Maraad's voice was filled with fear and unease:
"Next, I will talk about the Warsong Clan Clans, the most ferocious of the Orcs clans, and their Warchief, Grom Hellscream."
Upon hearing this legendary name, Varian's body trembled, his legs went weak, and he almost collapsed to the ground.
In fact, during the two Orcs Wars, the Warsong Clan's only notable achievement was defending the Dark Portal; otherwise, they did not accomplish much.
But the wounds they inflicted on Azeroth were the most profound. This Clans was more ferocious and ruthless than other Orcs, leaving desolation and barrenness wherever they went.
Especially their leader Grom Hellscream, the reaper of women and children, a cruel and merciless executioner, was practically synonymous with death.
If Grom Hellscream hadn't been treated like a dog by Thrall, Varian would have fainted from fright by now.
Varian himself and said skeptically, "I remember Grom had a humiliating period; his iron will is nothing special."
Maraad shook his head:
"Your King, you do not understand Grom. Fifteen years of life in the wilderness eroded his will, and Thrall's betrayal further contributed to his descent into such a state in his old age."
One should not rely solely on rumors, but rather examine one's actions.
It is said that Grom Hellscream's will was as strong as steel. Putting aside the humiliation of his later years, the fact that he could not resist the temptation of Mannoroth's Blood shows that many of the rumors are untrue.
Unfortunately, Varian hadn't considered this aspect, completely absorbed in his fear of the legendary Orcs chieftain.
Maraad's voice trembled as he said:
"I have never seen such a terrifying Orcs. Grom and his Warsong Clan have been encroaching on the Ogre territory. His specialty is killing women and children, stealing all valuables, and burning everything in sight. During one raid on Ogre village, the Warsong Clan was ambushed by the Ogre army, and Grom was defeated without any surprise."
In terms of size, the Ogres had a clear advantage, and with Ogre among them, the Orcs' defeat was understandable.
"The Ogre hung Grom from a withered tree, leaving him to bake in the sun for a full hundred days without food or water."
"Wait, you said one hundred days." Varian's face showed horror.
Maraad nodded solemnly:
"That's right, it was one hundred days. An ordinary Orcs wouldn't last three days, but Grom, with his strong will, even though his once robust body became skin and bones, still did not give in. When the Ogres came to collect his body, they found that he still had a trace of life left."
"My God, there are such terrifying Orcs." Varian's face turned pale.
Maraad said seriously:
"A strong will can transform into life force, creating incredible miracles. The Ogre overlord rushed to the scene upon hearing the news. As he approached Grom suddenly broke free of his ropes and bit off the Ogre overlord's head. The overlord was accompanied by more than a dozen loyal followers, who scattered in terror at that moment. One of the followers later recalled that they witnessed Grom devour the overlord's massive body in a few bites, and the withered body swelled up again. They all said that he had gained the power of the devil when he was close to death."
Varian roared as he overturned the sand table before him, "Such terrible enemies, and you've bewitched me into crossing the Dark Portal to fight them? Do you think Azeroth has no graveyards?"
Maraad was secretly surprised. How could he have voiced his fears and forgotten the purpose of his trip? He quickly tried to salvage the situation:
"No, no, Your King, please hear me out. Grom may be powerful, but he also has weaknesses."
Varian's eyes widened. "Tell me, what is his weakness?"
"Weakness, weakness."
Maraad hesitated for a long time, but couldn't say anything.
Varian demanded, "Can you defeat Grom Hellscream?"
Maraad shook his head.
"Then can I count on the Prophet Velen?" Varian asked again.
Maraad smiled wryly, "The Prophet Velen only knows how to plead with the Holy Light; he has never been on the Battlefield."
Varian slammed his fist into the collapsed sand table:
"So we are facing an invincible enemy. Do you want to see us all killed by him? Kingdom of Stormwind reduced to a sea of fire, Azeroth flowing with blood—are you satisfied then?"
Maraad froze, sensing something was amiss; some kind of magic was subtly influencing his emotions.
"It seems I must reconsider crossing the Dark Portal," Varian said anxiously.
"Your King, please allow me to explain." Maraad struggled to find the right words, trying to salvage the situation.
Varian waved his hand and said, "You can go back now."
The desolate Wilderness was baked by the scorching sun.
Compared to the warm sunshine of Azeroth, the sunlight in Draenor World is intensely fiery and explosive, as if the earth is being scorched directly by fire.
Grom Hellscream was hanging from a crooked tree, his body swaying gently.
Beside him, the corpses of thousands of the Warsong Clan Orcs piled up into a small mountain.
Grimak fiddled with a small gadget; although his fingers were thick, they possessed an unusual dexterity.
"Do you recognize this thing?" Grimak showed off to Garrosh beside him.
Garrosh glanced at it, pursed his lips, and replied:
"I've seen something similar, made by Goblins. It can quickly draw a picture. I rarely use this thing; everyone says it can drain a person's life force."
Grimak laughed heartily, "As expected of an ignorant Orcs. This thing is called a camera. Long ago, the Draenei descended upon Draenor and taught the Arakkoa how to make it. But after hundreds of years, it was lost among the Draenei. Prophet Velen you similar reasons, saying that this thing is inherently ominous and goes against the Path of the Holy Light."
After taking several photos of Grom Hellscream in the tree, Grimak selected a relatively satisfactory one and said with a smile:
"After a crushing defeat, the Warchief was captured by Ogres, but he survived with unwavering willpower and even brought back the head of the Ogre overseer—a flawless legendary script."
Grimak tossed a prepared replica Ogre head to the ground, Grom Hellscream jumped down from the tree, grinning obsequiously as he carefully picked up the head.
"Nothing could be more inspiring than this; he will become a great hero among the Orcs, a living legend."
Grimak brandished his camera. "These will circulate as evidence throughout Draenor World, and soon, all Orcs will know."
Garrosh asked awkwardly, "Aren't there any real legends in this world?"
"Have!"
Grimak said in a serious tone:
"But no leader can make a legend spread, unless it happens to the leader himself. What are the chances of a leader becoming a legend? If it's not fake, it's simply impossible. You have to understand, most people are foolish; they believe in false legends more."
Garrosh smiled wryly and pointed at his father, saying, "Are all the warlords of Draenor World this kind of scum? I really doubt how they even managed to invade Azeroth."
Grimak sneered:
"When a nobody gains power, they are often more unscrupulous and reckless than the big shots. Unfortunately, they cannot withstand setbacks, so once the Orcs are defeated, they never recover. But this is not the case for everyone; there are also truly capable chieftains."