Twilight Highlands, Blood Gorge.
Nazgrim went to visit the new Dragonmaw chieftain Mogor, and saw a Twilight's Hammer cultists in a purple robe just leaving. He immediately frowned, realizing something was wrong.
Inside the tent, Mogor hung his head, looking very unwell. He hadn't yet recovered from the death of the old chieftain Zuluhed. Seeing Nazgrim enter, he said weakly:
"I know everything that happened in Orgrimmar. The people helped Warchief Garrosh reclaim Orgrimmar, and now they are all dead—two hundred thousand Orcs."
Nazgrim's mind raced as he quickly devised a plan, and he sat down opposite Mogor.
"Upon hearing this news, I came to find you immediately, Mogor. I'm sorry, perhaps I misjudged the Warchief. If this continues, we will all die."
Mogor looked at Nazgrim with surprise. "General, what do you mean by this?"
Nazgrim, seeing that no one was around, said mysteriously:
"To be honest, I've long held a grudge against Garrosh. Many of his actions are chilling. The Orgrimmar incident made me completely lose faith in him. The future of the Orcs cannot be entrusted to a cold-blooded Butcher."
Mogor wholeheartedly agreed, nodding and saying, "I would never support such Warchief."
Nazgrim sighed and said:
"In chaotic times, no one can remain unscathed. Thrall is leading his army towards Orgrimmar and will soon be engaged in battle with Garrosh. This is a golden opportunity."
Mogor, puzzled, asked, "What opportunity?"
Nazgrim's eyes gleamed, and he said in a low voice, "Don't you want to become the Warchief of the Horde? Thrall and Garrosh are both weakened; you can take advantage of this weakness and seize control of Orgrimmar."
Mogor took a sharp breath, realizing that this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity was right in front of him. He was immediately excited, but after a moment's thought, Mogor shook his head.
"That's impossible. Guardian Medivh would never support me, Bronze Dragonflight of the Caverns of Time have no reason to provide me with Orcs soldiers. Besides, the Horde also has the Forsaken, and Sylvanas is ambitious; she won't let me go."
Currently, the Dragonmaw Clan has only about 10,000 Warriors; the rest are old, weak, sick, or disabled. Even with the help of the Red Dragons, they are far from being a match for Sylvanas.
Nazgrim incited:
"As the saying goes, fortune favors the bold. Brother Mogor, all you need to do is choose between Thrall and Garrosh, help them achieve final victory, then sideline them as a powerless puppet chieftain, and you can control everything from behind the scenes."
"This!"
Mogor was persuaded, pacing anxiously back and forth, finally succumbing to his own greed. "Excellent, this plan is feasible. The Dragonmaw Clan should rise immediately. Even if it fails, we can maintain a tripartite negotiation and establish Council of Three Hammers similar to that of the Humans."
Orgrimmar.
Under the indifferent gazes of Thrall and Garrosh, the ancient Orcs Blood War began.
The soldiers on both sides retreated, clearing a space.
The first to join the Blood War were two thousand selected weak soldiers, including elderly Veterans, wounded soldiers with bandages wrapped around their bodies, a few bewildered teenagers, and weak Orcs born with stunted growth, among others.
Holding Battle Axes, they were pushed and shoved, forced onto the Battlefield. They looked at each other, their eyes filled with fear, their hands holding the Battle Axes trembling.
The earth-shattering war drums sounded, Shaman on both sides began chanting almost simultaneously, granting them Bloodlust effect. The soldiers' eyes turned red, and they almost simultaneously entered a berserk state, howling as they charged towards the enemy.
Their only belief was to plunge their Battle Axe into their opponent's chest before being killed.
In the center of the Battlefield, blood and flesh flew everywhere, and severed limbs were scattered all over the place. Every second, Orcs fell.
The soldiers behind cheered, chattered, and pointed, as if watching a monkey show.
The battle lasted less than fifteen minutes before it ended. In the end, Thrall's soldiers emerged victorious, with approximately two hundred soldiers surviving. Their armor, sourced from the August Celestials, was of better quality than that of Garrosh's soldiers.
Garrosh didn't care. The second wave of a thousand soldiers rushed into the Battlefield. They were slightly stronger and, having rested and prepared, easily killed Thrall's two hundred soldiers.
Next came the Battlefield phase, with both sides sending professionals to carry the bodies back and prepare them as Tough Jerky for future use.
Subsequently, Thrall's thousand soldiers also entered the Battlefield.
As the Shaman chanted loudly, another chaotic battle ensued, with blood flowing like a river on the ground. Just as expected, Thrall's soldiers emerged victorious. Thrall, standing on the high platform, couldn't help but feel smug, looking at Garrosh with a provocative gaze.
Garrosh waved his hand; this time, he had sent out soldiers from the Frostwolf Clan.
Among the soldiers the Bronze Dragonflight sent to Thrall and Garrosh were Orcs from various Clans. The Frostwolf Clan was a thorn in Garrosh's side, and conversely, Thrall hated the Warsong Clan Orcs the most.
As times have changed, the Blood War has also quietly evolved, gradually becoming a good opportunity for chieftains to eliminate dissidents. After all, the strength of a certain Orcs is entirely up to the chieftain.
Even the strongest Orcs would find it difficult to survive two rounds of battle, and no one knows how many great warriors were wasted in the Blood War.
As expected, the Frostwolf Clan won the victory, Thrall, seeing this, immediately retaliated by sending soldiers from the Warsong Clan.
An interesting scene unfolded: soldiers from the Frostwolf Clan and the Warsong Clan faced off, slaughtering each other amidst Shaman chants, their leaders wishing for their deaths.
The outcome of the battle was unexpected; the Frostwolf Clan emerged victorious. Garrosh, the victor, wore a gloomy expression, while Thrall, the defeated one, was beaming with pride.
The Blood War continued. In order to achieve victory, Thrall and Garrosh almost simultaneously abandoned the sacred rules, and there was no distinction between the strong and the weak.
Those spectators in the stands, the Orcs soldiers who were pointing fingers and talking big, became victims of the Blood War in the blink of an eye, forced to fight and die on the spot, becoming the laughingstock of others.
The Blood War lasted all day. Thrall and Garrosh, like gamblers who had lost everything, continued to send out soldiers even though both sides had suffered more than half their casualties.
In the heat of the moment, both Thrall and Garrosh forgot about time and ignored the changing of the sun and moon. As the sun slowly rose, Garrosh suddenly realized that he had lost all his cards.
Only a few dozen generals, life advisors, Chef, a large harem, and their families remained by his side; more than 20,000 soldiers had perished in the Blood War.
As expected, Thrall, with his superior numbers, emerged victorious, still retaining a 3,000-strong Frostwolf Clan Personal Guard by his side.
Garrosh gritted his teeth in hatred, but the most desperate moment had not yet arrived. He had a Teleportation Scroll in his possession that could help him teleport to a nearby airship in Doras.
Afterwards, they can simply mobilize troops from the Caverns of Time and launch another attack.
Not far from Orgrimmar, Mogor, holding a telescope, witnessed the entire brutal Blood War and saw Thrall on the verge of victory.
"Whom should I help become the puppet chieftain, Thrall or Garrosh?" Mogor asked General Nazgrim beside him.