My car!
Archmage Antonidas, witnessing this scene, felt his heart bleed.
In a war, siege equipment is merely a consumable item; the benefits gained from victory far outweigh the loss of siege equipment.
But for Dalaran, this is a precious Wealth. Dalaran's siege equipment is extraordinary; each piece is an exquisite magical creation, extremely expensive to produce.
This explains why, despite having overwhelming strength, Antonidas still resorted to cunning and deception, and delayed the full-scale attack as much as possible, in order to reduce the wear and tear on siege equipment.
Robbie returned to the air and aimed at the other two tractor-trailers.
Antonidas's face changed, and his long beard fluttered.
When the opposing hero is unstoppable, your side must also send out heroes to fight them.
Only heroes can fight heroes.
"Damn Uther! He deserted his post! He truly is a traitor, Thrall!"
Thrall, in a deep, resonant voice, stated with perfect justification. "I am the great Savior, the most honorable chieftain, and I must sit in the center of the army, strategize, and stabilize morale."
"Very well, Saurfang the Great."
Antonidas turned around, but the Legendary, Invincible Orcs Warrior was nowhere to be found.
Sylvanas had already been defeated, Archmage Antonidas himself was not good at one-on-one combat. With no other option, he could only summon two Water Elementals to entangle Robbie along with the magical golems.
But this did not stop Robbie from dismantling the remaining two buildings.
Cheers erupted from the walls of Stratholme as the two siege towers collapsed.
Looking at the dozen or so Catapults not far away, Robbie could only sigh and focus on dealing with the magical golems and Water Elementals. There were Orcs troops protecting them, and no matter how powerful one person was, it was impossible to break through the ranks of thousands.
The Catapults launched precise shots, causing the towering city walls to shake and the cracks to widen.
Suddenly, an airship appeared in the clouds, its side panel sliding open to reveal a row of cannons emitting a purple aura.
The Azeroth Continent is not without cannons, but the cannons are powered not by gunpowder, but by Arcane energy.
Arcane energy is extremely powerful, but it is not as cheap as gunpowder, is difficult to recharge, and has a limited number of uses.
A barrage of Arcane fire struck the cracked city walls, Stratholme's walls, unable to withstand the pressure, finally collapsed a small section, creating a breach.
"Charge forward and seize the breach!"
Thrall shouted urgently, and the Orcs Legions roared and surged toward the breach.
"Kill!"
Baron Rivendare gave a simple order, taking down several flags in succession. The generals solemnly accepted the flags and left to carry out their mission.
At that narrow gap, humans and Orcs engaged in a Blood War.
The gap was too small, only allowing a small number of people to fight. After repeated struggles, the corpses quickly piled up like a mountain.
The berserk Orcs couldn't control their mouths and couldn't help but tear at human corpses. The Stratholme garrison had all drunk poisonous Plague Potions, which quickly weakened the Orcs, making them easy prey for the human garrison.
The shouts of battle grew louder and louder. Both humans and Orcs were engulfed in a frenzy, their eyes bloodshot with rage. The ground was quickly littered with severed limbs, and it was difficult to find any intact Corpses.
As their comrades fell, those behind immediately filled their ranks. The valiant human defenders felt no pain, no hardship, no fatigue, no fear; all they saw was slaughter.
Thrall closed his eyes. Despite the help of the Dalaran mages, he still couldn't escape the most hated trap.
With the Catapults out of stones and the airships exhausted of their Arcane energy, the Archmage Antonidas could only watch helplessly as the two sides fought Blood War. His mages had also run out of magic and were unable to teleport the Orcs onto the city walls.
Squads of Orcs charged forward and disappeared into the narrow pass.
The defending troops were also being decimated in the same number, and fewer and fewer flags were in front of the Baron as one respectable and lovable comrade after another fell in that small pass.
The Scales of victory are tipping in the Orcs' favor.
Baron Rivendare watched the carnage on the Battlefield with indifference. He had done his best, and he had long anticipated this outcome. Stratholme had finally shed the last drop of blood from Lordaeron.
Mal'Ganis is on the run.
The Dreadlord tried many tricks, but he could not get rid of Arthas.
He suddenly realized that Arthas was not in a hurry to kill him. In every battle, Arthas was doing his best to force him to use his ultimate move to escape. Dreadlord had lived for countless years and had many moves.
The guy did it on purpose.
The Dreadlord clearly sensed that as the battle continued, Arthas's power was increasing, and the Ghouls following behind Arthas were also gradually becoming stronger.
He was learning by observing.
The Burning Legion has destroyed countless worlds. They are adept at absorbing the knowledge and power of their enemies to improve Legion's power system and make up for its weaknesses.
The Dreadlord keenly sensed that Arthas's power differed from that of the worlds destroyed by the Legion, seemingly sharing similarities with the Legion's system. Evidence that it could be learned from was that it was a more sophisticated energy system.
Is the power of the World of the Dead really that terrifying?
Mal'Ganis had long heard of the World of the Dead, a power even Sargeras coveted, but for some reason, the corrupted Dark Titan rejected this temptation and ultimately chose the power of Fel.
There must be some connection between the dead and Fel.
Mal'Ganis knew he couldn't wait any longer; he had to escape towards the city gate.
When Mal'Ganis arrived, even the Dreadlord was shocked by the Blood War there.
"I once struggled through knee-deep blood."
He remembered someone saying this.
He's here now.
This is hell.
Only one flag remained before Baron Rivendare.
This wasn't a suicide squad; it was just an ordinary team led by his youngest son, Oryx.
The baron also had a small selfish motive: his youngest son had not taken the Plague Potion.
Just then, the Baron saw the Dreadlord and Prince Arthas following behind.
The baron let out a long sigh of relief, a smile of liberation on his face. He gripped the banner in his hand, then mounted his tall warhorse.
Oryx seized the baron's reins and asked, "Father, why have you stripped me of my great honor?"
The baron looked at his youngest son, patted his head, and smiled kindly.
"My child, live on with the Prince, and come back to me when you feel ready to take my place."
The Orcs had already seized the breach, and more and more Orcs were pouring in.
The baron glanced at the last small force, nodded, and launched the final Charge.
When Arthas arrived at the city walls, he saw only a treacherous arrow piercing the baron's chest.
Sylvanas's figure flashed across the city wall.
The baron was surrounded by mountains of Orcs corpses. He lay dead beside his warhorse, finally breathing his last.
"Prince Arthas, you have lost. Stratholme is finished."
Back in the Orcs ranks, the Dreadlord knew he was safe.
"No, Stratholme will never fall." Arthas's face was solemn. He saw the Restless Souls of the dead in Stratholme, the smiling Baron Rivendare, and the soldiers and civilians who had fallen here.
They were all looking at themselves.
Responsibility and duty, lies and hatred, destruction and Redemption.
All of this filled Arthas's mind.
At this moment, facing indescribable grief, Prince Arthas felt something awakening within him.
"Scourge has struck."
He said!