The Durnholde internment camp is a sprawling complex of Orcs dwellings that stretch as far as the eye can see.
Blackmoore led several Peace Doves to stand on the high wall, and a terrible stench wafted over, nearly making dozens of young Peace Doves faint.
"Protest! It's filthy and chaotic! Why don't you clean it up? This is torture for Orcs!" Sir Chris exclaimed indignantly.
Blackmoore said slowly, "The Orcs are used to it. They don't care. Do you know how many Guards are in Durnholde? If we help these Orcs clean up, we won't have to do anything else."
Sir Chris angrily clenched his fist. "Orcs are the greatest race of Azeroth, humans are nothing but lowly trash! You are utterly incompetent! I will suggest to King Varian that the Orcs here be liberated! You executioners, all of you, die!"
Blackmoore understood. So the Peace Dove had come up with a new plan: using Stormwind City against Durnholde. He smiled and said, "If Stormwind City wants these Orcs, I'm happy to offer them up."
Sir Chris said coldly, "I mean what I say. You're finished, Blackmoore."
"If Varian wants Stormwind City to become Orcs kingdom, I don't mind," Blackmoore said with a hint of sarcasm.
Sir Chris, already brainwashed by the Peace Dove, and having somehow obtained the information, roared angrily:
"This is precisely King Varian's will. Humans are only fit to be food for Orcs. Only the great Orcs are worthy of Stormwind City. Let me tell you, Stormwind City was built for the Orcs."
"Then let's start with you."
A guard gave him a sharp shove, and Sir Chris fell off the high wall.
Before he even touched the ground, he was caught by a group of Orcs waiting below the city wall. The Orcs crowded together and reached out to grab Sir Chris.
Sir Chris was terrified and cried out in anguish, "Help me!"
Blackmoore shrugged, glancing at the other Peace Dove were pale with fright, and said, "Orcs like to eat live. You're lucky to be watching a good show."
The show was short-lived; in an instant, Sir Chris was devoured by the Orcs, leaving not even bones behind.
The Orcs below, still wanting more, all looked up, gazing longingly at the Peace Dove above.
"If you hold fast to your beliefs, then you'll be just like him," Blackmoore said with a smile, looking at the group of young people.
After a long silence, a young woman angrily raised her fist:
"Brothers and sisters of the Peace Dove, our elders have long told us that being eaten by Orcs is an honor." He then pointed at Blackmoore: "Are we to be looked down upon by this executioner? It's time to show our true courage. This is a test of our Steadfast faith. For Azeroth, who is willing to be the first to jump?"
The young woman was furthest from the wall and shouted the slogans the loudest.
Blackmoore waved his hand, and the guards grabbed the woman, preparing to throw her into the Orcs internment camp.
The young woman was terrified and screamed, "Ahhh! No! I don't want to die! Help me!"
"Are you willing to change your mind?" Blackmoore asked.
"The Orcs are great and benevolent; they are the Savior Azeroth," the woman said in a panic.
"How stubborn!" The woman was also thrown into the Internment Camp and disappeared in an instant.
"If anyone is willing to change their mind, it's not too late," Blackmoore laughed. "I've always wanted to change the Peace Dove's mind, but unfortunately, I've never succeeded. I admire your courage."
A man stammered, "The Peace Dove is right. The Orcs are the Saviors of Azeroth; they will surely save the world. We, the Peace Dove, bear an important mission and are determined to fight, bleed, and sacrifice for the Orcs. We cannot die here in vain."
"You may leave as well," Blackmoore called to the guard.
The man's face instantly changed, and he pleaded, "No, I don't want to die, please, I want to live for the Orcs."
Blackmoore was somewhat weary. "Since none of you have changed your minds, then let's follow the rules and grant you the honor of being eaten by the Orcs."
The members of the Peace Doves are all trained, and although they are terrified, they refuse to give up their beliefs.
After executing the Peace Dove, the female Adjutant said worriedly, "These young people are all rich and powerful; Stormwind City probably won't let this go so easily."
Blackmoore said nonchalantly, "The worst thing is to let them run wild."
A sense of powerless frustration welled up inside him, Blackmoore asked in bewilderment, "Why aren't these Peace Doves even afraid of death?"
The female Adjutant whispered, "It's not entirely their fault. Medivh invented a special kind of magic to forcibly indoctrinate these poor wretches with his ideas."
Blackmoore frowned. "Isn't there a solution?"
The female Adjutant shook her head. "I've heard there's magic that can erase it, but unfortunately the brand is already in their minds."
Blackmoore sighed deeply, "If only we could use this kind of magic against the Orcs."
Upon returning to the Castle, Blackmoore unexpectedly received a gift.
It was said to be a gift from a merchant from Kalimdor; inside the exquisite box, lined with fine velvet, lay a delicate Crystal Goblet.
Blackmoore examined it closely and exclaimed, "This is a relic of the Highborne, ten thousand years old! This gift is too heavy. Does the guest have any requests?"
The female Adjutant said, "The guest wishes to see Thrall."
"Thrall?" Blackmoore scratched his head, thought for a while, then clapped his hands and said, "I understand, Thrall means slave among Orcs. This guest is interesting. Ordinary Orcs slaves don't deserve such a grand ceremony; they want to see my gladiators."
The female Adjutant bowed and said, "I'll arrange it immediately."
A slender female Adjutant led the way, with Robbie and Krasus following behind.
"Gladiators are treated differently from ordinary Orcs; they are entitled to live in the Castle's basement."
The female Adjutant introduced the situation as she walked:
"Commander Blackmoore has hired professionals to train the gladiators; they are all top-notch talents, guaranteed to win the matches. The price is negotiable as long as it's right."
Krasus emphasized, "We are only interested in Thrall."
"Thrall, alright." The female Adjutant seemed to understand.
The spacious basement was heavily guarded, with more than thirty Orcs imprisoned in iron cages.
"There are thirty-three Thrall in total, all of them are here," the female Adjutant said.
Krasus and Robbie looked suspiciously at the ferocious-looking Orcs in the cage. Robbie asked, "You're saying they're all Thrall?"
"That's right, they are all Orcs slaves." Worried that the two guests might not understand, the female Adjutant patiently explained:
"Gladiator training is fraught with unpredictability. No one can guarantee that an Orcs will become an excellent gladiator. Injuries, giving up, accidents during training, and infighting can all cost them their lives. Commander Blackmoore selected one hundred of the strongest Orcs, and after training, only these thirty-three remained. They are all the best gladiators."
Krasus explained, "We need to see an Orcs named Thrall, a gladiator champion."
The female Adjutant raised an eyebrow, displeased, and said, "Thrall means slave; no Orcs would have that name."
"It seems the Legendary is true," Robbie whispered. "Thrall came from Karazhan, was raised by Medivh, not Durnholde."