Arthas muttered to himself on the throne, while Garrosh, confident of victory, wore a disdainful smile, though he didn't understand what "Shadowlands" meant.
Garrosh brandished Gorehowl, sneering menacingly, "Arthas, I will kill you with my own hands, tear your corpse to pieces, and throw it into the Shadowlands."
"Arthas" patiently explained:
"Foolish Orcs, you still don't understand. The Shadowlands are not a world that mortals can enter. It is the final resting place of souls, a world where the merits and demerits of all beings are judged."
Reasoning with Orcs is useless. Garrosh roared arrogantly, "Arthas, your death is near. In your final moments, do you have any last words?"
Arthas smiled faintly and said, "In my battles with the Orcs, I've noticed an interesting phenomenon: you Orcs never care about the wounded, leaving them to die on the Battlefield."
Garrosh was slightly stunned. Indeed, the lives of ordinary Orcs soldiers were worthless, and it was not worthwhile to use precious herbs to treat them.
Normally, minor injuries can only heal on their own, Orcs will give severely wounded soldiers Rage Potions to let them exhaust their last breath and die with dignity on the battlefield.
Arthas said with a hint of pride, "I healed about three thousand Orcs in Icecrown Citadel, and now they are fully recovered and have sworn allegiance to me."
"What?"
Garrosh was taken aback, and then a violent commotion erupted below.
It's important to know that Garrosh still has nearly 10,000 soldiers, while the Frozen Throne can only accommodate a maximum of 1,000 Orcs, with the majority of Orcs soldiers stationed on the third level.
The third level was suddenly attacked. Garrosh on the Frozen Throne only heard the sounds of fighting and had no time to go down and command the battle.
Garrosh was enraged, pointing at Arthas and roaring, "Orcs Warriors, devour him! With Arthas dead, the Scourge is finished!"
A large group of Orcs raised their Battle Axes and swung them at Arthas on the Frozen Throne. Unexpectedly, a large amount of cold air suddenly surged from the throne, forming a huge Frost that froze Arthas firmly, including the Orcs soldiers who rushed towards the Frozen Throne, all of whom were also frozen inside the Frost.
The Frost was indestructible; Orcs's Battle Axe could not break it.
Garrosh had no choice but to turn his attention to the troubles on the third level.
As Arthas stated, the attackers were over three thousand Orcs, led by a fierce Orcs, who were slaughtering Garrosh's soldiers.
The Orcs, clad in black armor and wielding a terrifying Battle Axe, Charge at the forefront of the ranks. Wherever the Battle Axe struck, Orcs soldiers fell like wheat being harvested.
Garrosh was very familiar with this figure and exclaimed in surprise:
"Dranosh Saurfang? Impossible! I snapped his neck with my own hands!"
Judging from his moves and movements, it was Dranosh, whom Garrosh knew well, but he was clearly much stronger than the Dranosh in his lifetime.
Garrosh's soldiers were driven back in disarray, shouting and surging toward the Frozen Throne.
The Frozen Throne was already difficult to stand on, and with more soldiers surging up, many fell into the dark Abyss. At the same time, the Frost that had frozen the throne was gradually spreading, squeezing the Orcs' living space.
Garrosh roared in desperation, "Attack! Kill that traitor! For Azeroth! For the great Orcs! Use the Rage Potion! Fight to the death!"
Garrosh's soldiers used Rage Potions, but Dranosh's three thousand Orcs also went berserk at the same time, and a fierce and Blood War ensued.
Unfortunately, Garrosh's soldiers were exhausted and hungry after a full day of fighting.
Although Garrosh enjoyed delicious Tauren meat and Pandaren meat along the way, and drank a cup of fine Moonlight Wine, the ordinary soldiers didn't even have a sip of water.
Once both sides entered their berserk state, the difference quickly became apparent. Garrosh's soldiers, exhausted, prematurely broke free from their berserk state and entered a period of weakness.
Dranosh's soldiers fought with increasing ferocity, leaving Garrosh's soldiers with mangled limbs scattered on the ground, fleeing in all directions, No-Move.
"It's over, everything is over."
Gazing at Arthas frozen in the Frost, Garrosh gritted his teeth in hatred, lamenting the injustice of Destiny.
They were so close to winning, but fate played a cruel trick on them, and they ultimately fell short.
Knowing that all was lost, Garrosh pulled out a precious Teleportation Scroll from his robes. A flash of light, and Garrosh was successfully teleported to Dalaran.
The 100,000- Orcs army suffered a crushing defeat, with only a small number of survivors managing to escape back to their camp in disarray. The Horde 'Warchief Garrosh Hellscream was nowhere to be found.
The news quickly reached the Allied camp, and a quick-thinking Argent Crusade officer realized his opportunity had come. He went to the flagpole where Tirion Fordring was hanging and carefully lowered Tirion Fordring down.
The naked Tirion Fordring was almost frozen solid, but thanks to the protection of the Holy Light, he gradually recovered.
Having regained consciousness, Tirion Fordring pulled his coat tighter around himself and asked, "Has the Emissary forgiven me?"
The officer shook his head, his face beaming with delight, and said:
"Tirion Fordring, good news! Garrosh has been defeated at Icecrown Citadel, his army of 100,000 has been wiped out, and the Orcs are finished. Now only you can take Garrosh's place, lead the Argent Crusade to the Frozen Throne, and destroy the Evil Scourge."
Upon hearing this, Tirion Fordring was slightly moved. "Garrosh actually lost? How is that possible?"
The officer explained, "News from the front lines says that Garrosh has wiped out all the defenders, leaving only Arthas, but suddenly a group of Orcs rushed out. They're said to be wounded soldiers abandoned by Garrosh, and their leader is Dranosh Saurfang."
"Dranosh Saurfang?"
Tirion Fordring's expression shifted between anger and uncertainty. Suddenly, he exclaimed, "Oh no! Garrosh has suffered such a crushing defeat! My life is in danger! Quick, help me escape!"
"Why did you run away?" the officer asked, puzzled.
Tirion Fordring shook his head, saying anxiously, "There's no time to explain. We must leave here as soon as possible; Garrosh will surely kill me."
Garrosh teleported to Violet Citadel in Dalaran, where Rhonin hurriedly greeted him, bowing respectfully, "Warchief, welcome to Dalaran. May I ask what brings you here?"
Garrosh was in a terrible mood after his crushing defeat. He punched Rhonin hard in the face, sending Rhonin a long way before his back slammed heavily against the wall.
Garrosh was still not satisfied. He rushed over and kicked Rhonin hard in the head, then punched Rhonin repeatedly in the body.
Garrosh's mood eased somewhat only after he had beaten Rhonin to the point of near death, with countless bones broken in his body. He then grabbed one of Rhonin's disciples and began to chew on it.
In that instant, Garrosh thought of many things.
Of the two hundred thousand Orcs, very few remain. If the Emissary receives this news, he will surely elevate Tirion Fordring, while the useless Garrosh will inevitably be abandoned.
We must strike first and kill Tirion Fordring, then the Emissary will have no other choice.
The clever Garrosh quickly made up his mind.