Pride can cause one to miss opportunities.
Now that things had come to this, Nazgrim didn't know what to say, and could only whisper:
"Terribly sorry."
Zuluhed waved his hand and said:
"I should be the one apologizing. When the Dragonmaw Clan was in dire need of famine, it was Cho'gall brought them food and fresh meat. Pride prevented me from accepting aid from an Ogre, but my people were slowly dying, so I had no choice but to accept it."
"Even so, my heart remains with the Orcs. When I learned of Cho'gall's plot, I immediately informed you. Cho'gall then found me; he knows everything. Cho'gall told me that if I refused to join his plan, he would loot Orgrimmar and flee, and when Garrosh's 100,000-strong army returned, it would be the end of the Dragonmaw Clan."
Nazgrim retorted, "The wise Warchief Garrosh would never do such a thing!"
Zuluhed smiled faintly and said, "We understand some things; there's no need to cover them up with lies. Go back, Nazgrim. The Dragonmaw Clan has no way out."
Nazgrim fell silent. He couldn't persuade the wise Warchief, who had seen through everything: if the Dragonmaw Clan returned to the Horde, they would only face certain death.
But Nazgrim did not give up. He could see that Mogor, Zuluhed's son-in-law, was a frivolous young Orcs who did not see things as clearly as the old chieftain. He believed that Moghol could be used.
That night, Nazgrim sneaked into the Dragonmaw Clan camp and, with the help of guards he had bribed beforehand, found Mogor's tent.
Mogor was quite surprised by Nazgrim's arrival and complained:
"General, wasn't the chief's words during the day clear enough? You should leave this place."
Nazgrim smiled warmly:
"I met you at the camp today, and I was struck by your extraordinary bearing. You are truly a great hero. I, Nazgrim, have always loved befriending heroes. My visit tonight has no other purpose than to make friends with you, and it would be best if we could become confidants."
Mogor looked wary and said in a sarcastic tone:
"General Nazgrim, you are a favorite of Warchief Garrosh, a great general of the Horde, commanding thousands of troops. I am not worthy of your position. Please return."
Nazgrim was prepared. He inquired about Mogor's hobbies, took out two bottles of fine wine from his pocket, and opened them. The aroma of the wine filled the air, and Mogor was immediately attracted.
Mogor was arrogant and considered himself Invincible, but unfortunately he was trapped in the small Dragonmaw Clan, unable to realize his ambitions. As a result, he developed a habit of drinking. The wine that Nazgrim brought was a fine brew that Mogor had never seen before, and his mouth watered.
"General, please have a seat."
Mogor produced two plates of roasted meat, which Nazgrim immediately recognized as Red Dragon meat stored in the Orgrimmar underground warehouse. He calmly poured Mogor a glass of wine.
After downing a glass of wine, Mogor's face flushed, and the two seemed to have grown closer. Nazgrim deliberately asked, "Brother Mogor, do you know what kind of wine this is?"
Mogor shook his head, unsure. Nazgrim boasted:
"Everyone says that the Dwarves of the Azeroth Continent have the most mellow wine, but that's because they don't understand wine. Only the Night Elf race can brew truly good wine. These two bottles are over five hundred years old, brewed through seventy-eight processes. After completion, they were placed deep within the Emerald Nightmare, where they must be eroded by the Nightmare power for many years to obtain truly authentic and excellent wine."
Mogor exclaimed in surprise, "No wonder this wine gives me a feeling of falling into a dream; it's the Nightmare power."
Nazgrim waved his hand and laughed:
"This is nothing compared to the Night Elf race's thousand-year-old wine. Drinking it sends you straight into a dream, where you can have whatever you want. Waking up feels like a thousand years have passed, a bittersweet experience that leaves you wanting more. I've only ever had this wine once, on Thrall's wedding day. The Warchief was heartbroken and sought me out to drown his sorrows. After waking up, Warchief completely forgot about Agna."
Mogor looked on with envy. "I wonder when I'll get to drink this thousand-year-old wine. If I could, I'd die happy."
Nazgrim chuckled, "Brother Mogor, the outside world is incredibly wonderful; first, you have to go out and explore."
With a heavy heart, Med'an sneaked into Orgrimmar.
Before Med'an entered Orgrimmar, Orcs had already developed an intelligence network, and the miners had secretly formed organizations to operate in the shadows.
Cho'gall possessed an exceptionally shrewd mind, providing the Orcs with a fixed amount of food to ensure they could collapse into bed exhausted after a day's work.
But Cho'gall overlooked one thing: the Blood of Mannoroth.
The Burning Legion has never stopped supplying the Orcs with the blood of the Pit Lords. Using the Demons blood, the miners briefly gained superhuman strength. They didn't even need to rest. A small group of energetic Orcs united to prepare for a big undertaking.
Inside a dark tent, hundreds of Orcs gathered together. The tent was too small, so they had to leave space in the center. To avoid being discovered by Twilight's Hammer, they had to be stacked like sacks. For Orcs, there was no difficulty they could not overcome.
These hundreds of Orcs were all prominent Elites among the miners, each Elite anywhere from dozens to hundreds of Orcs.
A small Orcs stood in the open space, delivering an enthusiastic speech:
"Brothers, the days of suffering are about to end. I have received news that the Savior has arrived. Do not misunderstand, it is not Thrall, the Thrall of the Destroyer. You must have heard of Med'an."
A jostled Orcs asked, "I know Med'an. He's Medivh's son. It's a pity Medivh abandoned Orgrimmar; he couldn't Cho'gall."
"Medrian is more powerful than Medivh," the short man asserted. "Medrian has the blood of Sargeras within him, the Dark Titan Sargeras, who is larger than the world of Azeroth."
"But wasn't Sargeras defeated by Saurfang the Great's brother?" an Orcs said.
The short Orcs was a little confused, and tried his best to explain:
"That's different. Besides Sargeras's blood, Med'an also has Draenei blood. Okay, Draenei are trash, but Med'an has the blood of the Void Lords and Elune. They had a past relationship, and Med'an is their Bastard Son. It's true, Legolas from the next mine said it. You all know he's a Prophet, and not a single word he says is wrong."
Med'an stood outside the tent, unsure whether to go in or not.
Legolas, the folk Prophet, was practically a god in the eyes of these ignorant Orcs, and he made a definitive statement about Med'an's origins.
Med'an suddenly realized that these Orcs were a bunch of fools who believed whatever they were told. With that thought, he strode confidently into the tent.
A beam of light illuminated the tent, making the cramped space seem larger. The Orcs no longer needed to huddle together; even lying on the ground, there was still enough space.
Half of Med'an's body was shrouded in darkness, while the other half shone brightly in the light. He spoke in a clear voice:
My father said: Darkness and Void are eternal; my mother said: Light brings us hope. I am the Child of Light and Darkness, walking between shadow and light. Those who believe in me will find light; those who oppose me will fall into darkness.