"I am no longer Prince, but just an ordinary citizen of Lordaeron."
Arthas chuckled self-deprecatingly, "I once wanted to flee this miserable land and live like a coward. Now I have the courage to face it all, but it's just courage; it can't change anything."
Baron Rivendare, leaning against the city wall, his face grave, solemnly said:
"No, Prince Highness, you probably already realize your extraordinary nature. You bear the sole hope; Lordaeron will be reborn in your hands, and the people will be Redemption. You may be misunderstood, you may be scorned, you may carry a heavy burden, bearing Lordaeron alone, but this is your Destiny, Prince Highness. The enemy you face is not only the Orcs, but the entirety of Azeroth."
Arthas was filled with doubt and shook his head again:
"I am not afraid of death, nor am I afraid of suffering. I simply do not know which way to go. I desperately need power, but I do not know how to become stronger. The power of the Guardians is irresistible. Leave me behind, Your Excellency. Leave behind a sliver of hope for Lordaeron. The last vestige of dignity for Lordaeron should be protected by me, as its Prince."
"It's too late. We're a group of people who have no choice." Baron Rivendare smiled faintly, seemingly used to life and death, and handed over his tobacco pouch. Robbie took it with a suspicious look, picked up a piece of tobacco, and smelled it.
A pungent, spicy smell assaulted my nostrils.
"It's laced with poison!" Robbie exclaimed.
"A slow-acting poison; it won't kill you immediately."
Baron Rivendare grabbed a handful of tobacco and chewed it deeply. "Our main strategy against Orcs is mobile warfare. We patiently maneuver around them in the wild, never engaging in direct confrontation. Once they're exhausted and too weak from hunger, we eliminate them. This has consistently proven quite effective."
"Later, somehow the Warsong Clan made contact with the Orcs in the Internment Camps outside. Orgrimmar deliberately released a large number of civilians and drove them to Blackmist Fortress. I couldn't abandon tens of thousands of civilians, so I had no choice but to fight to the death to defend the fortress."
"You see, when it really came down to cruelty, even I couldn't bring myself to do it. Before the final battle, we all knew we probably wouldn't survive, so every soldier ate this tobacco. For us, it was a slow poison that wouldn't take effect for years. For the Orcs, eating our flesh would be fatal, rendering them incapable of fighting, beyond cure, and leaving them to be eliminated by their own kind. Fortunately, we won that war."
Baron Rivendare took out a small vial of potion and handed it to Arthas.
"Rage Potion!" Arthas recognized the name of the potion.
"Originally intended for our own use, a soldier accidentally threw a bottle of Rage Potion down to the city wall. The Orcs went berserk, probably because the Warsong Clan had drunk too much Demon Blood. One Orcs after another went berserk, like Plague spreading. The berserk Orcs were not coordinated enough to climb the wall, and eventually lost their minds, falling into infighting. When the Orcs corpses piled up on the ground, Grom Hellscream retreated, and the Warsong Clan never came again."
"Dealing with Orcs isn't really that difficult."
Baron Rivendare pointed to his head. "All you need is a brain."
"The Guardians forbade us to annihilate the Warsong Clan, so we, a group of people who knew we were doomed, had no choice but to begin our war, traversing the lands of Lordaeron to rescue Lordaeron people. Over the years, we've sent nearly 100,000 civilians out of Blackmist Fortress. The despicable Silver Hand, those scoundrels, impersonated us and brought death upon the people."
"The flame of Lordaeron has been ignited. Now all we need is a decisive, exhilarating battle, to die peacefully on the battlefield, like true warriors, upholding the last vestiges of Lordaeron's dignity."
"You are already warriors," Arthas said solemnly.
"Prince Highness, I am but a brute, incapable of teaching you anything. Starting tomorrow, I will impart to you true combat skills."
"Time is of the essence, why not start now?" Arthas asked.
The training grounds inside the fortress.
There are no Invincible combat techniques. So-called superior combat techniques are merely summaries of Battlefield experience. When a soldier dies in battle, we must understand the reasons, learn from the lessons, and ensure that other soldiers do not make similar mistakes, rather than blindly sending soldiers to their deaths.
"On the Battlefield, any mistake is a matter of life and death. A soldier's mistake costs him his own life, and a commander's mistake costs the entire unit's life. Prince Highness, you must start by learning from an ordinary soldier."
Baron Rivendare waved his hand, and several soldiers brought over an Orcs bound in chains. Someone helped the Orcs remove the chains and handed him a Battle Axe.
"Prince Highness, do not use Holy Light. Try fighting the Orcs."
This was Arthas's first time fighting Orcs. His expression was serious as he raised his shield and longsword, bent slightly, and assumed a fighting stance.
The Orcs raised his Battle Axe and swung it down fiercely, but Arthas, following what he had learned from Uther, raised his shield to parry.
Bang!
Arthas staggered back several steps, nearly falling to the ground. The wooden shield in his hand shattered in two; the Orcs's strength was unexpectedly powerful.
The power gap between humans and Orcs is vast; without the use of Holy Light, Arthas is no match for the Orcs.
The Orcs grinned maliciously and pressed his advantage, swinging his Battle Axe at the attacker. Robbie saw this and rushed forward, knocking the Orcs down with a single punch.
Baron Rivendare, who arrived shortly after, stared at Robbie in surprise, then turned and loudly rebuked Arthas:
"This Orcs hasn't eaten for three days and is in a weakened state. Otherwise, you would have been cleaved in two along with your shield long ago. I told you before, don't fight Orcs head-on, whether on the Battlefield or in a one-on-one duel."
The baron picked up the unconscious Orcs and slammed him down in front of Arthas:
"Prince Highness, take a close look at your opponent, especially his legs. Our human legs are much thicker than our arms. Orcs' legs are relatively limited in thickness. Their bodies are too large, and their legs bear too much weight. They are not as agile as us and their coordination is poor. This is the Orcs's weakness."
Arthas listened attentively, just like any other new recruit, nodding repeatedly in agreement.
The Orcs was awakened, and Arthas fought him once more.
"Footwork! Watch the Orcs' footwork; they need to use their legs to generate power too!" the baron shouted from the side. "Use your footwork to move nimbly, circle around them, and wear Orcs down. Pay attention to their eyes; if their eyes turn red, it means they're about to go berserk—it's Whirlwind! Retreat quickly!"
It must be said that Baron Rivendare had extremely rich combat experience, especially in his knowledge of the strengths and weaknesses of Orcs, which he knew almost like the back of his hand. Arthas learned a lot from him, and Robbie also benefited greatly.
"When fighting Orcs, the first thing you need to learn is how to run away. Orcs don't have much stamina, but they have extremely high explosive power. If you are only 100 meters away from Orcs, he will definitely catch up with you. What should you do in this situation?"
"Turn around and fight to the death," Arthas replied.
"Just do a shuttle run," Robbie said.
"By the way, berserk Orcs are hard to turn around. Just keep making sharp turns, and you'll be able to leave them behind." The Baron patted Robbie on the shoulder. "You don't need to learn that skill. What you need to learn is how to fight the warriors among the Orcs. Remember, the Orcs who constantly talk about glory are the most treacherous and cunning on the Battlefield."
In the Blackmist Wilderness, at the edge of a swamp, Saurfang the Great and Thrall secretly met.
"What do you need me to do, my Savior?"
After examining the ring carefully, Saurfang asked.