The Blizzard was reaping the lives of the Orcs, and the internment camp Internment Camp in blood. To survive, the Orcs had no choice but to run towards the Portal.
Each living area has a Portal, and when the Orcs ran to the Portal, some of them actually ran back from inside.
They were Orcs lived near the Portal. They entered the Portal to escape as soon as the Blizzard hit, but for some reason, they turned back.
"Don't go over there!" shouted the Orcs who had run back. "There are Flames over there! Countless green Flames are surrounding us! It's terrifying!"
Veterans who have experienced war know that green Flames represent the power of Fel.
Faced with Blizzard on one side and Fel Flames on the other, the Orcs had no choice.
That young Orcs Thrall, he was a humanoid Demons.
Many Veterans sat on the ground with bitter smiles, letting the Blizzard pelt them, Anjing waiting to die in the cruel Blizzard.
Some Orcs, clinging to a sliver of hope, rushed to cross the Portal.
The Internment Camp descended into chaos, with Orcs trampling each other and scrambling to enter the Portal.
Meanwhile, Orcs kept running out of the Portal, their bodies covered in green Fel Flames that they couldn't extinguish, howling and struggling in pain.
The Blizzard and Fel Flames mingled together inside the Internment Camp for a full quarter of an hour.
After Antonidas and his apprentices stopped casting spells, all the Portals closed, and the Internment Camp was covered with a layer of Orcs corpses.
Blackmoore's gaze was intense as he leaned against the narrow window of the tower, laughing so hard he almost fell over.
"I did it, I did it! When Durnholde was first established, there were 38,000 Orcs. Now they have multiplied to nearly 45,000. I dared not kill them all, otherwise Medivh would have immediately come to save the Orcs on his rainbow cloud. Thrall, Antonidas, you did a great job. You did what I could not do."
Blackmoore paced back and forth excitedly. "Forty-five thousand Orcs! If they are freed, the humans of Lordaeron will be wiped out. Now I have nothing to worry about. King Terenas, I'm sorry, I've disappointed you."
Antonidas roared angrily, "Blackmoore, you have killed so many Orcs! History will remember your crimes. You are unforgivable and will be forever nailed to the pillar of shame. You are a traitor to humanity!"
"It seems that it was your Blizzard and Thrall's Fel Flames that killed the Orcs."
Blackmoore squinted, his body swaying slightly, as if he hadn't slept in a long time and was finally able to get a good night's sleep.
"Of course, I don't care about reputation. All I want is for the Orcs to die. I, Blackmoore, have lived a life without regrets."
Thrall scoffed, "What do I care about the Orcs' lives? I only care about the credit for rescuing Durnholde. The Orcs in the Internment Camp are all defeated, a bunch of incompetent trash, the Betrayer who have turned to humanity. I need true Elites. Once disloyal, never again. I am the true victor."
Antonidas waved his hand, pointing at Blackmoore: "Thrall, kill him."
Thrall grinned maliciously as he approached Blackmoore, an elderly man whose health was poor due to alcoholism, intending to devour him.
As Thrall approached, Blackmoore's dim eyes suddenly lit up, a cold glint flashed at his wrist, and he pulled out a dagger, thrusting it at Thrall's neck at an odd angle.
The sharp dagger gleamed with a green light, clearly indicating it had been poisoned.
"Not good!"
Antonidas was shocked and hurriedly cast a phase shift spell.
A disciple instantly switched places with Thrall, Blackmoore stabbed the disciple. The terrible poison took effect, and the disciple instantly turned into a ball of pus and blood.
"Archmage Antonidas, you will surely regret your actions today."
Blackmoore sneered and thrust the dagger back at his own chest.
Suddenly, time froze, and the world lost its color, reduced to only black, white, and gray.
Antonidas struggled to move his eyelids; he knew it was the power of time. No one else noticed, only he could sense the unusual change.
A black and white dragon claw extended from behind Blackmoore, knocking away the Poison Dagger and grabbing Blackmoore's body before disappearing into the vortex.
The world returned to normal, and no one knew what had happened; they were simply puzzled by Blackmoore's sudden disappearance.
Antonidas frowned, secretly astonished. Who was that dragon just now?
The power of time belongs to the Bronze Dragonflight, but their claws are not that color.
No wonder Blackmoore was able to record Thrall's cruel acts; without a doubt, it was that monstrous dragon that was helping him behind the scenes.
Thrall roared furiously, "Blackmoore, where is he? Antonidas, you're a useless old codger! Dalaran is all trash!"
"That Orcs has no manners at all."
Antonidas dared not offend him, otherwise all his efforts to please the Orcs would be in vain, and he could only put on a smiling face.
A green Portal suddenly appeared, Varimathras stepped through Portal, looking down into the Internment Camp through a narrow window.
"Wow, I smell the delicious aroma of souls! Countless Orcs souls wander in the Internment Camp, weeping and wailing. It's a feast, delicious ingredients."
The Burning Legion has built Forge of Souls, where high-level Demons feed on souls.
Thrall chuckled and said, "It's their honor to become food for the Burning Legion."
Varimathras nodded in satisfaction, a sly smile playing on his lips.
"There were approximately seven thousand Orcs passed through the Portal. The Fel Flames were their test; half of Orcs were burned to ashes, but the rest have great potential."
"Take me to see it," Thrall said.
Thrall and Varimathras entered the Legion Portal and left. Antonidas coldly ordered, "Kill everyone inside the Internment Camp."
Strangely, all the Guards at the Internment Camp had disappeared, and Antonidas knew it must be the work of the monster dragon.
Antonidas and his disciples joined forces to cast a spell, summoning Meteor Shower that turned the entire Durnholde into ruins.
The Orcs' corpses turned to ashes in the Meteor Shower, and the truth of history is forever buried in these rubble.
The rights and wrongs that happen here can only be fabricated at will by Antonidas Thrall, and others.
Varimathras and Thrall stood on a high platform, below which was a deep pit filled with Fel Flames.
This is the Burning Legion's secret training base; only those who have undergone the test of Fel Flames are qualified to join the Legion.
Varimathras stroked his chin and said, "I know the Orcs lack potential, so I reduced the power of the Fel Flames to half. Look at these Orcs; they've already begun to integrate with Fel."
The Orcs at the bottom of the pit were spewing out Fel energy from their mouths and noses, their skin turning a terrifying, ghastly green.
Thrall shook his head. "That's still too much. You know I only want fame, not useless Orcs."
Varimathras said with interest, "So you have high standards for Orcs. Well then, I'll gradually increase the power of my Fel Flames to select the truly qualified ones."
Thrall waved his hand and said, "On the contrary, I need the weak, a bunch of incompetent good-for-nothings who only know how to grovel and fawn. They will prove my greatness to the world."
Varimathras gave a strange look:
"Interesting, Thrall. You've successfully piqued my interest. Well, as you said, picking out the Elite isn't easy, but acquiring trash is my forte."