Karazhan.
Med'an, still a young boy, entered the study with trepidation, meeting his father with boundless fear. Surprisingly, Medivh showed a kind smile.
Med'an stood carefully to the side, whispering, "Garrosh's emissaries came to me; they were willing to return the Guardian's Staff. I truly didn't know the staff was in Garrosh's possession."
Although Medivh didn't blame him after losing the Guardian's Staff, the sinister smile that occasionally appeared at the corner of his mouth made Med'an live in nightmares every day.
Medivh nodded:
"I knew it. The Guardian's Staff was in Garrosh's hands. Thrall killed the thief who offered the Guardian's Staff to keep it a secret. I know all about it."
Medivh stood up. He was tall, his long black robes billowing in the still air, embroidered with Flames. He gazed at the vast sky beyond Karazhan and said:
"In my eyes, Thrall is like a bug, someone I can crush at any time. Do you know why I haven't taken back the Guardian's Staff?"
Med'an shook his head.
"That would make me seem petty. I've been waiting for the right opportunity, and Thrall's current predicament is the best punishment for him."
Med'an whispered, "The messenger has made a request: he wants me to enter Orgrimmar and persuade the Orcs to rebel against Cho'gall. I don't know what to do."
"What are you worried about, my child?" Medivh asked.
Med'an's gaze darted around. "Garrosh left the Orcs people to die, Cho'gall gave them a chance to live. I suspect they hate Garrosh to the core."
Medivh chuckled:
"My child, remember this: never judge others by your own standards. What you take for granted may be quite the opposite to what Orcs see. For example, there are some spells I cannot teach Jaina —very simple spells, but she just can't understand them."
Med'an scratched his head, puzzled, and asked:
"So, they're supporting Garrosh? That doesn't make sense."
Medivh smiled faintly:
"That's right, the Orcs are filled with nostalgia for Garrosh. If you infiltrate them and incite them a little, they will immediately rebel against Cho'gall's rule; that's the nature of the Orcs. Most of the time, they have difficulty distinguishing between good and evil, or rather, their worship of Garrosh has surpassed life itself. No matter how much Garrosh harms them, they still regard him as their Warchief."
"I don't understand."
"When you mature a bit, you'll understand that the world isn't as black and white as you imagine," Medivh earnestly advised.
With his father's assurance, Med'an finally breathed a sigh of relief and respectfully bowed before proceeding.
Medivh thought for a moment, then picked up a quill and wrote a letter, outlining the deal between Med'an and the Orcs, and detailing Med'an's plan to infiltrate Orgrimmar.
Medivh whistled, and a raven flew in, snatched the letter, and flew straight to Orgrimmar.
Cho'gall sensed an unusual magical fluctuation and saw a raven land in front of the window.
"Interesting, these are Medivh's ravens." Cho'gall carefully opened the window. "Oh! A letter, a letter from Medivh to us."
Upon opening the letter, both of Cho'gall's heads simultaneously showed expressions of confusion.
"What does this mean?" Kou asked, shaking his head. "Does Medivh want us to catch that little guy and then fry him in oil?"
Garrosh disagreed. "I think this is Medivh's conspiracy, or that Med'an is just bait while the real mastermind is secretly carrying out the operation."
Cho'gall paced back and forth, his eyes constantly darting around.
Kou asked worriedly, "Do you think Med'an can succeed? Assuming we ignore it."
"Of course," Garrosh said without hesitation.
"What have we given the Orcs people? Merely enough to keep them alive. But we are not Orcs. Garrosh gave them dignity and honor. They would rather die for Garrosh than live for Ogres. For Orcs, it's a simple choice."
Kou's face hardened, and he sneered:
"Indeed, there are still a lot of ambitious individuals who can barely feed themselves under our rule. But if they incite the Orcs to rebel and succeed by chance, they will win Garrosh's favor and live a life of luxury, with plenty of wives and concubines. They will not care about the lives of ordinary people."
"Haha, I understand."
Garrosh suddenly realized. "This is Medivh provoking us. Even if we capture Med'an, what's the point? There will be thousands upon thousands more Med'an will step forward."
Kou looked troubled. "Unfortunately, we have no choice but to kill all the Orcs. There are two hundred thousand Orcs in Orgrimmar. Even I can't be that cold-blooded."
Garrosh said in a low voice, "It's time to abandon Orgrimmar. We've emptied the city; there's nothing left."
Kou clenched his fists, saying with some grievance, "But I'm not reconciled. Those damned Orcs treated our kindness like this."
Garrosh sneered:
"Rest assured, handing them over to Garrosh is the greatest punishment they can receive."
Twilight Highlands.
Nazgrim stood outside the tent, waiting anxiously.
This is the camp of the Dragonmaw Clan, right in the center of Blood Gorge.
Not far away was the tent where Zuluhed, the chieftain of the Dragonmaw Clan, lived. It was patched and patched, and it was unclear how long it had been used. The Dragonmaw Clan, who lived in the Twilight Highlands, were known for their poverty. Legendary has it that they suffered a disaster a few years ago and were almost wiped out.
"Damn Zuluhed, one day I'll tear your head off!"
Nazgrim cursed inwardly. Zuluhed had made him wait here for most of the day, and Nazgrim's legs were numb from standing, his heart filled with rage.
Before long, the tent flap was lifted, and Chief Zuluhed of Dragonmaw emerged, followed by his son-in-law Mogor.
Zuluhed was a robust old Orcs.
He was not tall, but extremely robust, with sharp eyes, and wore an old fur coat.
In contrast, the young Mogor, despite his striking appearance, walked with a somewhat unsteady gait.
"Look at our distinguished guest!" Zuluhed shouted. "Nazgrim, how long have you been waiting here?"
When you're under someone's roof, you have to bow your head. Nazgrim forced a smile, "I only stood there for a short while, it's nothing."
Zuluhed coldly replied, "Of course it's nothing. Back when the Dragonmaw Clan suffered a disaster, the people had nothing to eat. I waited in front of Thrall's Tent for seven days and seven nights, ate all the rations I brought, and finally fainted from hunger, but I still didn't get an audience with Thrall."
Nazgrim paused for a moment, then argued, "Warchief Garrosh would never do such a thing."
Zuluhed looked at Nazgrim with a smile:
"At least Thrall allowed me to wait. A few days ago, the Dragonmaw Clan received news that Cho'gall was plotting to seize Orgrimmar. I rushed to Orgrimmar to deliver the message, but outside Garrosh's tent, he sent men to drive me away. If I hadn't escaped quickly, I would have been killed in a ditch in Orgrimmar. Later, I went to find you, the noble High General Nazgrim, and you made me wait for ten whole days. In the end, I learned that you had gone to Pandaria. You were just giving me a perfunctory answer."
Nazgrim was dumbfounded.
He then remembered that a few days ago he had heard of an old Orcs dressed in tattered clothes requesting an audience, claiming to be some kind of chieftain. Nazgrim was busy with military affairs in Pandaria and had casually told him to wait, quickly forgetting about it. The next day, he set sail and completely forgot about it.