"The Orcs are closing in, and look at me now, I have nothing left." The tall Dathrohan curled up into a ball, like a pitiful little old man, and sobbed.
Tirion Fordring didn't know how to comfort his old friend. He thought he was miserable enough, but he didn't expect his old friend to be even more miserable. Heavenly Dao goes around comes around, and retribution is inevitable. It was finally his turn.
This moment of grief gave Tirion Fordring a sudden insight, as if he had been enlightened, and he murmured to himself.
"The day King Terenas recklessly established the Orcs internment camp, Lordaeron had already gone mad. The Order of the Silver Hand, officials and commoners throughout the land, had all fallen into a state of extreme frenzy."
Tirion Fordring paced back and forth inside the tent, deep in thought, trying to capture a fleeting idea.
"May the soul of King Terenas never find peace," Dathrohan lamented.
Tirion Fordring shook his head, his tone calm and wise.
"King Terenas was wrong, but none of us can escape responsibility. The Paladins of the Silver Hand, besides remaining silent, pleaded with the King to treat the Orcs kindly, even though everyone knew in their hearts that it was wrong. Not a single person advised the King to kill Orcs. King Terenas made that decision under immense public pressure, which is understandable. What has made us so indifferent?"
"It's Holy Light!"
Tirion Fordring looked up; in that moment, he understood, and all his questions were answered.
"Are you doubting the Holy Light?"
Dathrohan looked at Tirion Fordring in astonishment; even in the face of such a desperate moment, he had never doubted the Holy Light.
"I have no idea."
Tirion Fordring said honestly, "Suffering made me grow, sorrow gave me wisdom," and there was a sense of profound understanding in his eyes:
"I've simply come to realize that to survive in this chaotic world, we must abandon everything, lose everything, in order to gain everything. The first things we must abandon are our conscience and faith, our attachment to our loved ones, and our friendships. We are cursed, deprived of all the good things in the world. We must fight for every opportunity to survive, even more frantically than others."
"Oh my god, are you going to go crazy with me too?"
Dathrohan looked up at Tirion Fordring, his old friend gradually becoming a stranger in his eyes.
"Take me to Uther; I have something to say to him." Tirion Fordring's eyes flashed with a cold light.
Inside the magnificent tent of the Lightbringer.
Uther listened quietly to Tirion Fordring's report, his expression growing increasingly grim. Tirion Fordring, visibly shocked by the kidnapping incident in Hearthglen, slammed his fist on the table and roared in fury:
"By the Holy Light, I cannot believe such a heinous thing has happened in Lordaeron, right on your own territory. You have committed a crime, you have blasphemed the Holy Light, your choice has plunged you into an abyss of no return, you are destroying Azeroth, do you know what to do, Tirion Fordring?"
Uther launched into a tirade, but Tirion Fordring was prepared. He remained calm and composed, responding serenely.
"Honorable Lightbringer, for the crimes I have committed, I, Tirion Fordring, am willing to personally apologize to Thrall!"
"Apologize? What do you have to apologize to Thrall with?" Uther scoffed contemptuously.
"I will personally kill my beloved wife Kalendra, turn her into a pot of mincemeat, and offer this as an apology to the Savior Thrall. I wonder if this is enough sincerity? If not, I can add my son Taelan."
"You!"
Uther was taken aback; he hadn't expected Tirion Fordring to make such a decision.
Originally, Uther wanted to smash Tirion Fordring's head with a hammer and then lead his army to raze Hearthglen.
Now, Uther has changed his mind.
He could see that Tirion Fordring had become a madman, a truly insane guy.
Uther didn't want to make an enemy of a madman.
"Tirion Fordring, even so, I still cannot forgive your sins. I will strip you of your Holy Light; you are exiled, Tirion Fordring. After you apologize to Thrall, leave this place and never return."
Hearthglen!
A morning shower washed away the murky sky, and sunlight bathed the earth.
Last night, Uther prostrated himself at the feet of Thrall, the Savior, and reported to him the evil deeds of Barthilas. Upon learning of the tragic fate of his most trusted Strategist, Thrall was enraged. He slapped Uther dozens of times, broke several of his ribs, and ate two of Uther's followers before finally calming Thrall down.
Although Barthilas. displayed astonishing power, Uther was not worried.
He brought with him a full 1,500 fully armed Paladins.
In addition, there were six hundred strong Orcs, led by Varok Saurfang, the symbol of Orcs honor and the King of Ambush.
Thrall rode his tall Worg, leading the old dog Grom Hellscream, and personally oversaw the battle from behind.
Uther stood on the erected platform, looking down at the young faces below, and began his pre-battle mobilization speech, his words flowing smoothly and forcefully:
"We have always governed this kingdom with Justice and faith. Fairness and Justice are the principles of us Paladins, and no powerful Evil can escape our Paladin."
"The Orcs are a venerable and noble race, so kind and compassionate, filled with love for humanity, and eternal friends of the Silver Hand. We love the Orcs, and the Orcs love us in return. Now, one of the noble Orcs, the great Orcs Strategist Eitrigg, has suffered inhuman torture in Hearthglen. This is an unforgivable crime, and we must personally rescue him."
A small commotion broke out below. Several savage Orcs dragged a female knight off her horse, swung their Battle Axes, and hacked her and her horse to pieces. They then feasted on the scene, thoroughly enjoying themselves.
Thrall coldly observed his subordinates' misdeeds without saying a word, observing Uther's reaction.
Uther paused for a moment, then shouted:
"This is the sacrifice that Azeroth must make. The Orcs are destined to save the Azeroth. The Orcs being well-fed is the most important thing. Young Paladins, do not grieve for your comrades. They have made their due contribution. This is a great Consecration, and the Holy Light will remember you."
Since Uther had said so, the Orcs naturally didn't hold back. They raised their Battle Axes, grinning maliciously, and happily charged towards the Silver Hand's ranks, hacking down Paladins one after another against that pig's hoof-like banner.
Resistance soon followed.
"Do not resist, for this is a great honor, a glorious sacrifice, for Azeroth."
Uther shouted loudly and personally led his guards to suppress the resistance.
The neat and orderly formation quickly collapsed; some Paladins fought desperately, while most chose to flee for their lives.
Before long, of the 1,500 Paladins, only Uther and his guard of less than 100 men remained.
Thrall walked over and slapped Uther hard across the face.
"Is this your proud Silver Hand? You've disappointed me greatly, Uther. Don't tell me the Silver Hand isn't even worthy of being Orcs rations. Do you know what will happen to you?"
"My esteemed Savior," Uther said humbly, his face pale with fear, "Rest assured, I will personally capture all these traitors and bring them back to serve as rations for the Orcs."
Thrall chuckled coldly and said confidently, "Now, it's time to watch the Orcs put on a show and raze Hearthglen."