, Micaiah, Dashel, Kagami, Jubei'thos, Mogor, and Thorgara—the sole female orc.
Back in the era of Grommash Hellscream, these eight great Blademasters had already shouldered the banners of their clans and wielded their battleblades. They engaged in countless life-and-death duels against human Archmages, Night Elf Priestesses of the Moon, Death Knights, and Dwarven Mountain Kings.
They were Blademasters, elite killers trained from among thousands of warriors, the true slaughtering machines of the battlefield.
Now, Grommash Hellscream had become a legend. Several of them had fallen in battle, others had retired and vanished without a trace. Only Jubei'thos, Mogor, and Thorgara still served under the Warchief, defending the Warsong Lumber Mill in Ashenvale and continuing the fight against the Night Elf priests and druids.
Samuro alone had chosen an entirely unexpected path after retirement: rock and roll.
But today, he once again raised his polearm battleblade of the Burning Blade clan.
He told himself, and his close friend Chen, that this fight would be the final battle of his life, one he actively pursued.
He hoped this duel would leave no regrets and require no restraint.
At the Mirror Lake Orchard manor, a one-hour walk from the internet cafe, Wayne, Chen Stormstout, Li Li, Arator, and the Fordrings arrived in several carriages.
Samuro and Shadowbreaker were already waiting.
There was no one else for kilometers around. To the north of the manor, the Thunder Falls roared, washing over the cliff face and the riverbed.
The Defias bandits who once occupied the area had been entirely wiped out. The unclaimed Mirror Lake orchard remained lush and green before the arrival of winter.
"I, Samuro, the last Blademaster of the Burning Blade clan from Nagrand, Draenor, challenge you to Mak'gora!"
"Yaaah!"
As Samuro finished speaking, he let out a signature, prolonged roar. The sound echoed between the mountains and the water, sweeping into the distance like a wild gale.
Mak'gora—a word that once represented death just as much as honor.
In traditional orc culture, it signified a fight to the death. When anyone, from a chieftain to a common soldier, had a dispute that could not be resolved by other means, they could use this method to issue an honorable, open challenge.
The winner took everything—status, power, prestige, life. In some clans, the victor could even claim the opponent's wife, children, and property.
However, ever since Thrall became the Warchief and the New Horde was established in Durotar, he ordered the abolition of this rule.
Since then, the Horde's Mak'gora became similar to an Alliance duel: a test of skill to determine a victor, not a fight to the death.
Of course, the rules could still be altered if both parties agreed.
To show respect for his friend, who was many years his senior, Chen removed the bamboo hat he rarely went without. He straightened his collar, cupped his fists, and bowed forward slightly.
"I, Chen Stormstout, Brewmaster Monk of the Wandering Isle, accept your challenge."
The onlookers could tell from the exchange that the two had crossed blades once before, and Chen had won. Therefore, Samuro was the challenger this time.
Samuro pulled open his tunic, exposing half his chest, and tightly bound the ropes around his torso and waist.
These ropes secured the banner of the Burning Blade clan to his back.
On the banner was a sharp blade and two trails of fire cut through the air.
The banner stood as long as the warrior lived; if the banner fell, the warrior died.
After securing the banner, Samuro swung his battleblade with his right hand. Instantly, raging flames ignited along the blade!
Not everyone in the Burning Blade clan followed the path of the Blademaster; they also had their unique Flame Shamans.
These shamans revered and excelled at communing with fire elements. Upon obtaining the power of fire, they would enchant the battleblades of the clan's Blademasters, infusing them with flame.
This was the source of the fire on Samuro's weapon.
"Yaaah!" With another roar, Samuro's eyes turned a brilliant, blood red. Everyone knew this was the demonic power hidden deep within the blood of the orcs.
Gripping the battleblade with both hands, he charged at Chen!
Unlike the fiery Samuro, Chen appeared exceptionally calm.
He bent his knees slightly into a defensive stance, keeping one hand forward to parry and the other guarding his chest, waiting for Samuro's charge.
Clang!
The old Blademaster delivered a fierce, overhead slash that startled Li Li, Arator, and the others watching.
This didn't look like a sparring match; it looked like an execution.
However, they clearly underestimated how well the two duelists understood each other's strength.
The strike carried the force of thunder. Many others would indeed have died on the spot, perhaps even split in two, but it was far from enough to injure Chen.
Yet, Samuro still didn't anticipate the way Chen would block the strike.
Instead of using the backflips or rolls he remembered to evade, Chen shifted from his defensive stance into a lunge, using his left forearm to block the burning blade directly!
This move terrified everyone except Wayne.
This was a heavy, charging slash from a Blademaster. A single slip wouldn't just mean a scratch; an entire arm could be lost right then and there.
Even the veteran of countless battles, Tirion Fordring, couldn't help but feel a surge of tension.
However, the Chi gathered around Chen's wrist now enveloped his entire left arm. Far from causing injury, the roaring flames on the blade failed to singe even a thread of his monk robes.
Missing his mark, Samuro continued to swing his blade.
A horizontal slash was avoided as Chen stepped back. Samuro immediately pressed forward with another heavy strike, which Chen deflected once more with his forearm.
The momentum of the downward slash drove the blade deep into the dirt.
Chen raised his leg and kicked toward Samuro's waist.
Samuro knew the power behind the Pandaren monk's strikes. If this kick landed, he would be crippled if not severely injured.
He had no choice but to raise his own leg to counter the kick.
When their feet collided, Samuro was thrown back several meters, and he had to release his grip on the weapon.
A Blademaster losing his sword was equivalent to a tiger losing its teeth or an eagle losing its wings. Logically, this was enough to declare his defeat, but Chen knew the old Blademaster wouldn't settle for this.
Chen pulled the battleblade from the dirt, tossed it back to Samuro, and gestured to him. "Again."
"Yaaah!"
This time, Samuro charged at Chen just as fast as before, but halfway through his sprint, he vanished!
Taelan Fordring gasped, "Wind Walk?!"
By the time Taelan became a Paladin and joined the Order of the Silver Hand, the Old Horde had already been defeated. The primary enemy of the Alliance had become the Undead Scourge occupying Lordaeron.
Consequently, Taelan had little experience fighting orcs, let alone a one-in-a-thousand Blademaster.
An ability like Wind Walk, which existed mostly in legends, was something he was seeing with his own eyes for the first time.
Taelan muttered, "He's invisible and undetectable. If he suddenly springs out and hits you with a strike, Chen won't be able to use that miraculous block to defend himself, will he?"
Right then, Chen took a swig of ale from his jug and suddenly sprayed it to his right!
A fan-shaped torrent of fire erupted from his mouth like a dragon's breath. Samuro, who was just about to swing his sword, was entirely engulfed by the flames. His stealth was broken, and his downward strike was parried by Chen once again.
Slightly frustrated, Samuro took a step back, pointed at Chen, and said, "I didn't expect a fat guy covered in blubber to have such fast reflexes now."
Chen looked embarrassed. "Come on, brother, a duel is a duel. Let's leave out the personal attacks..."
Samuro laughed out loud. "Let's see if you can block four times the blades!"
As soon as he spoke, his figure blurred through a rapid succession of high-speed afterimages. Suddenly, four identical copies of Samuro appeared before everyone's eyes!