Mal'Ganis is testing Thrall.
Thrall knew that the Dreadlords were known for their cunning, often using intimidation or deception to make their enemies turn against each other, and then corrupt the entire world under their dark influence.
Thrall considered for a moment and said, "I intend to unify the Warsong Clan, and then, together with the Silver Hand, wipe out the people of Lordaeron, living and dead alike, so that they may be utterly annihilated and never exist again."
"The Warsong Clan is a good choice, but the Silver Hand should be eliminated as well after we've used them."
Mal'Ganis looked at Jaina and said without any Dreadlord, "Just like this little girl, she will become your delicious food in the future. Tender skin, delicious taste. Remember, add plenty of salt."
Jaina's face twitched, but she still smiled broadly, "I am willing to Consecration everything to the Savior, including my body, my soul, and everything else."
"Completely dominated by fear, you filthy souls, you lowly and base humans."
Mal'Ganis made no attempt to hide his mockery and continued:
"The human race of Lordaeron possesses an extraordinary will to survive. They will fight tooth and nail to live, even if it means becoming a walking corpse. Unfortunately, you will extinguish this last hope of theirs. Whether they are hiding in the forest, buried in the soil, or deep in the swamp, you must dig them out and grind their bones to dust."
"That's far from enough. You must tell all living beings in Azeroth that the people of Lordaeron are a calamity, Plague, the mortal enemy of life, an enemy that must be eliminated. All living beings should unite to wipe out these innocent people. Look, this is the tragic Destiny of the weak—not only are they slaughtered, but they are also subjected to merciless slander."
"Thrall, remember, the Savior is a very good excuse. The best way to deal with those who are your enemies is through intrigue, slander, coercion, and manipulation, turning them into common enemies of the entire world, and then defeating them one by one. By controlling the minds of our enemies, we can conquer Azeroth and turn them into our pawns. Anyone who stands in our way will become meaningless."
Thrall nodded in complete agreement; the Dreadlord's cunning perfectly aligned with his own plan.
When asked how to subdue the Warsong Clan, the Dreadlord paused for a moment in thought:
"Grom Hellscream is a great Orcs Warrior, not suitable for a direct confrontation. Since he so desires the Blood of Mannoroth, we'll use the same method we use against Pit Lords. The Pit Lords' backs are their weak points; to protect against enemies from behind, their spines are covered with spikes and bone plates. Unfortunately, Orcs only have one vertebra in their backs."
Thrall understood what the Dreadlord meant and quickly said:
"Great master, your humble servants have gathered some followers within the Warsong Clan. They submit to my fear and are willing to Grom Hellscream, but their status and influence are far from sufficient."
You need a powerful ally.
Mal'Ganis handed Thrall a ring, an Orcs artifact:
"Take this. There is a warrior in the Warsong Clan whose brother has served the Burning Legion for ten thousand years, slaughtering countless worlds. This is his token; he will obey your command."
"May I ask who this warrior is?"
"Varok Saurfang, his power comes from the Burning Legion."
The Dreadlord said this.
Blackmist Fortress.
This is a sturdy fortress, entirely constructed of massive stones, with black walls and a wide, deep moat surrounding it. Scattered around the fortress are numerous residences.
The place was bustling with people, an unexpected paradise, completely out of place in Lordaeron, a land filled with the dead.
Along the way, we saw many tall watchtowers, with guards on high alert, constantly observing the Orcs' movements.
Robbie and Arthas approached the area, feeling like they were being watched from all sides.
The guards on the watchtower, the crowds coming and going, and even the children playing on the street were all staring intently at the stranger.
The Orcs' fear and the Silver Hand's betrayal instilled in the people here a sense of universal mobilization.
We saw a lot of crops along the way; I wonder how Baron Rivendare ensured that the crops wouldn't be destroyed by the Orcs.
Arthas and Robbie successfully entered Blackmist Fortress and, posing as messengers of Lordaeron, requested to see Baron Rivendare. Since the Lordaeron Royal Palace was now defunct, obtaining a messenger's credentials was not difficult.
The guards went to report, and soon a reply came back that the Baron invited them in. The two men voluntarily left their weapons and followed the guards into the Castle.
Seated in the main seat was a burly man, probably around forty years old, with a dignified appearance. He wasn't wearing a helmet, and his face was thin, with short, bristly mustaches that were quite striking. His gray eyes gleamed with a dangerous light, exuding a tough, military aura, while a stack of books beside him added a touch of refinement.
This was Baron Rivendare, flanked by numerous guards, all watching the visitor with predatory eyes.
"The King's messenger?"
The baron flipped through the royal decree, his expression slightly surprised, yet seemingly expecting it:
"Ordering me to commit suicide in the name of offending the Orcs? Has the Holy Light abandoned Lordaeron? The laughable Justice of the Holy Light has finally arrived. You two esteemed messengers, why don't you tell us where this royal decree comes from?"
The baron squinted, and the guards reached for their weapons. A dangerous aura permeated the air, as if the baron were about to order the execution of the messenger at any moment.
Robbie seemed slightly nervous, while Arthas remained calm and composed, saying neither servilely nor arrogantly:
"The royal decree was forced upon the King by Uther; Uther was acting on Thrall's orders."
"Regent Thrall?" The Baron laughed. "I thought I'd run into Thrall on the Battlefield."
"It will probably be soon."
Arthas frowned and warned, "Thrall is attempting to coordinate with the Warsong Clan in the Blackmist Wilderness while integrating the Orcs at the Internment Camp. Your Excellency, you, your army, and your people are in grave danger."
Baron Rivendare was quite surprised. He stared at Arthas intently, his attitude gradually softening. His aggressive demeanor disappeared, replaced by a warm and refined smile.
"Distinguished messengers, please follow me."
The baron grabbed the tobacco pouch from the table and led the two out of the Castle and onto the city wall.
Baron Rivendare chewed on his tobacco, gazing at the houses and vast fields of crops in the distance.
"Even with high walls, it's still unwise to fight the Orcs head-on. The siege of Lordaeron back then is a good example. In the first few years, whenever the Warsong Clan came, I would withdraw, leaving them only an empty Castle. You two messengers, there's no one else here. You can tell me your purpose now."
Arthas, resolute and sincere, said, "Baron, Lordaeron is finished. There is no hope left. Lead the soldiers and civilians here and retreat, leaving behind a seed of hope for Lordaeron."
"The seeds of Lordaeron have already been sown, Prince Arthas."
It turned out that the Baron recognized Arthas.
"All I can do is preserve the last shred of dignity for Lordaeron, and you are the hope for Lordaeron's future, Prince Highness."