Upon hearing this, Zuluhed's eyes widened as he stared at the empty wine bottle in front of him.
He then noticed that Mogor had brought two bottles of wine, and the two of them each drank from one bottle, while their own wine was poured from the same bottle.
Anger, confusion, resentment, and disappointment were all displayed on Zuluhed's face. The old chieftain of the Dragonmaw Clan's facial muscles twitched slightly, and finally he sighed resignedly.
"You are no match for them, you cannot defeat them," Zuluhed said helplessly.
Mogor, unconvinced, stubbornly declared, "I am superior to them. I am stronger, skilled in combat, and adept at governing the people."
Zuluhed shook his head and smiled wryly:
"This has nothing to do with excellence or strength. Neither Thrall nor Garrosh are the strongest or the smartest among the Orcs. True, their ability to manage the Orcs is poor; they are not only inferior to you and me, but any Elite member of their tribe could do a better job."
Mogor thought he had found the answer, "They were just lucky."
Zuluhed's lips curled slightly, his eyes filled with Mercy:
"Child, you are too naive. Luck is only part of strength. Admittedly, Thrall and Garrosh achieved their current success because of the help of benefactors, but given the same opportunity, those benefactors would not have chosen you or me. Do you know why?"
Mogor shook his head in confusion.
"You're not as cruel as them; they're all one in a million emotionless killing machines."
Zuluhed explained the reason:
"Can you just sit idly by and watch thousands of civilians die? Your close comrades, who saved your life countless times, you turn around and chop off their heads with an axe, then eat their children. In their eyes, life is nothing but grass, merely a meaningless number. No matter how gruesome the death, it won't make them feel guilty; it will only make them feel excited and look forward to the next slaughter."
Mogor lowered his head, admitting he couldn't do it, but stubbornly insisted, "I'll try my best."
Zuluhed said weakly:
"Some gaps are insurmountable. In peacetime, under fair and just circumstances, you might be able to defeat them honorably. But in these chaotic times, human life is worthless. You are far too inferior to Thrall and Garrosh. Their cruelty is innate; they have no compassion whatsoever and know nothing of kindness. You will only become a stepping stone for them. By the way, how long did it take you to finally decide to poison the wine?"
Young Mogor, somewhat reluctant, honestly replied, "About one night."
Zuluhed laughed, "For Thrall and Garrosh, it only takes less than half a second. The gap between you and them is too great. I can't wish you well; I can only wait for you down below."
A sharp dagger plunged into Zuluhed's chest. The proud chieftain of the Dragonmaw Clan would never beg for mercy. Mogor was horrified and knelt on the ground, weeping bitterly.
The poison in the wine was not fatal; it merely rendered the victim weak. Mogor had no intention of killing the old chief; he only intended to imprison him temporarily and release him when the time was right, allowing him to live out his remaining years in peace.
"I have to learn to be ruthless, don't I? Thank you, Chief."
Mogor wiped away his tears, drew his dagger, and severed the old chief's head.
"Thrall, Garrosh, you are my role models, my mentors."
Holding the old chief's head, Mogor made as ferocious a face as possible as he stepped out of the tent.
The crowd gradually gathered, looking at the head in Mogor's hand. Some tribesmen showed angry expressions, some were panicked, and most were indifferent.
Mogor raised his head, unwilling to explain with lies, and said bluntly:
"From this moment forward, I am the new Warchief of the Dragonmaw Clan. The Dragonmaw Clan has parted ways with Cho'gall, and fully supports Warchief Garrosh's Justice cause, for Azeroth, for the future of the Dragonmaw Clan."
Nazgrim revealed a triumphant smile amidst the crowd.
Orgrimmar, Valley of Strength.
The thought of replacing Garrosh only flashed through the small Orcs's mind for a moment before he dismissed it. He didn't realize that some opportunities, once missed, are gone forever.
Just think how ridiculous it is. Warchief Garrosh is a man of noble character and extraordinary strength. In terms of morality, intelligence, and personal strength, he is the most outstanding among Orcs in millions of years.
Garrosh was born for the position of Warchief. On the day of his birth, the entire universe resounded with praise. If Garrosh had not been born, the Orcs would have been plunged into eternal darkness.
This understanding is simply basic common sense, ingrained in the bones of every Orcs from childhood.
The short Orcs shook his head, pondering how to please Warchief Garrosh. He needed to claim all the credit for himself in order to receive a reward from the wise Warchief.
By the way, we must eliminate Cho'gall and his Twilight's Hammer cultists.
Cho'gall was an Archmage with extraordinary strength. The small Orcs, not considering himself strong, quietly lagged behind, watching the hot-blooded Orcs charge to the front.
When the Orcs stormed into the chieftain's tent, the little man regretted it; the tent was empty.
The short Orcs hurriedly squeezed out of the crowd and stood in front of the Warchief's throne, stopping several grinning Orcs who were eager to test the comfort of the throne.
"Halt! The chieftain's throne belongs to Warchief Garrosh. Warchief Garrosh is like a second parent to us. Without Warchief, you would have died long ago."
The crowd was noisy, and many Orcs couldn't help but push forward. The small Orcs could only find the Elite among the people and finally managed to control the chaotic Orcs.
The short man was panting heavily, thankfully his noble throne hadn't been defiled by these filthy Orcs. Under the leadership of the Elites, the people gradually regained their Order and searched the entire Orgrimmar, but they couldn't find Cho'gall.
It seems the Twilight's Hammer has retreated, Orgrimmar is back in the hands of the Orcs. The little man breathed a sigh of relief, overjoyed, as if wealth and glory were just around the corner.
Find an Orcs skilled in running to serve as a messenger and deliver the good news to Garrosh in the Great Den of the Trial Canyon as quickly as possible.
The short man began preparing a grand welcoming ceremony to greet Warchief Garrosh's victorious return. He dared not take credit for himself; all the glory belonged to the great Warchief.
In the Valley of Trials, Garrosh is playing chess with Rokhan. The Warchief is by no means omnipotent, and Garrosh's chess skills are extremely poor, but he always manages to win.
Intelligence kept pouring in from Orgrimmar, and everything was under control. Garrosh hadn't expected to be able to drive Cho'gall away so easily, and couldn't help but show a smug expression.
A guard reported: A messenger has arrived in Orgrimmar, requesting Warchief Garrosh to return to Orgrimmar to oversee government affairs.
Garrosh didn't even look up, and said calmly, "Eat him."
"What?" the guard asked in confusion, thinking he had misheard.
Garrosh added, displeased, "I said, eat him."