Orgrimmar Does Not Believe in Tears (Part Three)

The cunning General Nazgrim, having anticipated this, replied without hesitation, "If you have confidence in yourself, support Thrall; otherwise, support Garrosh."

This was meant to be a test, and the answer was not what was expected.

Mogor was slightly surprised and asked, "I don't understand."

Nazgrim stroked his sharp fangs and said in a low voice:

"Although I once served Garrosh, I genuinely admire Thrall's abilities more. He is far more cunning, ruthless, and has no moral compass. Garrosh only became Warchief thanks to Queen Doras's help; his abilities are not commensurate with Warchief position. If Doras had been born a man, there would be no Thrall or Garrosh."

Mogor suddenly realized, "The general means that controlling Thrall is difficult, but Garrosh is much easier."

Nazgrim nodded. "Garrosh rose to power through women. Without Queen Doras, he wouldn't have everything he has today. Strictly speaking, he's Doras's puppet."

Mogor pondered for a while, then laughed:

"I'm more confident when it comes to women. Garrosh can gain Queen Doras's trust, and so can I, so I choose Garrosh."

Nazgrim secretly breathed a sigh of relief and praised, "A wise choice."

Thrall stood on the high platform, staring menacingly at Garrosh on the city gate.

"Son of Grom Hellscream, will you choose to die a heroic death, or will you choose to flee like a coward? Your father was an incompetent coward, and so are you. If it were me, I would put up a final stand and defend the honor of the Orcs with my blood."

Garrosh said in a low voice, "I choose death, to perish with Orgrimmar."

Although he said that, his actions betrayed him; Garrosh had already reached for the Teleportation Scroll in his pocket, preparing to leave.

As long as we live, we will surely reclaim our glory, and today's "I choose death" will resound throughout Azeroth.

Suddenly, a dragon's roar echoed from the sky, and more than a dozen Red Whelp took to the air, with Dragon Orcs on their backs. The Red Whelp to Thrall's position and spewed out long streams of Flame.

"Damn Dragonmaw Clan, have you all lost your minds?"

Thrall was furious and cursed loudly. The Dragonmaw Clan was Garrosh's enemy, and this was completely unexpected.

Despite having three thousand elite Orcs, the Orcs were not skilled in ranged attacks. A dozen Red Dragons surrounded the Orcs' position and spewed breath, causing heavy casualties among the three thousand soldiers, with the remainder fleeing in all directions.

At this critical moment of life and death, Thrall forgot about the honor of the Orcs, took out a Teleportation Scroll from his pocket, and quickly disappeared from the spot.

Garrosh was overjoyed and exclaimed, "Nazgrim, I knew you could be trusted!"

Dragons have enormous appetites, and the entire Dragonmaw Clan only had thirteen Red Whelps. In order to be able to join the great battle between the two sides, Mogor could only send Red Dragon riders in time.

After exhaling its Dragon's Breath, the Red Whelp flew to a nearby cliff to rest.

Seeing that the time was ripe, Nazgrim urged, "Mogor, the opportunity has arrived. Now, it's time to let Garrosh know who the Warchief truly is."

Mogor was filled with excitement. Garrosh had few soldiers left, making it the perfect opportunity to turn him into a puppet.

"Nazgrim, I will not forget your contributions. When I become Warchief, you will be the High Warlord of Orgrimmar, second only to me."

Mogor straightened his collar and strode toward Garrosh, as if the Horde of Warchief was beckoning to him.

Nazgrim hesitated for a moment, then spat out a sharp dagger from his sleeve and stabbed at Mogor from behind.

Unexpectedly, Mogor was prepared. He quickly turned around, reached out with his right hand, and grabbed Nazgrim's wrist like an iron clamp, glaring angrily into Nazgrim's eyes.

Mogor appeared slightly thinner than Nazgrim, but he was much stronger.

"I knew it would turn out like this." Mogor's face was ashen as he spat out, "This is your plan, isn't it? You've always been loyal to Garrosh."

Nazgrim's face showed horror, cold sweat pouring down his forehead. He hadn't expected the difference in strength between himself and Mogor to be so great; even a sneak attack hadn't been enough to defeat him. He coldly said:

"For a moment, I was truly tempted, but your methods and wisdom are far inferior to Garrosh's, let alone Thrall's. Serving as your subordinate will only lead to your eventual demise. Leaving the Dragonmaw Clan was your biggest mistake."

Mogor gritted his teeth and said sadly:

"So everything before was a lie, right? You think I'm a fool, someone you can fool? Damn it, there isn't a single good Orcs in Orgrimmar, you all deserve to die."

Mogor exerted force, Nazgrim, in pain, lost his grip on the dagger. Mogor then punched Nazgrim in the head.

Nazgrim felt a ringing in his head, followed by a faint cracking sound from above. The punch had slightly deformed his skull. Mogor, still not satisfied, continued to pummel Nazgrim with punch after punch, shouting:

"Come on, fight back! You coward! You call yourself a great general of the Orcs, but you're just a piece of trash. Any Elite from the Dragonmaw Clan could defeat you. It seems the rumors are true; you only got to this position by currying favor with Garrosh."

Nazgrim, writhing in excruciating pain, pleaded tearfully:

"Please spare me, yes, I am a coward."

Mogor was quite disappointed and somewhat relaxed his guard, chuckling coldly, "Nazgrim, who prides himself on being brave, is nothing but a coward."

Nazgrim, his face bruised and swollen, covered in blood, suddenly became serious and said in a low voice:

"Mogor, when it comes to the ability to launch a sneak attack, I'm far inferior. You've forgotten one person."

"What?"

A bright light flashed, and a sharp axe struck Mogor in the back.

"This was not a glorious strike, I'm sorry."

Mogor stumbled backward and saw an old Orcs with graying hair and beard, the symbol of the Horde's glory, Saurfang the Great, grinning at him.

"So this is the glory of the Orcs." Mogor coughed up blood from his back.

Taking advantage of the situation, Nazgrim picked up a dagger from the ground and viciously plunged it into Mogor's chest, twisting it as he spoke:

"Blame your greed for power. When you chose to help the Orcs, it was the beginning of your doom. You are only courting death, you fool. I will deal with your Dragonmaw Clan properly. To avoid future troubles, I will advise the Warchief to kill all your people. Your wife, children, all your people will become Tough Jerky. This is the retribution you deserve."

Upon hearing this, Mogor felt a pang of pain in his heart, far exceeding the physical agony. Tears of remorse streamed down his face as he cried out, "No, you can't do this! God, what have I done?"

"Orgrimmar doesn't believe in tears. You buried the Dragonmaw Clan with your own hands, you fool."

Nazgrim grinned maliciously, forcefully pulling out the dagger. Blood and bits of flesh gushed out, Mogor collapsed to the ground, his eyes refusing to close.