7. Yes! Yes! Everything is in accordance with the Holy Light's plan! [Launch Day Mass Release 10/50]

Shadowmoon Hold, or the Bastion of Pain.

This was a classic Orcish architectural complex. The ancestors of the Shadowmoon Clan had channeled elemental powers here to construct massive stone temples designed to house the remains of the dead, every boulder inscribed with elemental runes carrying the profound weight of history.

This was the "cultural heritage" the Orcs took pride in.

The terrain here was a landscape of undulating hills. Because the Shadowmoon Clan excelled at stargazing, they had also built tall and spacious observatories on the hillsides here, dedicated to observing the shifting celestial phenomena.

In fact, this was part of Orcish tradition.

During the clan era, they had no concepts of "weddings" or "engagement contracts." Young Orc men and women would often pour their hearts out to one another during celestial shifts, letting the sea of stars witness their love. Once this ritual was completed, the partners remained fiercely loyal to each other.

Even the wild legendary chieftain, Grom Hellscream—despite sneering at his partner's weakness and leaving poor Gorka behind to die—never produced any messy scandals with the female Orc superfans who frantically adored his strength. This already proved that "monogamy" had always been an Orcish virtue.

It was actually quite romantic.

Unfortunately, after Gul'dan came to power, this simple and beautiful tradition was tossed into the dustbin.

The tombs that once sheltered the dead and held vigils for their burials had been turned into crude necromancer towers for summoning undead warriors. Meanwhile, the observatories once used for stargazing and witnessing love had now become filthy grounds where Orc warlocks forged dirty pacts with the Void.

By the time Dick led the Vindicators in their charge into the Bastion of Pain, even the most merciful Vindicators were stunned by everything before their eyes.

Skulls were discarded and trampled upon everywhere!

These were not Draenei remains; these were the skulls of the Orc ancestors, which should have been revered and protected by the Shadowmoon Clan, now tossed aside so casually.

Even more horrifying was that everywhere the eye could see, warlock apprentices were invoking the chilling Void near ritual altars stained with sacrificial blood and bones. They wept and screamed like raving lunatics, allowing those cold, ominous, deep purple forces to merge into their bodies to enhance their spellcasting abilities.

Those warlocks who had already joined the Shadowmoon Council were even more arrogant, summoning Void elements at will and wantonly abusing and beating their imprisoned Orc brethren, using their dripping blood to please the Void.

Right beneath the feet of those warlocks, more than a dozen large tombs within the stronghold continuously churned out resurrected undead warriors.

Some of them were even the newly buried dead, still wearing traditional Orcish garments but already crammed with bone weapons, driven together in a chaotic mess by the necromancers.

Where was this the Shadowmoon Clan of their memories—learned, devoted to observing stars, respecting tradition, and dedicated to guiding their people?

This was clearly a den of Void demons!

"Follow me!"

Dick did not slow down at all after charging onto the high ground.

He pulled the reins of his divine warhorse and made a sharp turn, crashing straight into the group of Orc warlocks performing a summoning. He turned a blind eye to everything around him; after all, when this expansion had first launched back in the day, he had tasted the tragic sights of this place countless times.

He knew what was happening in the depths of this haunted place better than anyone on Draenor, even better than the Shadowmoon Orcs themselves!

He also knew what Gul'dan intended to achieve by instigating the Shadowmoon warlocks to embrace the Void. Right now, he only hoped his actions were fast enough to reverse the situation before the catastrophe that destroyed the Temple of Karabor could occur.

The divine warhorse was galloping.

Its massive, scorching, Holy Light-imbued hooves trampled and slammed into an unprepared group of Orc warlocks, sending them flying. The Void elements they had summoned shrieked and burned away in the blazing sunlight released by the Herald of the Sun, subsequently dissipating into wisps of impotent, cold smoke.

Just as the densest darkness only requires a single beam of light to illuminate it.

The Draenei Vindicators loyally fulfilled their duties, charging closely behind their invincible and fearless Saint, trampling all the way over the sent-flying warlocks, leaving behind a ground littered with blood and bones.

The layout of Shadowmoon Hold featured a wondrous, cloistered corridor structure, designed to make it convenient for Orcs of various clans to come to the great tombs to pay homage to their ancestors. Every corridor had two to three tomb shrines, and the centermost location of the stronghold led to the holy ground of the Shadowmoon Clan, an underground area they called the "Shadowmoon Burial Fields."

That was the place where Orc chieftains and heroes were laid to rest, and it was also the core region of the Shadowmoon Clan.

Therefore, theoretically speaking, as long as he found the right path, Dick could lead the Vindicators around the entire middle and outer peripheries of the stronghold without slowing down at all, looping past these stone shrines before returning to the starting point.

The problem now was that only Shadowmoon Orcs who had lived here for a long time could figure out the connecting paths between these complex shrines.

Yet none of these secrets existed before Dick.

He was so familiar with this place it was like walking into his own home; even with his eyes closed, he knew how to find the endlessly twisting paths. After shattering the gathering of idiot warlocks on the upper level, Dick served as the vanguard arrow of Holy Light, charging headfirst into the corridor connecting the high platform to the cloisters.

The speed of the Draenei Vindicators behind him had already picked up; at this point, wanting to slow down was impossible.

This was a cluster charge of over a hundred people. Even if those in the middle wanted to stop, they would be squeezed forward by those behind them. Moreover, the Orcish corridors were wide enough, built of stone, allowing four or five Talbuk cavalrymen to pass side by side.

The moment they broke into the corridor, a massive horde of undead warriors being driven out of the tombs greeted the Vindicators' eyes. The necromancers controlling them reacted quite quickly, instantly waving their bone staves to make these restless souls step forward and block the way.

Yet with Dick's roar, the Arbiter of the Light struck down once more.

Amidst flashing light, these fragile skeletal bones—not yet corrupted and strengthened by Void power—collapsed in unison as if dying a second time, instantly turning into scorching, scattering ashes amidst the burning holy flames.

Paladins beating up the undead was their old line of work; this wave completely suited their professional expertise.

While charging through the corridor tombs, Dick did not forget to grab a handful of crystal-forged flying hammers and hurl them inward. Wrapped in a Holy Nova upon landing, the weapon splashed out halos of scorching Holy Light that diffused outward like a waterfall, killing the necromancers inside while simultaneously purging their sins.

Without the necromancers' manipulation, those newly resurrected undead collapsed in unison once more.

With the "kind" assistance of the Draenei, they finally achieved peace once again, freed from the hands of their unfilial descendants. Well, one had to admit this was a piece of dark humor.

"Ah, so hot."

Looping around the cloisters and burning down at least a thousand fragile undead to ashes, Irel, trailing behind Dick, let out a suppressed moan. This noise made the Saint, immersed in "holy purification," look back, only to find that Irel's armor was showing signs of melting.

She was too close to him!

The scorching light constantly radiated by the Herald of the Sun was "heating" her armor.

It wasn't just her; similar situations appeared among the other Vindicators, who were gritting their teeth and holding on.

"Too weak."

Dick sighed inwardly.

Yet he knew it wasn't the fault of these brave children; it was his fault!

The massive accumulation of holy power over the past two thousand years made it truly impossible for him to properly control his sacred power right now.

"You all stay here and continue the charge!"

Dick pulled tight on the reins and issued the command:

"Tenum! Nobundo! Minala, each of you take thirty people to purify the outer tombs. You've seen that these undead are fragile; they cannot yet withstand the radiance and purification of the Holy Light. After clearing this place out, return to the upper level to attack the remaining warlocks!

"Shantuk!

"You and Irel take the defenders to rescue our compatriots, and don't forget to bring those imprisoned Orcs out as well."

"What about you?"

Shouted Nobundo, serving as the Vindicator captain:

"We cannot let the Saint act alone!"

"Well, children, I admire your devotion to duty, but I think you'd better obey orders right now! This is a war, and your superior actually taught you to bargain at the level of command?"

Dick's teasing response left young Nobundo momentarily at a loss for how to reply.

Yet before they could react, the divine warhorse, under Dick's control, accelerated and charged into the corridor ahead, which was infested with massive Void power. Shortly after, Holy Light burst forth within it like heavy artillery explosions, forming a halo of light.

Accompanied by the horrifying screams of the Orc warlocks.

When Nobundo and his adjutant rushed over, the corridor—which should have been freezing cold due to the infested Void power—only held piles of ash emitting high temperatures and fragmented bones that had not been completely burned.

It was as warm here as if it had been "caressed" by the sun, exuding a nauseating smell of scorched, roasted meat.

Yet the Vigilant Saint was nowhere to be found.

"Has he... has the Saint always fought like this? Were ancient Eredars all this violent?"

The adjutant was frightened, stammering:

"I used to think those terrifying records in the Battle of Argus were exaggerated descriptions used by historians to praise our ancestors, but now it seems that if the soldiers of the Hand of Argus fought with the stance of the Vigilant, then the demons' crushing defeat seems..."

***

"...Eh, speaking of which, I'm reminded of an interesting anecdote Captain Maraad told me."

Nobundo looked at the pile of ashes exuding residual warmth beneath his feet, sighing:

"Do you know what kind of nickname those demons gave to Brigadier General Diakm when our ancestors evacuated Argus?"

"Huh? Demons give us nicknames too? What do they call the Saint? I bet it's a very humiliating, derogatory term."

"No, quite the opposite."

Nobundo mounted his combat Talbuk, pulled out his warhammer and waved it in his hand, saying to his adjutant:

"The terrified demons reverently called him 'The Butcher of the Holy Light.' Ah, let us observe a moment of silence for the Shadowmoon Orcs."

***

"What's happening outside? Why does it sound so chaotic?"

An Orc female shaman imprisoned in a cage grabbed the bars, straining her ears to listen to the chaos and some kind of bizarre screaming coming from outside. It sounded like some unlucky soul had accidentally provoked those brutal warlocks and was hung up and whipped.

With shamanic facial markings, she turned back to look at the cage behind her.

This small space imprisoned over thirty Orcs, and the conditions were extremely harsh.

Those shamans who had been repeatedly tortured were left with only one breath, their bodies covered in harrowing whip marks. When they were tortured to the brink of death, these poor souls would be sent to the sacrificial altar as offerings to the Void.

Even this female shaman's body was covered in wounds, but from her gaze brimming with anger, it was clear she did not intend to surrender to those warlock traitors of tradition.

Yet surprisingly, among this group of Orcs, a Draenei girl was kneeling half-upright, constantly invoking the Holy Light like a priest to heal the weak Orc shamans beside her.

However, this girl was not a priest.

She could only use the "Blessing" bestowed upon the Draenei by the Naaru to cast mediocre healing.

Although this Naaru blessing was also a healing spell, because she herself was not a priest and could not truly invoke the Holy Light, this physically frail girl had to consume her own vital energy to maintain the healing effect.

She had been silently doing this since being locked in here last night, even pulling two weak old shamans back from the brink of death to the mortal world.

"Samara, you should rest for a while."

The Orc female shaman sighed.

She stepped forward and knelt half-upright beside the Draenei girl, supporting her and advising:

"You've done enough for us, don't keep pushing yourself. I know you've had a weak constitution since childhood."

"Rekal, my friend, it was the Holy Light that allowed me to encounter you again when I fell into desperation; this is clearly the enlightenment of the Holy Light. Without your protection, I would have been abused by those brutal warlocks last night.

"I just want to do whatever is in my power for you now."

Samara, captured as a prisoner last night, smiled at the female shaman beside her.

Judging from how affectionately she spoke the other's name, it was evident they were already friends beforehand.

Irel had often grumbled that Samara would always sneak out at night to stargaze with her Orc friends. Still, friendships like this between individuals were not uncommon over the past two hundred years.

Although the Draenei practiced an isolated and closed-off policy, interactions with the Orcs were inevitable. Simple and kind Orcs easily won the favor of the Draenei, though due to differences in lifespan, many friendships ultimately ended with the Orc passing away.

Another ironic topic was the issue of half-breed children between Orcs and Draenei...

Uh, the unique demographic known as "Haaf'oorsen" probably didn't just originate from abuses during times of war; there were always unconventional Draenei or Orcs who occasionally wanted to taste "something different."

Of course, in this current era, this phenomenon was the extreme minority of minorities.

"Cough, cough..."

Samara coughed a few times. Looking at the still-suffering old Orc at her feet, she gritted her teeth and once again invoked the Naaru's blessing, letting a golden, warm light cover her hands as she touched the arms of this weak shaman. This scene caused expressions of gratitude and guilt to surface in the eyes of the surrounding Orc prisoners.

They knew Samara and the other Draenei villagers were slaves captured by their compatriots—who had grown evil and frenzied under Gul'dan's leadership—and would soon be sent to the altar to be sacrificed to the Void.

Yet these Orcs were currently unable to even protect themselves; they truly had no way to help these kind Draenei.

"I heard that Chieftain Ner'zhul is a wise Orc leader. Why would he allow the warlocks of his own clan to torture you like this? You are compatriots after all."

Samara finished this healing, leaning against the arms of her alien friend, and asked the puzzled question on her mind. Facing the inquiry, the Orc female shaman Rekal Bloodfire gritted her teeth and lamented:

"Actually, ever since Lady Rulkan passed away, Chieftain Ner'zhul's state of mind hasn't been right.

"He is indeed wise, but he is also deeply affectionate. Many old shamans have seen the Chieftain spend entire nights alone in the observatory, weeping. He traveled several times to our holy ground in Nagaland, Oshu'gun, to speak with the spirit of Lady Rulkan, dreaming of nothing more than having his partner return to his side.

"The wicked Gul'dan joined us at that time!

"He disguised himself as an exile who had lost his clan, and because of his talent and glib tongue, he was valued by the Chieftain. Then, somehow, the Chieftain slowly changed. He began to lock himself away in the deepest part of the Shadowmoon Sanctuary.

"Some say the Chieftain was talking to someone inside, yet there was only ever one person in there.

"The clan's affairs were handed over to that evil Gul'dan, who began to bewitch the shamans, teaching them the warlock's path. Some requested an audience with the Chieftain to inform him of this issue, but the Chieftain turned a blind eye.

"He was just like... just like he had been bewitched by some evil force!

"He only believes Gul'dan's words now!

"You've seen it too. Those of us who still persist in the path of the elements and the old traditions have become thorns in his side. The fall of the Shadowmoon Clan is entirely Gul'dan's fault! But Ner'zhul... that muddled old bastard should bear responsibility too!"

"Enough! Rekal."

A shaman in the corner rebuked:

"You cannot casually criticize a meritorious shaman leader like that. Ner'zhul gave his whole life to our civilization; he is just... alas, he is just old. No matter how wise a person is, when they grow old, they become weak."

"Why can't I?"

The young female Orc retorted angrily:

"Gul'dan manipulated him into corrupting our clan, but that's not even all the evil things he did!

"You were there at the last clan assembly held in Oshu'gun, Master Turogo. You heard with your own ears how Ner'zhul bewitched those chieftains, turning their spearheads of anger toward the Draenei.

"Gul'dan claimed they desecrated the ancestral spirits, but open your eyes and look at who is actually desecrating the spirits with their own hands right now!

"The Draenei were wronged, and you and I both know it!

"Yet now Ner'zhul formed the clan alliance with a single wave of his hand and then stopped caring, letting Gul'dan lead the Orcs of other clans to prepare for war."

"Wronged?"

The old shaman sneered, saying:

"Those blue-skins aren't innocent. Who is responsible for the tragic annihilation of the Bladefist Clan? The veteran Draenei of Telmor didn't even cover up their crimes! That brutal hunter-cavalry general slaughtered our compatriots and piled their skulls in the ruins of the village to flaunt his might!

"If the other chieftains hadn't harbored similar intentions to begin with, no matter how Ner'zhul and Gul'dan tried to tempt them, they wouldn't have united!

"When all is said and done, the Draenei's expansion in our world these past few years planted the seeds of disaster.

"However..."

The old shaman looked at Samara, who was still healing the tribesmen, and sighed:

"However, I believe the Draenei were framed in that matter. Their battle with the Bladefist Clan may have been intentionally provoked by someone with an agenda. A dark hand is stirring the nerves of both races, hoping to see the Orcs and Draenei fight a life-or-death war.

"Pity, it's too late to say these things now."

"It's not too late. As long as there are rational people in both races who want to stop the war, it will never be too late."

Samara continued her healing, coughing as she spoke:

"I am only worried about the Orcs' desecration of the Vigilant's holy coffin. May the Holy Light protect us, they must not complete that ritual, or everything will be irreversible."

"Ah!"

Just as Samara finished these words, a scream suddenly erupted from outside the cage.

***

All the Orcs who could still move stood up, led by Rekal Bloodfire, shielding the Draenei girl who had helped them behind them. Then, blinding Holy Light burst out before their eyes, and amidst a heavy, powerful impact, the door of the cage was pushed open.

Irel rushed in with a squad of fully armed Vindicators. The warlocks in the cages immediately counterattacked, but were picked off one by one by the master hunter Shantuk using a gem-encrusted hunting rifle.

Ambushed in such a confined environment, warlocks who had no time to cast spells before being assaulted were practically sitting ducks for high-level rangers.

"Samara!"

Irel, panting as she gripped her greatsword, spotted the sister "surrounded" by Orcs in the cage at a glance. Anger surging, she brandished her sword to charge over, but was promptly stopped by Samara.

"No, don't be rash, Irel! They are protecting me, and they've been protecting our villagers too, even sharing their meager rations with us last night. This is Rekal, don't you remember her?

"We used to stargaze together when we were kids."

Samara stood up, supported by her Orc friend, and spoke weakly through the bars to her good sister:

"How did you get here? And your Holy Light... did you become a Vindicator? How could it be this fast?"

"The Vigilant led me onto the path of the Holy Light, and the Saint led our compatriots to rescue you,"

Irel said while chopping through the chains:

"The Saint is right outside! Our Vindicators are here too, come out with me! We'll get you out of here first. Those warlocks are counterattacking, but they are no match for the great Saint."

"Who did you say?"

Samara was utterly dumbfounded at that moment.

She suspected Irel might have gone crazy too, but there was no time to explain so much right then.

Irel hoisted her weak sister onto her back, then looked at the hesitant Orcs and spoke to them in somewhat halting Orcish:

"You follow too! The Saint demands that we take you 'moderates' away, and says he will escort you to the Temple of Karabor so you can explain everything that happened in the Shadowmoon Clan to our Archon in person.

"The Saint says if you truly still yearn for peace, don't just use words at this critical moment—take practical action!"

"Huh?"

Rekal Bloodfire froze.

She cast a puzzled glance at Irel, then looked at the other compatriots in the cages. The battered old shaman Turogo showed some backbone at this moment.

Supported by two young Orc lads, he stood up and said in a deep voice:

"Follow them, go! This is our only chance if you don't want to be sent to the altar by Gul'dan's mad dogs. Whether we wish to accept it or not, we are the last hope of the Shadowmoon Clan, children.

"Take everyone who can still walk, carry the wounded.

"Follow these Draenei!

"This place... this place is no longer our home."

The well-respected old shaman had spoken, and the still-hesitating Orcs immediately sprang into action. They picked up weapons from the ground, unlocked the other cages, and followed behind the Draenei civilians to flee their corrupted homeland.

There were quite a few of these imprisoned Shadowmoon Orcs—several hundred souls just in this location, and she had heard the Shadowmoon Clan had imprisoned other tribesmen who refused to submit elsewhere.

Those damned crazy warlock dogs were so vicious even to their own people!

When they charged onto the high ground of the Bastion of Pain, everything they saw consisted of Vindicators in teams of three or five fighting against the Shadowmoon Council's counter-offensive. However, due to the extremely swift and domineering initial surprise attack, the Shadowmoon necromancers had suffered heavy losses and were completely unable to summon those Void-strengthened skeletal bones into battle.

Under the fierce strikes of the Vindicators, the warlocks retreated step by step, while the passage leading out of the stronghold was guarded personally by the veteran Vindicator Tenum. Seeing the villagers approach, his furrowed brow finally relaxed.

Yet at that exact moment, an Orc warlock charging up with skeletal bones noticed this transferring group of prisoners.

He roared and hurled a ball of filthy power in this direction, landing squarely right in front of Irel. The grim power triggered a gloomy explosion upon impact, and the swirling, shrieking Void chill blew Irel and Samara flying backward.

Irel was fine, having been a robust child since childhood.

Samara, however, was not.

The girl was inherently frail, and having previously consumed too much energy healing the Orcs with the Naaru's blessing, she vomited blood after falling and being impacted by the Void power.

Watching that warlock grin hideously as he threw some dark magic toward Samara, turning that cold energy into spectral claws that choked Samara's neck and hoisted her off the ground to sacrifice her to the Void, Irel's eyes turned red.

She roared as she hurled her greatsword, but the warlock blocked the surprise attack by sacrificing a demon.

Samara's eyes were already rolling back.

In her near-death vision, she even faintly saw a strange "blue bird-person" spread white wings before her, reaching out a hand as if to usher this tragic soul into another world.

That fluorescent finger had already touched Samara's forehead, making her suffering spirit feel a moment of relaxation.

She knew her time was running out, and could only look with regret at Irel charging toward her.

Good sister...

You don't need to keep carrying a burden like me anymore, good luck.

"Audacious! Let her go!"

Just as Samara's soul was about to leave her body, a roar abruptly jolted her back to consciousness.

Then she felt a scorching yet warm radiance erupting all around her, healing her from the brink of death to "full health" in a burst of "infusion of life," followed by another burst of Holy Light that shattered the Void's sacrifice and rescued the girl.

As warm healing energies continuously poured in, Samara gasped for air like a fish out of water.

Protected by a "Power Word: Shield," she raised her head and faintly saw the strange blue "angel" reaching out to her, seemingly insistent on taking this soul to its destined end.

Yet the next instant, a hand glowing with Holy Light rested on Samara's shoulder.

Behind her, looking like a giant of light, the Vigilant was holding an axe. He raised his head and, though unable to see that "angel," seemed to know what was happening.

He proclaimed loudly:

"In the name of the Hand of Destiny, I declare this child belongs to the Holy Light! You have no right to take her away!"

The two sides seemed to be in a standoff.

Under Samara's bewildered gaze, that blue "angel" grew furious, but ultimately, under the radiance of the increasingly scorching Holy Light, chose to beat her wings and dissipate into thin air. In Samara's lingering "near-death vision," she could see hundreds of blue angels patrolling this battlefield.

They were ushering one Orc soul after another to the high heavens, disappearing into the clouds.

"You're safe, child."

Dick breathed a sigh of relief. He looked down at Samara, this child brought back from the brink of destiny to the mortal world, and watched Irel rush over to tightly hug her sister. The Saint finally broke into a smile.

Yes!

This was also a tiny part of the grand plan to defy destiny.

This way, that rather absurd timeline of "Holy Tyrant Irel" in every sense probably wouldn't happen anymore, right?

Oh my, every single Orc on Draenor should kowtow to him right this second.

With this thought, Dick cheerfully hoisted the blazing Legacy Battle-axe and strode toward the Orc warlock who stood dumbfounded, submerged in the brilliant light of holy fury.

He said amiably:

"I'll give you a chance—open the gates of the Shadowmoon Burial Fields! In the name of the Holy Light, I will grant you a swift execution. I know Ner'zhul is hiding inside, and I want to have a chat with him."