"When I first participated in the Battle of the Black Temple, my commander told me that in the history of Draenor, there had never been any race as great and indomitable as the Mag'har Orcs."
The speaker on the stage was a young Orcs, strong and fierce-looking, with a pair of sharp fangs gleaming coldly. His tone was powerful and persuasive.
At such a young age, he had already reached the position of general, equivalent to the former Horde chief. He was truly a prodigy with a bright future.
Turning to his resume, his remarkable achievements are astonishing; the number of Fel Orcs he has killed alone is enough to fill Mag'har Post.
"Isn't this a bit too much of a fabrication?"
Gorkan Bloodfist knew that the young man was very timid, and if he really saw the Fel Orcs, he would definitely be so scared that his legs would go weak.
Interestingly, the public liked this kind of role model, and cheers erupted from below.
"The young people have played their part in bringing joy and pride to the Mag'har Orcs."
Gorkan Bloodfist recognized the young Orcs's role; he was an excellent role model, and it was precisely his role that was needed to mobilize 100,000 Orcs.
One hundred thousand Orcs attacked the Spires of Arak, and like the Orcs who attacked the Black Temple before them, they were destined to go and never return.
Mag'har Orcs are fond of heartfelt farewells, eager to send their beloved friends and family to their deaths, often moved to tears, and rarely care about Veterans who are lucky enough to return.
In the Spires of Arak, Rommath's permanent Portal was completed. Even the picky Vol'jin couldn't find any fault with it, so he could only nitpick and loudly reprimand Rommath. The Blood Elf mage was so frightened that he knelt down and begged for mercy, which gave Vol'jin a sense of mental pleasure.
Trolls ' happiness is that simple.
Griftah did a good job; through communication with the Archivist Reshad, he finally determined the location for the sacrifice of the Mag'har Orcs.
Sethekk Valley.
Vol'jin had some understanding of it; it was a dangerous Valley, where the cursed blood of the Wind Serpent god Sethe was enough to kill any outsider.
Gorkan Bloodfist acted with extreme efficiency; not long after the Portal was completed, 100,000 Mag'har Orcs had already assembled.
They were not old, weak, sick, or disabled, but Orcs in their prime.
Despite the massive blood loss of the Mag'har Orcs, Vol'jin had to admire the skill of Gorkan Bloodfist.
One hundred thousand Orcs gathered at the entrance to Sethekk Valley through the Portal.
Lacking tents, weapons, and armor, and with no logistical supplies in sight, the Mag'har Orcs carried only a few days' worth of rations, yet they were all in high spirits, as if they were truly facing a major battle.
"Lord Vol'jin, are you satisfied?" Gorkan Bloodfist reported obsequiously to Vol'jin.
Vol'jin, his face grim, said calmly, "Gorkan Bloodfist, remember, what we do is ultimately for the sake of saving this world. The blood of the Mag'har Orcs will not be shed in vain. Tonight, order them into Sethekk Valley."
Gorkan Bloodfist pounded his chest with his fist, guaranteeing that he would definitely complete the mission.
As night fell, Gerkan summoned the young man who had given the speech and ordered him to lead the team.
"The treacherous Arakkoa forces are hiding in Sethekk Valley. They are attempting to summon an evil god using the blood of the Wind Serpent god Sethe. You must stop them, for the sake of the Mag'har Orcs."
The young man looked surprised and asked doubtfully, "Commander Gerkan, the Sethekk Valley is a forbidden zone for life. The Arakkoa and the Wind Serpents have always been enemies. How could they possibly use Sethe's blood?"
Gerkan said fiercely, "Are you doubting your superior?"
"Your subordinate wouldn't dare!" The young Orcs bowed his head respectfully.
Gerkan earnestly instructed, "Remember, the greatness of the Mag'har Orcs lies in their selfless Consecration. No matter the difficulties and dangers they face, they will never retreat a single step. This is a test for you. Go, and I await your triumphant return. You must prove to the world that the Mag'har Orcs are brave and fearless."
The young Orcs hurriedly swore an oath, promising to complete the mission.
He was both a beneficiary and a victim of this lie.
Life is the price one must pay for lies.
At night, 100,000 Mag'har Orcs gathered in disarray and headed toward Sethekk Valley.
Most Mag'har Orcs had heard the Legendary of Sethekk Valley and knew it as a deadly wasteland.
A few relatively insightful individuals have analyzed that the main force of the Arakkoa could not possibly be hiding in such a place.
This is nothing more than a suicide mission.
However, those who are cowardly or flee will be looked down upon, not only subject to military law, but their descendants will also be unable to hold their heads high.
In comparison, death is easier to accept.
In the blood-red mist-shrouded Sethekk Valley, the vanguard troops had barely entered the mist when their flesh melted and bones dissolved, turning into pools of thick liquid before they could even scream.
The people in the back couldn't see what was happening ahead, but they could vaguely guess what was going on.
A numb indifference permeated the entire group, and they fearlessly ventured into the Valley, perhaps truly driven by some kind of belief.
Vol'jin, Cairne, Griftah stood on the high slope, observing the Mag'har Orcs had willingly chosen their deaths.
The Archivist Reshad, untied the scroll from his back, slowly unfurled it, and began to perform a bizarre dance.
This was probably some kind of mysterious ritual; Vol'jin and Griftah both thought of the Troll voodoo dance.
The sacrifices of the Mag'har Orcs have finally paid off, and the area covered by the blood mist in Sethekk Valley is gradually shrinking.
Vol'jin understood that it wasn't that the Mag'har Orcs were capable of dispelling the mist, but rather that they were using their lives to deplete Sethe's curse power.
The Wind Serpent god Sethe would never have imagined that someone would use such a barbaric method to break his curse.
A question welled up in Vol'jin's mind: Could this really bring the Eye of Anzu back to life?
The Mag'har Orcs sacrificed 70,000 men, the cursed power of Sethekk Valley was exhausted, the crimson mist dissipated, revealing the cold, gloomy sky.
"We won."
"That's right, we survived."
"We are the ultimate victors! The Mag'har Orcs have once again proven that we are invincible."
Cheers erupted from the Mag'har Orcs had survived the ordeal, and Orcs were moved to tears.
This was destined to be a great victory; the Mag'har Orcs wrote an immortal chapter with their lives.
Suddenly, a chilling wind swept through the Sethekk Valley, and ancient chanting arose:
"Shadows blot out the sun, ravens devour the sky. The burning sky will eventually be extinguished, black wings will cover the firmament."
Deep in the Valley, a tall Arakkoa appeared out of nowhere, as tall as two Orcs, kneeling on the ground and muttering to himself.
The tall Arakkoa had unusually bright feathers, and a skeleton lay before him.
"Rest in peace, my child." The tall Arakkoa gently touched the bones, which turned to ashes.
The tall Arakkoa spread his wings, flew into the air, and announced loudly:
"I, Terokk, the Claw King, have risen from the dead. I will tell you all the truth hidden behind the scenes, the culprit behind the destruction of the Arakkoa Empire, the enemy you are about to face. The shadows that shroud the sun are the Holy Light that is obscuring it. Come forth, I know you have been watching me all along."
The dark sky suddenly brightened, and a bright source of light appeared in the heavens, flashing with dazzling golden light.
Griftah stared intently, then was taken aback. This scene was all too familiar; it was something he saw almost every day in Shattrath City.
Naaru, A'dal.
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