15. Before stepping into the trap, who was the hunter? And who was the prey?

At the very moment the Soulresting Place was being cleansed by Dick and Naley leading the sentinels, far away in the hills of Shadowmoon Valley where elemental energies converged, a multitude of Orc warlocks had gathered.

Gul'dan had summoned nearly all the strength of the Shadow Council within Shadowmoon Valley, setting up a contraption here that most warlocks could not comprehend, yet which was unmistakably dangerous.

Aside from Orc warlocks and the brutal, eccentric, green-skinned bulky Orc warriors, a number of seasoned Bleeding Hollow hunters patrolled the vicinity. Their ancestral grounds lay across the strait in the Nataan Jungle of Shadowmoon Valley, which had now been chosen as the main base by the newly established "Horde." The first Warchief, Blackhand, was to construct a sufficiently formidable military fortress there.

This demonstrated the strategic vision of the legendary Orc warchiefs.

The Nataan Jungle shared a land border with the Talador region and was separated from Shadowmoon Valley by a strait. These two locations happened to be the core territories of the Draenei forces. Therefore, once the Nataan fortress was completed, the Orcs could simultaneously launch attacks on the Draenei domains from three directions.

The current war in Shadowmoon Valley was the Horde's opening battle.

If Gul'dan's Shadowmoon clan and the Blood-Ring clan, which had crossed the sea to reinforce them, could successfully rout the Karabor Temple and annihilate the Draenei there, they would be able to compress the remaining blue-skins into the Talador region. By then, the Orc offensive against the Draenei would hold an overwhelming advantage of total encirclement.

The Draenei had countless advantages over the Orcs, but their single greatest and most fatal disadvantage was their numbers.

Even counting every civilian, the blue-skins numbered a mere two hundred thousand. Their fighting forces combined amounted to less than thirty thousand. On the other hand, although the Orcs were still in their nomadic era, the elite warriors of the various clans combined were enough to equal the total population of the Draenei. When coupled with recruits, peons, and civilians, they possessed a numerical superiority that could crush the Draenei's meager forces tenfold.

A war like this should be fought in the steadiest manner possible, with step-by-step advancement to minimize casualties to the greatest extent.

From this perspective, Warchief Blackhand was well-deserving of his legendary reputation. At least in matters of warfare, he indeed possessed genuine talent.

However, Warchief Blackhand's plans had little to do with Gul'dan's personal agenda. At least on the Shadowmoon Valley battlefield, Gul'dan had his own ideals.

This Orc "prime warlock," now in the prime of his life, was currently staying within his beast-hide tent.

He had just finished a meditation session and was now studying powerful warlock magic.

He wore a grey-black cowl that concealed his already green-tinged physique. The black bone spikes extending from his spine were disguised as vestment decorations, deliberately accented with shrunken skulls to project his power and cultivate an aura of mystery, chill, and evil.

Such external "styling" was absolutely essential.

Because Gul'dan's "hardware conditions" were simply too poor.

He was born with a limp, a fact alone sufficient to make him marginalized in Orc clans that revered strength and physical robustness. He could not become a good warrior or hunter, nor did he possess enough talent to become a noble shaman. For an Orc, the best career planning was clearly to become a swineherd.

Although Gul'dan had attained immense power through the blessing of fel energy, he chose not to reshape his physical form, instead continuing to command the Shadow Council he had built with his own hands from his wretched, limping exterior.

He wished to use this method to tell his foolish compatriots that the only thing truly worthy of respect was power, never a hypocritical appearance!

Those who judged a book by its cover were absolute morons! And such morons transcended races.

From this perspective, Gul'dan's life was actually quite inspirational.

Yet good children must never emulate this wicked creature. The mildest of all the sins he committed in his lifetime would have been enough to warrant the death penalty in any civilized world.

Purely evil, exquisitely evil, devoid of any higher aspirations, evil enough to serve as the ultimate negative archetype, so evil that even his name could be used as a synonym for "wickedness" and "corruption."

This was the portrayal of Gul'dan's life.

He ruled his "kingdom" with cruelty, striking terror into the hearts of the powerful warlocks who called themselves his "apprentices" every time they came before him.

Unless strictly necessary, absolutely no one dared to disturb Gul'dan while he was researching warlock magic.

Yet unfortunately, some unfortunate soul was always assigned a suicide mission at times like this.

"Lord Gul'dan, a messenger from the Shadowmoon clan has arrived outside, saying something has happened at the Pain Fortress."

An Orc warlock walked into the tent with trembling steps, speaking in a low voice:

"Shall I summon the messenger for you?"

"If gathering information and reporting critical issues requires a pointless messenger to waste my time, then your tongue hardly seems necessary to keep, child."

Gul'dan was recording something in his skull grimoire. Illuminated by a ball of emerald-green fel fire, his sinister, massive face looked utterly terrifying, and the red eyes dotted across his green skin made him resemble an evil ghost.

Normally, an Orc's tusks would not grow to such a terrifying degree as Gul'dan's.

It wasn't that there was anything wrong with the tusks themselves; it was purely a case of Gul'dan's countenance reflecting his inner nature. No matter how handsome a face might be, paired with his aura, it became twisted and repulsive—a character even the most dashing actor could never salvage!

Faced with this supposedly mild response, the warlock fell to his knees in terror, his voice trembling as he spoke:

"The men we sent to desecrate the Sentinel's sacred sarcophagus ran into trouble. The sarcophagus was not desecrated; instead, due to some accident, that Sentinel who had slumbered for over twenty thousand years was resurrected!

"On the very day of his resurrection, he repelled the Shadowmoon clan's raid and destruction of Emberglen, and on the second day, he led Draenei sentinels into the Pain Fortress, wiping out at least five hundred of our kin and burning all the death-bones we prepared for the war to ashes..."

"Trash!"

Gul'dan stopped writing.

This bad news forced him to tear himself away from the wonderful sensation of pursuing power. He turned his head to look coldly at his servant and said:

"Is that all?"

"There's... there's more! Ner'zhul was captured by the Sentinel, the Shadowmoon Cave was completely purified, and the Void-corrupted soul-eater we summoned was also purified. Currently, Ner'zhul's life and death are unknown."

Having finished speaking, before he could add another word, the warlock felt a piercing agony whip across his body like a lash, yet he dared not utter a single cry of anguish, clenching his teeth to endure it.

It was merely a corruption spell, at worst tearing his flesh.

If he were unwilling to endure this, however, he would have to face Gul'dan's wrath directly.

"Ah, the Defiler's disguise must have been seen through. That arrogant demon lord will not tolerate a mortal lording it over him. Things are getting a bit troublesome."

Gul'dan sighed and said:

"Perhaps soon, the Draenei will know who is pulling the strings behind the scenes.

"If they truly have spent tens of thousands of years dealing with demons as the legends say, then the currently lazy blue-skins will act immediately. However, this is not necessarily a bad thing; after all, what they want is merely chaos and death.

"No matter how powerful a Sentinel is, he cannot change the Draenei's predicament of lacking numbers, but this accident has disrupted my plans.

"I hate accidents!

"Have our 'friends' sent any news?"

He asked. The agonizing warlock knelt on the ground, his body trembling as he rasped:

"He has sent his own messenger. He also learned of this matter, but that messenger said the Karabor Temple has not received word of the Sentinel's resurrection. He wants us to find out what is going on.

"If possible, he hopes to use the Shadow Council's hands to eliminate their Sentinel saint!

"He said he has prepared almost everything within the Karabor Temple and does not need a saint stepping in to disrupt things at this juncture.

"Additionally, our Draenei 'friend' reminded us to be cautious of the Sentinel's actions. He said that fellow is notorious among demons and was once bestowed the title of 'Light Butcher.'

"Judging by the combat pattern directed by Sentinel Diacm Justins at the Pain Fortress, the sentinels he commands acted with uncharacteristic cruelty. If the blue-skins haven't suddenly figured things out, then this must have been ordered personally by the Sentinel himself. Making such a cold-blooded response to provocation truly befits that title.

"He is a thorny adversary."

"Heh, our Draenei friend is truly ruthless, even viewing the hero of his own race as a thorn in his eye. He is indeed worthy of becoming our ally."

Gul'dan slapped his thigh and laughed heartily. Then, he said to the warlock before him:

"I will write a letter. You hand it over to that messenger and have him take it back to the Karabor Temple.

"If that Sentinel truly interrogated the useless Ner'zhul and obtained intelligence, and wishes to disrupt our operations here single-handedly, then I will do my utmost to help our friend eliminate this trouble.

"But I have my demands as well!

"The Horde needs a glorious victory. We need the military resources and supplies of the Karabor Temple to help Warchief Blackhand solidify his resolve for battle. It would be best to have plenty of Draenei slaves to let the short-sighted chieftains see the profits of war.

"Only in this way can we bind them to the Horde's war chariot.

"Tell that messenger that I don't care what he and his master want, but the Horde's interests must be guaranteed.

"Of course, we will cooperate with him in becoming the hero who turns the tide. Only thus can he gain greater power within the Draenei hierarchy, and subsequently become our most useful asset when we attack the much tougher city of Shattrath."

The prime warlock stroked his chin, which had sprouted fel pustules.

He said chillingly:

"The blue-skins are indeed united, but they only have two fortified cities. Once the Karabor Temple falls and Shattrath City is destroyed, nothing awaits the Draenei save a brutal slaughter, and their blood shall forge the greatness of the Orcs!

"The Defiler will see our value, and by then everything you yearn for will be satisfied.

"Go!

"Remember today's pain, let it teach you a good lesson so you will remember not to waste my time the next time you come to report!

"By the way, invite Chieftain Kilrogg over. He has been idle enough to nearly develop a lazy sickness these past few days. As the most distinguished hunter among the Orcs, isn't there a prime prey waiting right now for him to hunt?"

Minutes later, a tall, robust old Orc carrying a hunting staff made from Gronn bones walked into Gul'dan's tent. This one-eyed Orc chieftain was deeply displeased by the terrible smell of sulfur here.

He stared at Gul'dan and said:

* Your servant told me you have prepared a fine prey for me?*

"Of course. The blue-skins' saint has suddenly risen from the dead. According to their exaggerated and outrageous legends, he is a savior and warrior who won great renown twenty-five thousand years ago—an absolute legendary figure.

"At least among those boasting achievements, his status can be compared even to the cowardly Prophet Velen and the stubborn Grand Exarch Hataar."

Gul'dan explained in a gentle tone to this legendary Orc hunter-chieftain, whose power was formidable enough to make even him slightly wary:

"I know that you and the bellicose men under your command have always yearned to cross swords with the veteran of the Hand of Argus from legend! Just right, this Sentinel is the founder and absolute commander of the Hand of Argus legion. They regard him as a legend in history and an absolute symbol of pride. If you can bag such a head for Warchief Blackhand, every warrior in the Horde will revere the prestige of the Bleeding Hollow."

"Hmph, I have never hunted for anyone else, not even Blackhand!"

Kilrogg Deadeye, the legendary hunter of the Bleeding Hollow clan, sneered and said:

"But you have indeed found me a good prey. Tell me where that fellow is—no need for exact coordinates, just a general range, and I'll set off right now!

"Besides, I can't understand whatever cursed cipher you're tinkering with here anyway. Even though it's something guarded by my clan for generations, we've never liked that stuff. My kinsmen say they hate staying here, as if some power is gathering underground, as though an earthquake or something even more terrifying could happen at any moment."

"Hmph, your kinsmen are truly sharp."

Gul'dan praised: "As expected of the most astute group of Orcs, but what is about to happen here is far more terrifying than an earthquake. Wait patiently for a few days; there will be results soon.

"After your hunt is complete, I guarantee you, Chieftain Kilrogg, you will definitely secure the first opportunity to storm into Karabor Temple and win glory for your clan. You will become the hero of all Orcs, and by then even the arrogant Grommash Hellscream will have to bow his head before you."

"Isn't that obvious?"

Kilrogg laughed heartily as he hoisted his hunting staff onto his shoulder, evaluating with disdain:

"The Warsong clan loves to blow their own horns, always feeling that only the Blackrock clan is worthy of sitting at the same table with them. Yet after all these years, aren't they still getting beaten to a pulp by the blue-skins' Talbuk cavalry? They were sent by Blackhand to deal with the ogre empire—that cursed thing is down to just one capital city, yet they still haven't taken it after nearly a month!

"Grommash is just like Gorehowl in his hands; he's all lungs and no substance.

"Tch, a shameless usurper! Even if all the Warsong Orcs are too cowardly to investigate the cause of their previous chieftain's death, the one who died was my former brother. If Grommash truly used dishonorable means to seize the Warsong chieftainship, I will never let him go!"

"That is all from many years ago."

Gul'dan hypocritically persuaded:

"Now the Horde has been established, and we should cast aside our grievances and look forward under the leadership of Warchief Blackhand. The most important issue now is to eliminate the shameless blue-skins, thereby appeasing the restless spirits of our ancestors."

"Hmph."

Faced with Gul'dan's persuasion, Kilrogg Deadeye cast a covert glance at the fel energy permeating the tent and turned to leave without a word.

Clearly, regarding why the ancestral spirits had suddenly fallen silent, this chieftain evidently had his own views.

He cared little for the cold gaze Gul'dan cast upon his back. Kilrogg Deadeye was the oldest among the chieftains of all the major clans. With his advanced age and wealth of experience, he naturally would not be bewitched by Gul'dan's rhetoric.

Compared to this green-skinned warlock, he trusted Ner'zhul, his contemporary, far more.

Pity that Ner'zhul had also grown senile in recent years.

When Deadeye arrived at the Bleeding Hollow hunters' encampment, the young men of the clan immediately gathered around. Upon hearing the chieftain's request to prepare for a hunt against the Draenei saint, these wild jungle hunters cheered and set about setting traps, while their blood-priests began preparing various hunting tools and poisons.

There was also the blood-lust ritual unique to the Bleeding Hollow Orcs, rooted in their traditional worship of the "Blood Moon."

However, just as the hunters were all bustling into action, Kilrogg summoned his most trusted warlord and instructed him:

"Return to the clan, secretly take my child Joroth and the children of the clan to Nagrand, and hand them over personally to Mother Geyah. Tell her it is my request; Mother Geyah's benevolent heart will take good care of them."

"Chieftain, you are..."

The warlord who had followed Kilrogg Deadeye hunting in the Nataan Jungle since his youth was startled. He looked left and right, then lowered his voice:

"Have you foreseen something?"

"Hard to say for now."

Kilrogg narrowed his single eye, looking up at the sky of Shadowmoon Valley, and said:

"I merely feel some unease.

"You know, I once sacrificed my own eye to witness my death. For all these years, that vision has remained crystal clear, giving me boundless courage to accept countless challenges. I knew that before death arrived, I would encounter no accidents.

"Yet just these past few days, I can no longer see it.

"My destined death has been interfered with, the future has been interfered with, and fate is no longer certain.

"This is a terrifying omen; we certainly cannot sit and wait for death!

"I do not know where Blackhand will lead us, but the legacy of the Bleeding Hollow must not be severed in our hands. Go, I entrust my escape route to you. Take your family and children to Nagrand and obey Geyah's arrangements.

"From this moment on, you are no longer a warlord of the Bleeding Hollow clan!"

He let out a long breath, unbuckled a heart-piercing dagger made of beast bone from his waist, and handed it to his trusted brother, saying:

"If the winds from afar bring news of my demise, give this weapon to my son. Let him recognize the true enemy and not blindly vent his hatred. At least in that Bladefist clan affair... the blue-skins were framed."

"Huh?"

"Shh, I only tell this to you. Remember to convey it to Geyah: during the previous chieftain assembly, I personally went to examine the ruins of the exterminated Bladefist clan. Although faint, there was a trace of sulfur there.

"It smelled exactly the same as the odor in Gul'dan's tent!"

Upon hearing this, the Bleeding Hollow warlord immediately asked:

"But if you knew the blue-skins were wronged, why didn't you speak out? Instead, you allowed Ner'zhul and Gul'dan to spread falsehoods and bewitch the other chieftains? Isn't this pushing our people into a pit of fire?"

"Hmph, them being wronged does not mean they are innocent!"

Kilrogg Deadeye said coldly:

"I know full well what the blue-skins want. Even without this incident, both sides would eventually have to fight... Ah, this world is too small, unable to accommodate so many people, let alone a pack of covetous and duplicitous outsiders.

"In the end, everyone is merely fighting for the dwindling territory and resources left.

"When we fought the ogres, the arakkoa, and the sylvans years ago, it was for the exact same reason. Since this battle had to be fought sooner or later, we might as well strike first before they realize what's happening.

"You surely don't think the other chieftains were convinced by Gul'dan's falsehoods, do you?

"Everyone knew the trend; Ner'zhul and Gul'dan merely brought it out into the open!

"Even the most conservative Frostwolf clan, the most neutral Burning Blade clan, and the most rebellious Shattered Hand clan did not refuse to join the Horde. From that, you can tell how severe this problem is. The blue-skins may indeed be few in number, but their technology and culture are terrifying.

"It would take us thousands or tens of thousands of years to catch up to them, but will they give us that much time?

"Those blue-skins have even begun preaching to our people in recent years, intending to assimilate us. Before the Bladefist clan was wiped out, there were already young people among them who believed in the Holy Light...

"Damn it!

"If they are allowed to continue expanding, the Orcs will have no way out!

"Only those aloof fools of the Mok'nathal would not want to bother with external conflicts at a time like this. Heh, among the clans and chieftains that have survived until now, are there truly any fools?"

——————

"Halt!"

On the path leading to Karabor Temple, a Draenei merchant riding lightly on a Talbuk was blocked by several sentinels. The honest merchant looked in confusion at the vigilant sentinels before him, saying with surprise:

"What is this? I am merely delivering fruit to Karabor Temple."

"Where are you coming from?"

Sentinel Maraad looked the Draenei merchant up and down, relaxing his tone as he said:

"It's just routine checks against the Orcs. Don't worry, citizen."

"Oh, that's how it should be. Lately, those Orcs have been getting more and more out of hand. You dutiful sentinels should go and teach those brown-skinned brutes a hard lesson."

The merchant laughed heartily, produced his merchant-class credentials, and said in a breezy tone:

"I come from Emberglen, an employee hired by Miss Daina. Her shop in Karabor City needs a fresh batch of fruit—look, right here! Feel free to inspect it, and if you're thirsty, take a couple of blood apples.

"Consider it my treat."

"We have rules; we can't just take things like that."

Maraad smiled, carefully inspected the other party's identification documents, nodded, and said to the men behind him:

"Let him pass."

"Thanks."

The honest merchant replied, mounted his cargo Talbuk, and resumed his journey.

Yet the very instant he moved away, the gem-encrusted warhammer behind Maraad was drawn. Several other sentinels immediately stepped forward in an attempt to subdue the fellow, but the target reacted with extreme swiftness, unleashing a wide-area shadow fury the moment they moved.

The caught-off-guard sentinels were stunned to the ground. Only Maraad, prepared in advance, cast a divine shield to evade the blow, swinging his warhammer down only to have it easily dodged by his opponent.

"An ordinary spell actually traded for a sentinel's divine shield? Tsk tsk, looks like you're a rookie."

The honest merchant sneered, raised his left hand as a blinding fel flame burned within it, converging into a dangerous soulfire, and said:

"How many lives did your damn saint give you? A bunch of rookies daring to set an ambush here?"

"Well, that divine shield was meant to draw your gaze."

Maraad shrugged, adopting an expression and tone nine-tenths similar to General Maladaar as he said:

"I know quite well how to deal with a warlock like you. My father taught me when I was a child."

"Huh?"

* Bang!*

A low gunshot broke the standoff.

Amidst spurting blood, Maraad swung his hammer forward, executing in a few strokes the high-ranking warlock who had been successfully ambushed by a high-ranking ranger and assassin.

In the treetop in the distance, Yula stood up, shouldering a large-caliber sapphire hunting rifle, pulling back the bolt to eject a hoof-beast hunting shell whose exaggerated casing diameter was almost as thick as her tail.

The bold and breezy assassin lady pushed up her goggles and stretched casually.

Though I, Lady Yula, may not stand out among the Draenei ranger ranks, don't ignore the fact that I am also a ranger just a hair's breadth away from legend simply because I keep a low profile. Besides, back when I was working as an assassin under Talgath, you brat were probably just an unremarkable bullet in your old man's ammo pouch.

And what kind of fragile class is a high-ranking warlock anyway, daring to face a 1v5 fatal situation—especially with a veteran who has slaughtered at least fifteen thousand demons among them?

Tsk, who gave you the gall?

Gul'dan?

"Socrethar?"

Maraad found a letter on the dead Draenei warlock's body; the addressee was evidently a code word, the meaning of which he could not fathom.

Until Yula walked over, glanced at it, and yawned:

"A transliteration of demonic speech, meaning 'The Eternal One.' Tsk, unfortunately the saint was right. There are bad apples among the people of Karabor Temple.

"Let's go!

"Take this letter and report the good news to your uncle.

"Congratulations, young man, you have successfully passed the Hand of Argus recruit qualification trial. With a little more effort, you can look forward to the good life of fulfilling a quota of thirty demon kills every day."