Nazgrim, unfazed by Malkorok's well-intentioned warning, retorted with displeasure:
"This is absurd! I just helped the Warchief destroy the Dragonmaw Clan, performing such a great service. The Warchief will surely reward me; how could any misfortune possibly occur?"
Malkorok carefully examined Nazgrim's eyes, detecting a hint of panic and unease. It seemed Nazgrim had also realized something.
"Nazgrim, your bad words about the Warchief to Mogor have been recorded by Saurfang the Great and reported to the Warchief. You should understand what will happen next, after all, you know the Warchief's character."
Nazgrim's gaze dimmed slightly, but he quickly mustered his courage, his eyes blazing brightly:
"Absurd! Anyone with a brain should know the true meaning behind my words. My loyalty to the Warchief is as clear as day and night, and I will not allow anyone to desecrate it."
Malkorok chuckled mockingly, "I'm afraid you're the one who's brainless, General. You're clinging to wishful thinking, naively believing the Warchief will let you off the hook."
Nazgrim scoffed, "Everyone knows I'm innocent!"
Malkorok's eyes were full of mockery. "Wasn't Mogor innocent? Did Zuluhed deserve his fate? Did all the dead Orcs of the Dragonmaw Clan deserve to die?"
Nazgrim was speechless for a moment, and could only roar angrily:
"Don't even think about trying to sow discord between me and the Warchief. Everything you said today will be reported to the Warchief, and you will be punished."
Malkorok shook his head in disappointment, then gave a self-deprecating laugh, "See? What did you take my well-intentioned warning for? Fine, sue me all you want, I really don't care."
Nazgrim suppressed his anger and completed the handover with Malkorok. He then left without a word with his personal guards. At the docks of Twilight Lands, a large ship was already waiting.
A large group of Orcs disembarked from the ship, led by a valiant female Orcs wearing beautiful, tight-fitting leather armor, said to be made of Zandalar Vulpera skin.
It was Zaela, the new chieftain of the Dragonmaw Clan and Garrosh's woman.
Nazgrim's heart sank, and he knew something was wrong, but he still held onto a sliver of hope.
Zaela toyed with a pair of sharp daggers, completely disregarding Nazgrim. A slight smirk played on his lips as he chuckled amusedly.
"The Warchief's orders are that all his personal guards remain in Twilight Highlands."
Nazgrim's personal guards were all handpicked, battle-hardened Veteran loyalty and strength were beyond question. Zaela, on the other hand, had more men, but they were mostly new recruits.
If Nazgrim gave the order, his personal guards could easily tear Zaela and his men to shreds.
Nazgrim stared into Zaela's eyes. The woman made no attempt to hide her contempt; in her eyes, Nazgrim was less than a dog.
An unnamed rage surged in Nazgrim's chest; he wanted to punch the woman, but then a dignified face appeared in his mind.
Warchief Garrosh Hellscream.
"Even for the sake of my wife, children, and the whole family, let's endure it for now."
Thinking of his family in Orgrimmar, Nazgrim could only choose to endure, still harboring a sliver of hope for Garrosh. He waved his hand, ordering his personal guards to remain at the dock.
Nazgrim boarded the ship, and just as the ship left the dock, a sudden shout of battle erupted. Nazgrim was terrified and hurriedly went to the deck.
On the docks, an army of Forsaken attacked, and endless Ghouls overwhelmed Nazgrim's personal guards, cruelly devouring them.
"No, what have you all done?" Nazgrim's eyes widened in fury, but then his arms were grabbed and he was forced against the railing, a sharp dagger piercing his chest.
Zaela whispered in his ear, "Is this how you killed Mogor?"
Nazgrim shook his head in anguish.
"So that must be it?"
A strong Orcs walked over, raised his Battle Axe, and struck Nazgrim in the back, breaking his spine and rendering him unable to get up.
Zaela shouted, "Shaman, don't let this the Destroyer die! Nazgrim is a great general; he must receive a just trial in Orgrimmar!"
A Shaman walked over, forcibly pried open Nazgrim's mouth, Proficiency cut off his tongue, and then put it in his mouth and chewed it.
Nazgrim could only whimper without making a sound. The Shaman grinned maliciously, "The Great General's tongue is truly delicious, probably from giving orders all the time."
Orgrimmar.
It was a grand day, much more lively than usual, with countless Orcs gathering in the streets of Orgrimmar, their faces beaming with schadenfreude.
The news had already spread throughout Orgrimmar: General Nazgrim was plotting to destroy Azeroth, secretly colluding with Thrall the Destroyer, to turn all Orcs into Goblins.
The noble Orcs have always looked down on Goblins, considering them to be nothing more than filthy and lowly creatures. For Orcs to become Goblin is worse than killing them.
Fortunately, the wise female general Zaela discovered Nazgrim's plot, severely wounded Thrall at the most critical moment, successfully captured Nazgrim, and saved Azeroth.
Although the Orcs turning into Goblins and the destruction of Azeroth seem unrelated, the Orcs wouldn't care about this minor flaw.
Nazgrim was imprisoned in a prison wagon and entered Orgrimmar through the main gate. To humiliate Nazgrim, the wagon deliberately made a long detour through the city.
Curses erupted from the crowd.
"Die, you the Destroyer!"
"You actually colluded with the wicked Thrall? I really misjudged you."
"I will buy your flesh from the Warchief to eat; the Orcs cannot tolerate even the slightest speck of dust."
Stones rained down on Nazgrim, but he stubbornly straightened his back, silently comforting himself. "I shed my blood for this city; no one can erase my deeds, not even Warchief Garrosh."
Nazgrim completely broke down as he passed through the gates of the Valley of Honor.
He saw his wife, children, and family—the entire Nazgrim family, more than three hundred people in total, their heads neatly arranged, their faces covered in scars, clearly having suffered torture.
Garrosh, why are you doing this to me?
Nazgrim's last hope was shattered, and darkness enveloped him.
In a daze, he saw countless Orcs standing in the street. They were the people of the Dragonmaw Clan, staring expressionlessly at Nazgrim, while the blood-soaked Mogor smiled and waved to him.
"So this is all what I deserved."
Nazgrim's heart sank completely as he recalled what he had said to Mogor:
"When you choose to help the Orcs, you are beginning your path to destruction. You are only courting your own demise."
Nazgrim couldn't forgive himself, feeling remorseful. "I know everything, so why do I become such a hopeless fool when it comes to myself?"
After being paraded through the streets, Nazgrim was taken to the chieftain's tent.
In front of all the generals, Garrosh, with a sorrowful expression, said sadly:
"Nazgrim, I valued you so much, and personally promoted you to the rank of general. Why did you betray me? It breaks my heart. Who can I trust now?"
Garrosh managed to squeeze out two tears, covering his face to stop himself from laughing out loud.
"We are bosom friends, and I cannot bear to see you die like this. Take him away, lock him in a prison cell, and give our great general a proper welcome."
The pain of death had vanished, Mogor awoke slowly, seemingly out of nowhere.