The mysterious voice was neither male nor female; the only thing Greymane could confirm was that it came from the depths of the ocean.
"Who are you?" Greymane asked nervously, gripping the railing.
The Forsaken fleet gave chase, High Archmage Antonidas cast spells on the ships. It was only a matter of time before Gilneas's dozens of Troop Transport Ships were overtaken.
"Humble human, you have no choice," the voice said calmly. "Without my help, the history of Gilneas would have ended here."
The Forsaken fleet drew ever closer, but Greymane's gaze grew ever more Steadfast:
"We Gilneas have dignity. We would rather die than become slaves to others. Put away your delusions; we will overcome our difficulties ourselves."
The mysterious voice stopped abruptly, and Greymane's expression turned grave as he clenched his fists tightly.
Darius rushed over in a panic. "Your King, what should we do? Should we surrender?"
Greymane's sharp gaze swept over Darius, and he roared angrily:
"Damn it, surrender is absolutely forbidden! Do you want to become a rotting undead? We Gilneas would rather die standing than live on our knees!"
Darius lowered his head. He knew the consequences of surrendering to the Forsaken, but becoming a living dead was better than sinking to the bottom of the sea and being devoured by fish and shrimp.
Moreover, Sylvanas created the Forsaken without needing to consult them.
Greymane's expression hardened. "Now we must make a decision. Only by cutting our losses can we save more people. Darius, the future of Gilneas rests on your shoulders."
Darius sensed the King's resolve and asked, trembling, "Your King, are you really going to do this?"
Greymane declared passionately, "Darius, there's no time. The Troop Transport Ship are now in your command; that's your responsibility. I'll handle the rest."
Darius sighed, glanced at His Majesty the King with reluctance, bowed deeply, his eyes brimming with tears, and left without looking back.
On the largest Troop Transport Ship, Darius gazed at the flagship Gilneas, the only warship in the fleet, which was carrying Greymane.
This warship, specially commissioned by the Gilneas royal family, is shrouded in mystery. Legendary has it that it was made from a piece of Y'Shaarj's hull and possesses various magical powers.
Greymane stood at the bow of the ship, his long robe billowing in the wind, his gray hair swaying in the breeze, as he smiled and waved goodbye to Darius.
"I am Gilneas, and Gilneas is me. As long as I live, Gilneas will not perish. For Gilneas."
The Gilneas was enveloped in a grayish-white bubble, and the entire ship, like a greased pig, sped away at an incredible speed, quickly disappearing without a trace.
This speed couldn't be maintained for long. Darius, knowing his duty, ordered the Troop Transport Ship to turn around and meet the Forsaken's fleet.
We must buy more time for the Gilneas. As long as King Greymane is alive, the Kingdom of Gilneas will not perish, and the price is worth it.
Darius, with a look of resignation, calmly commanded the fleet. He secretly reached into his robes, where a precious Teleportation Scroll lay.
The Forsaken fleet was drawing ever closer, Sylvanas could already see the struggling expression on Darius.
Before the elite Forsaken warships, the Troop Transport Ship were utterly helpless, like fish caught in a net.
Sylvanas decided to play a trick on the Gilneas, but unfortunately, Greymane's Gilneas escaped.
Just then, a grayish-white mist rose from the sea, enveloping the entire Gilneas fleet. Sylvanas sensed an unusual power and hurriedly ordered the fleet to change course to avoid contact with the mysterious mist.
A very short time later, the fog dissipated, and the Gilneas fleet vanished without a trace. Sylvanas's chest heaved violently as she whispered:
"Antonidas, perhaps this is no ordinary journey."
Antonidas gripped his staff tightly, his voice trembling as he suggested, "Your Majesty, perhaps we need not obey Garrosh's orders."
Sylvanas seemed to waver, her gaze shifting uncertainly.
For some reason, Sylvanas entered a meditative state, as if listening to something. After a moment, Sylvanas regained her clarity and confidently gave the command:
"There's nothing to fear, keep moving forward."
Kaja'ro Crater.
As the morning mist dissipated, Wrathion stepped out of his tent to breathe in the fresh air.
The work of the Earthen Ring Shaman is nearing its end; if Wrathion so desires, he can make Mount Kajaro erupt at any time.
The bait has been cast, and all that's left is to wait for the right moment to haul in the net. Wrathion is confident that the city of Titans will attract some truly big fish.
The noisy commotion reached his ears from afar, like countless people whispering in his ear, disturbing Wrathion's good mood.
Wrathion tilted his head in confusion. His dragon-like senses allowed him to hear sounds from a great distance. The source of the chaotic noise was the primeval forest covering the entire volcano, and there were also faint rustling sounds, probably from clothing touching leaves.
What happened?
Wrathion looked up down the mountain. The dense primeval forest was normal, and the lush bushes were as Tranquility as ever.
"I seem to have overlooked something?"
Wrathion pondered carefully, even suspecting that he had been Corruption by some unknown entity.
The noise grew closer; the nearest bush rustled, and a Goblin emerged, followed by a second, and a third.
Thousands upon thousands of Goblins filled the crater. Wrathion stared in disbelief at the sight and realized what he had overlooked.
The Goblin race is short in stature and, in order to evade the pursuit of Forest Trolls, they are accustomed to moving silently through the trees; their green skin provides excellent camouflage.
"Titans City belongs to Goblins."
A Goblin led the charge with a shout, and countless Goblins engulfed the Earthen Ring camp.
A scream rang out, Jaina, barefoot and disheveled, ran out of the tent.
As an Archmage, Jaina's possessions were all exquisite, and the discerning Goblins ' eyes lit up as if they had discovered a walking treasure.
"Don't come any closer, you filthy Goblins."
Goblins were everywhere. Jaina, disregarding everyone else, opened Portal and fled. Many greedy Goblins followed her inside, and screams of agony echoed from within the Portal.
"No! Help me! Spare me!"
Thrall, the Savior, fled the tent in a disheveled state, kneeling on the ground begging for mercy, but was quickly overwhelmed by Goblins. Wrathion only managed to snatch Thrall's head in time.
The Goblins ' madness even shocked Wrathion. They collected everything they could find. The Shaman of the Earthen Ring were dismembered before they could even utter a wail. Their clothes were well preserved, their spellcasting items were carefully maintained, and their bones and flesh were not wasted, being made into the Orcs' favorite Tough Jerky.
Wrathion's meticulously crafted Magic Circle was completely destroyed; not a single precious Magic Gem remained, not even a brick.
"Sir, save me! Don't leave me!"
The chubby-cheeked Gallywix ran toward Wrathion with a pitiful expression. The cunning Gallywix knew that Wrathion was his only hope for survival.
The evidence was obvious: Wrathion stood there, and thousands of Goblins walked past him, ignoring him completely.
Wrathion sensed something was amiss and gritted his teeth as he asked, "Gallywix, what's your opinion?"