Guardian Medivh is Thrall's greatest supporter and the benefactor who enabled Thrall to achieve his current success and status.
Thrall is now in a state of being at the mercy of others, completely at their mercy, yet Medivh has failed to appear in time.
Thrall had complete faith in Medivh, never doubting either the Guardian's Invincible strength or Thrall's affection for Thrall.
Unfortunately, the Guardians ' habit is to act at the most crucial moment. Before that, Thrall inevitably suffers some torment and humiliation, just like when he faced the Holy Light Orcs last time.
In Medivh's view, Savior raised in a sheltered environment is not capable of shouldering heavy responsibilities. He hopes that the Savior Thrall can have enough experience, preferably learning to handle difficult problems on his own, in order to increase his experience and ability.
Barthilas displayed a power even more terrifying than that of the Holy Light Orcs.
Thrall hoped Barthilas was unaware of this rule, or he would be in trouble.
Unfortunately, life is often unsatisfactory, and things in this world rarely go as planned.
"Someone told me before that the Guardian Medivh will only intervene when the Savior Thrall's life is in danger. I don't know if that's true, but I think it's necessary to test it."
Barthilas adopted a serious attitude.
"It's over."
Thrall inwardly groaned; in this desperate moment, having grasped the situation, Thrall had no choice but to make a decision.
He's going to fight back.
It wasn't out of Thrall's courage, but because of his trust in Medivh.
Being defeated is inevitable, but I won't die anyway. Medivh will definitely show up in time, which is better than being humiliated.
He must fight back with all his might, risking his life, to show Medivh his courage and force Medivh to show himself.
"Go to hell!"
Thrall roared in a low voice, without any force.
Barthilas, who was right next to him, didn't even hear clearly.
Thrall's body suddenly swelled up, and Flames spewed from his mouth and nose.
The rugged mountain path, the narrow trail— Tirion Fordring cautiously approached Hearthglen.
Tirion Fordring was actually in custody, but his old friend Dathrohan secretly released him.
"Uther wouldn't dare do anything to me, nor would Thrall. My body must be left to the Dreadlord."
Dathrohan smiled bitterly, his expression pained, desperate, and helpless, and patted Tirion Fordring on the shoulder:
"Go, Tirion Fordring. I only ask one thing of you: you must tell future generations the full story of the crimes committed by the Orcs and the betrayal of the Silver Hand. You must bring the tragedy of Lordaeron to light."
"Azeroth must learn from today's lesson. Compromise with the Orcs will only bring us destruction. Only in this way will the people of Lordaeron not have sacrificed in vain, and only then will our sacrifice have been worthwhile."
"In the name of the Holy Light, I swear." Tirion Fordring nodded solemnly.
Unfortunately, in the years that followed, Tirion Fordring, who had been deeply influenced by the Orcs, was unable to keep his promise.
And history never learns from its mistakes.
The beings of Azeroth paid a heavy price for it.
Afterwards, the Trolls, who became accomplices of the Orcs, had no choice but to betray their gods time and time again, watching helplessly as their revered gods were drained of their essence and their treasures were plundered, all while they stood by and cheered.
Tauren Orcs, reduced to materials for orcish weaponry and mobile rations, were forced to continuously supply their people to the Orcs, where they were brutally skinned and gutted to be used as war machines and provisions, all while shouting "For the Horde!"
Blood Elves, reduced to a source of spellcasting materials for Orcs; Goblins, used as seasonings in Orcs cuisine; Pandaren, the most delicious and perfectly balanced of fat and lean; and the Forsaken as accomplices to the orcs—all use their lives to tell tales of bitter tears.
Compared to that, the tragedy in Theramore is nothing.
Tirion Fordring had anticipated that while Barthilas was strong, he wasn't exceptionally powerful.
He had assumed that Hearthglen would inevitably be slaughtered.
Relying on his familiarity with Hearthglen, Tirion Fordring took the back paths as much as possible, making a long detour before finally reaching the back hill of the Castle, where he peered through the gaps in the dense forest towards the Castle.
He was observing carefully, while also hoping for a chance to rescue his wife and children.
He happened to see Thrall's body grow larger, spewing out raging Fel from his mouth.
This is the power of the Burning Legion.
Thrall, shimmering green and radiating green Flames, surveyed the land with an aura of supreme dominance. Tirion Fordring had seen this creature in some ancient encyclopedias; it was called Infernal, an ominous creature that brought destruction to the world.
Thrall's Infernal Transformation is a gift bestowed upon him by the Burning Legion, who transformed Thrall body.
"Thrall actually possesses such power." Tirion Fordring's expression turned to one of horror, then he wondered, just how strong was Barthilas, who had driven Thrall to such a state? Where did his power come from?
Is this the truth behind your claim of saving the world?
Barthilas shook his head with a smile, and to Tirion Fordring's astonishment, Barthilas suddenly leaped high into the air and unleashed a devastating attack. The powerful Power of the Holy Light transformed into a giant sword that cleaved towards Thrall, who had transformed into Infernal.
With a loud bang.
Thrall's green body collapsed, the Fel Fire went out, and his body quickly returned to normal, lying on the ground howling and begging for mercy.
Thrall miscalculated; his power was too weak, too weak to fight to the death and force Medivh to reveal himself.
"Such powerful Power of the Holy Light."
Tirion Fordring narrowed his eyes, his ambition swelling, and muttered to himself, "How wonderful it would be if I could master this power."
From that moment on, his wife and children were no longer so important to him.
I won't kill you, really, at least not today.
Barthilas looked Thrall over, a childlike smile on his face.
"Your body is even larger than Eitrigg's; that weight, that massive muscle, could feed you for days!"
Barthilas smiled, his right hand like a blade, slicing away pieces of flesh from Thrall's skin.
Thrall let out a piercing howl that echoed Hearthglen.
When he was eaten, Thrall was equally unprepared.
"The Savior's flesh truly tastes extraordinary, especially after being roasted by Fel. It's even more unique, with a sweet aroma and a slightly charred flavor!"
Barthilas sipped his food, as if savoring the finest delicacy in the world, and nodded in satisfaction.
Thrall's voice became hoarse from howling, and he could only let out painful whimpers.
Barthilas hung Thrall and Eitrigg together, then took two bottles of red wine from under the scaffolding. These were fine wines that the Fordring family had treasured for many years, but the Orcs Eitrigg had squandered them, leaving only a few bottles.
He poured himself a glass of fine wine, then turned to look; the remaining two hundred or so Orcs had vanished without a trace.
Even the wise and great Savior Thrall, the most esteemed chieftain, was as powerless as an infant before the terrifying Barthilas; ordinary Orcs Warriors were long ago terrified out of their wits.
Only Uther remained in place, seemingly hesitating about something.
Barthilas was somewhat surprised that Uther hadn't run away.
This doesn't seem like Uther at all.
"Someone told me that Uther is best at escaping from the Battlefield. Well, you could call it a Justice retreat. Having gone through two Orcs Wars, Uther the Lightbringer hasn't been injured once. His escape skills are astounding. Strange, are you an imposter? Now I'm starting to have my doubts."
Uther remained unmoved.
He was completely focused, listening intently to Naaru's whispers.