Stormwind Keep.
Varian had no desire to hear anything about Draenor; he just wanted to go back and rest. Unfortunately, Khadgar, obsessed with understanding the enemy, wanted to continue.
Maraad took a sip of water, his voice trembling as he said:
"I'm going to talk about Warlord Hannibal, the most fearsome swordsman among the Orcs."
"Why have I never heard of this name before?" Khadgar asked, puzzled.
Maraad said with trepidation, "Hannibal had an accident before the Dark Portal was built, and the Blackhand took his place. In the Draenor World thirty-five years ago, I can hardly guarantee that I will not encounter Warlord Hannibal."
"The Blackrock Clan lives in the vast land of Gorgrond, a strange place where the east is a terrifying jungle and the west is a wasteland. The Blackrock Clan faces an exceptionally harsh environment, and in order to arm their people, they have built a massive foundry, possessing the most terrifying weapons production capacity in Draenor World. It must be noted that the Prophet Velen once helped them."
"Gorgrond has never been peaceful. Facing all kinds of terrible enemies, the Blackrock Clan has developed a tenacious character and produced many strong individuals. The Warlord Hannibal is the most commanding star of the Blackrock Clan. He learned swordsmanship from a young age, mastered it at the age of five, and Execute a Gronn with a bamboo sword at the age of ten. At the age of twenty, he abandoned his sword and used a hammer. No one in Draenor can match him."
"Warlord Hannibal hasn't made a move in a long time. His greatest strength lies in uniting the Blackrock Clan into a powerful war machine. They are disciplined, adept at fighting tough battles, and have killed the most of our Draenei. If the Warsong Clan is a ferocious tiger, then the Blackrock Clan is a Blood War."
Varian gave another bitter smile; the power of Draenor World only fueled his despair time and time again.
Khadgar said seriously, "I'm still most concerned about Warlord Hannibal's personal abilities."
Maraad took a deep breath. "Draenor World has three ancient gods: Flame God Rukhmar; Wind Serpent God Sethe; Raven God Anzu. They were all defeated by Warlord Hannibal, and his individual strength should be equivalent to Deathwing's."
Deathwing!
Hearing this name that evokes despair, Khadgar just wanted to cry.
Gorgrond, Blackrock Mine.
The enormous mine pit was big enough to hold most of Orgrimmar, and countless Orcs were busy inside.
The Warlord Hannibal had graying temples. Unlike his muscular clansmen, Hannibal was tall and straight, with a chiseled face and piercing gray eyes.
Before him lay a massive warhammer, its head as large as half the size of Orcs; even the strongest Orcs could not wield such a heavy hammer.
In Hannibal's hands, the heavy warhammer was like a toy. He looked down at the hardworking Orcs, and anyone who slacked off would experience the power of the warhammer. Hannibal would always lift the warhammer with one hand and throw it. After some unlucky guy became a meat pie, at least twenty Orcs would carry the warhammer back to Hannibal's side.
That's where Hannibal's fun lies.
"Blackrock Orcs are destined for a life of toil; when will it ever end?"
Blackhand grumbled in dissatisfaction, and together with his old friend Orgrimmar, they lifted a huge rock.
The Blackrock Orcs are known for their hard work; whether they are toiling in the mines or working in the Blackrock Foundry, they need to Consecration 100% of their sweat.
The heavy physical labor far exceeded the Orcs' physical capacity, and a large number of Orcs died from exhaustion every year. Once the Blackrock Orcs passed their prime, their bodies would break down, leading to their elimination.
Deep within the eerie Blackrock Mines, within the furnaces of the Blackrock Foundry, countless Blackrock Orcs lie buried.
All the labor was for the glory of Warlord Hannibal.
Orgrimmar lowered his voice and said, "Blackhand, I know you're not convinced, but what can we do? Hannibal's power is beyond our ability to contend with."
Blackhand had a deep understanding of this. For example, the Blackrock Mine was originally a mountain, but when Warlord Hannibal struck, he not only destroyed the mountain peak with a single blow, but also left behind a bottomless pit.
This terrifying power was beyond human resistance. Although all the Blackrock Orcs were dissatisfied with Hannibal, no one dared to rebel.
"I hope this is Hannibal's last concubine," Blackhand sighed.
The Blackrock Clan had various reasons for their labor. For example, Hannibal needed a palace after taking his seventieth concubine, Hannibal wanted to try the hot springs, and Hannibal found the mountain in front of him an eyesore. After finally digging away the mountain, he felt something was missing, so he piled it up again.
Hannibal enjoyed seeing the Orcs work hard and could always find various reasons to do so.
After a long day of hard work, Blackhand and Orgrimmar were exhausted. The word "rest" didn't exist in Hannibal's dictionary, and the two of them had to keep working until sunset.
"I hope the moon is bad tonight."
Hannibal would only allow everyone to rest in the dead of night when it was pitch black.
An Orcs guard came running up, panting, and shouted:
"Blackhand, congratulations, you've been chosen."
"Selected for what?" Blackhand, puzzled.
The Orcs guard smiled and said, "Go work at the Blackrock Foundry, and you'll be far removed from hardship from now on."
Blackhand muttered to himself, "Finally, it's my turn. Good."
Then an exaggerated smile appeared on his face:
"Haha, I'm finally free!"
"Congratulations, congratulations." Orgrimmar smiled insincerely, feeling sorrow for his old friend.
The only true liberation, besides death, is becoming Furnace Soul.
Many Blackrock Orcs believe that being able to escape this hellish toil and become Furnace Soul is actually not so bad.
However, becoming Furnace Soul requires enduring terrible pain, maintaining one's will while being engulfed in flames; if that will breaks, the person dies.
Blackhand's strong will was the reason he was chosen.
Blackrock Foundry welcomed two unexpected guests today.
Grimak moved through Garrosh Blackrock Foundry as if it were his own backyard, and no Orcs noticed their presence.
"Look at this magnificent building, its ingenious design, the perfect fusion of nature and magic. Garrosh, someone as intelligent as you should have noticed something."
Garrosh stroked his chin and said:
"Orcs are not Mastery magic, much less skilled in precision mechanical design. In Orgrimmar, magical equipment is designed by Goblins, and our forge was built under Goblin guidance. But there are no Goblins in Draenor World."
"But there are the Draenei," Grimak said regretfully. "The Blackrock Foundry was originally built by the Draenei to construct Draenei warships, and they recruited Orcs as laborers. Unfortunately, it was stopped by the Prophet Velen, and since then the Draenei have been trapped in Draenor."
Oh, no!
Grimak let out an exaggerated scream, pointing to a red-hot furnace:
"What have these Orcs done? They're abusing machinery. Well, I can't expect Orcs to understand Nebula Engine technology."
"Nebula Engine, what's that?" Garrosh asked curiously.
"It's a bit complicated to explain."
Grimak's explanation, as concisely as possible:
"The Nebula Engine requires a core, a rare and incredibly precious man-made high-temperature Fire Elementals, which they use to make the core of the furnace."