"You did a great job, worthy of being the most famous swindler in Shattrath City," said Archivist Reshad, with admiration.
"I'm not a swindler, it's just that adventurers don't know their stuff," Griftah said, feeling wronged. He squatted down, still shaken, and said, "Some things weren't done well enough, like the strings. If you hadn't pointed it out, we probably would have been tricked."
Reshad grinned. "You never know what might happen. We handled it quite well in that situation."
"I didn't do this for myself." A flash of hatred crossed Griftah's eyes as he stared at the sleeping Vol'jin and Cairne. "Strange, how are they still alive?"
Reshad laughed, "Don't worry, their days are numbered. They will die without a trace. Once the covenant is complete, no one can escape the cycle of the Shadowlands."
Griftah breathed a sigh of relief, "That puts my mind at ease. I witnessed their original Destiny when I was in Shattrath City?"
Reshad asked with interest, "Oh, tell me about it."
Griftah said somewhat sadly:
"My old friend, the prophet Jammal'an, offended Vol'jin and was expelled from the Temple of Atal'Hakkar. He fled to Outland with me, bringing with him a drop of Hakkar blood. Through the unstable elements of Outland, he saw a scene from the future. Cairne Bloodhoof lived to be 130 years old, one of the greatest heroes in Azeroth's history, but later generations have questioned his race?"
Reshad asked curiously, "Why is that?"
"Because Cairne wiped the Tauren from history— the Thunder Bluff Tauren, the Highmountain Tauren, the Pandaria Yaungol, the Wildlands Tauren, and so on—he fed them to the Orcs. To cover up his crimes, Cairne destroyed all the documents that recorded the Tauren, so no one knows that there was ever a race called Tauren in Azeroth."
"This is truly a tragedy!" Reshad thought of the glorious Apexis Civilization of the Arakkoa Empire, which was being forgotten little by little, and felt a deep sense of empathy.
"Vol'jin's crimes were even more heinous."
Griftah's face contorted with hatred:
"Vol'jin said, 'Treading on the bones of ten thousand, one alone becomes a god,' but he lied. The original quote was: 'Treading on the bones of ten thousand races, one alone becomes a god. 'Vol'jin later became Horde Warchief, ascending to the Loa by selling other races to become food for the Orcs. The Troll race was reduced to less than a thousand, barely surviving, living off the Orcs' leftovers, degenerating into intellectually deficient, kept as entertainment pets by Orcs nobles. Of the many civilized races of Azeroth, only Orcs and Kobolds remained a hundred years later; the other races had been eaten to extinction by the Orcs."
"What a bleak and terrifying future this is." Reshad felt a chill run down his spine, and asked curiously, "Why are there Kobolds left?"
"That's not the point," Griftah, puffing out his chest. "If I had lied to them about dying early, this wouldn't have happened."
Reshad said wistfully, "Azeroth has hope for the future only with unsung heroes like you. Think of us Arakkoa, alas! What a pity. By the way, Emperor Terokk is willing to cooperate with you; according to our agreement, you must repay him."
"A large amount of Mag'har Orcs flesh and souls—this was agreed upon long ago. Rest assured, I will keep my promise." Griftah was very confident.
The next day, Vol'jin and Cairne slept in until very late.
Recalling what happened last night, both Vol'jin and Cairne sensed something was amiss, and an ominous tremor ran through their souls.
They all remained silent, though they both had their doubts, but said nothing.
This is the wisdom of a chief. When ordinary people are deceived, they shout and yell, as if they want others to know, but it doesn't help and they are only ridiculed.
It's better to say nothing at all; that way, you save face.
Skettis remained unchanged, the impoverished Arakkoa eyeing the three with ill intent.
Strangely, all the Arakkoa were poisoned to death by Vol'jin yesterday have come back to life, as if time has reversed.
"Griftah, could you explain?" Vol'jin asked, displeased.
Griftah shrugged and spread his hands, saying, "You're asking me? I haven't poisoned the Arakkoa. I've said it before, Skettis is the border between the real world and the Shadowlands, hiding all sorts of unstable factors. It's best not to mess around."
Vol'jin frowned. "What do we do next?"
Griftah said seriously, "Now that we have the Wingblade and the White Mask, let's report directly to Archivist Reshad."
Vol'jin was very reluctant, and after some trouble, he returned to his original route.
Unfortunately, Vol'jin didn't have a better solution at the moment, so he could only do as instructed.
Reshad took the Wingblade and white mask from Vol'jin, casually placed them aside, took out three vials of potions, and gave the instructions:
"There is a small house south of Skettis called the Arakkoa Hut. If you take the Shadow Potion Arakkoa Hut, you will be able to see the Eye of Anzu."
Vol'jin couldn't believe it. "It's that simple?"
Reshad smiled slightly and said, "The outsiders have all come because of the prophecy of the Eye of Anzu. We Arakkoa are hospitable and will try our best to meet your needs."
In the Arakkoa Hut, Vol'jin and Cairne took out Shadow Potions but didn't take them, instead looking at Griftah.
Griftah sighed softly and drank the Shadow Potion.
Vol'jin and Cairne observed closely, and saw Griftah's body gradually blur, until only a blurry shadow remained.
A sense of unease washed over him. Griftah's vision blurred, and everything around him became indistinct, except for one eye that kept blinking.
Eye of Anzu!
Vol'jin and Cairne were both gone. Griftah asked in a low voice, "Eye of Anzu, did my plan succeed?"
Eye of Anzu flashed with light, Griftah saw Cairne lying naked and covered in wounds on the ground, where Orcs swarmed and devoured him.
Then another scene unfolded: Vol'jin collapsed miserably to the ground, howling in agony.
Judging from their facial expressions, it must have happened in the last few years, which put Griftah at ease.
When Griftah's figure became clear again, Vol'jin asked anxiously, "Can we get the Eye of Anzu?"
Griftah shook his head. "The Eye of Anzu is in the Shadowlands; one can only obtain prophecies from it, but cannot touch it."
So that's really how it is. Both Vol'jin and Cairne were somewhat disappointed.
Opportunities to receive a prophecy are rare, so the two of them also took the Shadow Potion.
Vol'jin stared at the Eye of Anzu and tried to touch it, but as Griftah had said, he could not touch Eye of Anzu.
"Eye of Anzu, may I become Loa?" Vol'jin asked devoutly.
A clear vision appeared: Vol'jin, bathed in golden light, floated high in the air, looking down upon the earth like a god.
Vol'jin, as this meant he could truly become Loa.
Strangely, this golden light was clearly Holy Light.
Meanwhile, Cairne is also asking about the Eye of Anzu:
"All-knowing Eye of Anzu, what does the future hold for the Tauren?"
On the vast grassland, a creature resembling Tauren, walking on four hooves, leisurely grazes and occasionally moos.
Inside the Slaughterhouse, beef is processed in bulk and made into various types of canned beef.
"Is this the future of the Tauren?" Cairne frowned, then burst into hearty laughter.
"This is exactly the future I envisioned: lowly Tauren only fit to be food for Orcs."
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