Who is it?
Eitrigg looked around warily, gripping the Battle Axe under the table.
A dark figure appeared before Eitrigg, and sat down at the dining table with an air of nonchalance, causing the beef and red wine on the table to vanish in a flash.
Eitrigg stared timidly at the dark figure, his palms sweating, barely daring to breathe.
"You can call me Kesutruisi." The shadowy figure seemed to be smiling.
Judging from the name, the shadowy figure should be a Dragonkin.
Eitrigg adopted a fawning expression and asked, "Are you a noble Dragonkin?"
The shadowy figure did not answer, "Eitrigg, my identity is not something you can inquire about. The reason I want to see you is because you still have some use to you."
"If there's anything I can do to help, I will," Eitrigg said confidently.
The shadowy figure asked, "Tell me, when you were with the Army of the Light, did you ever see Holy Dragon?"
Eitrigg pondered for a long time, then stammered:
"I'm not sure, but the place where I was resurrected had a golden ground that was as smooth as a mirror. They say it's a scale from Holy Dragon, and we're all on that scale."
"A scale?" the shadowy figure asked in surprise.
Eitrigg scratched his head. "I don't know how big that scale is; it's restricting our movements."
The shadowy figure nodded. "As expected, the Holy Dragons are one of the Army of the Light's greatest secrets. The Holy Dragons of Azeroth are actually all defective."
Eitrigg lowered his head, carefully observing the dark figure before him.
"Eitrigg, do you wish to reclaim your position as Warchief?" the shadowy figure asked.
"I dream of it, but..." Eitrigg looked miserable, almost bursting into tears.
"No one can help you regain the position of Warchief; you can only rely on yourself," the shadowy figure said solemnly. "As long as you understand what the Army of the Light desires, the position of Warchief will be yours, and no one can take it from you."
The shadowy figure vanished, Eitrigg breathed a sigh of relief; the pressure from this mysterious Dragonkin had been immense.
What does the Army of the Light want?
Based on previous analyses, the Army of the Light, like the Burning Legion, requires high-quality souls.
This is why there is a standoff between the Alliance and the Horde, with constant warfare in Azeroth, where life is as fragile as grass, and occasionally even heroes fall in battle.
However, many people know this answer, so it is not the final answer.
Puzzled and frustrated, Eitrigg went to the deck for some fresh air.
The moonlight was bright, illuminating the shimmering sea.
The thought of Rend Blackhand becoming Warchief, lording it over others while mocking Eitrigg's foolishness, filled him with a sense of unease.
In Orgrimmar, as the morning light shone upon the land, the newly appointed Warchief Rend Blackhand eagerly went to see Thrall.
Seeing Rend Blackhand's expression, Thrall guessed what was going on and shrugged.
"You're the Warchief now? Congratulations."
Rend nodded smugly.
"I knew it would turn out this way." Thrall flattered without a trace of sarcasm. "Do you know why I wanted to kill you back then? Because I knew very well that you were the strongest contender for the position of Warchief. You and I are both sons of Horde chieftains, with exceptional knowledge and high prestige. If you hadn't died, I wouldn't have been able to sleep soundly."
Rend shook his head. "I'm not like you. I am the true son of the Blackrock Warchief. And what are you? Just a slave of Karazhan."
Thrall dared not argue on this point and cautiously asked, "Orgrimmar is besieged by mutated Tauren. How do you plan to resolve this predicament?"
"That's easy!"
Rend said calmly, "The Lightforging Orcs are indeed loyal, but they also have their own thoughts. Eitrigg's choice to avoid war has already aroused the dissatisfaction of the Lightforging Orcs. My method is to follow the will of the people and wage war against the Tauren. What the Army of the Light wants is souls. If Lightforging Orcs in Orgrimmar are dead, the Army of the Light will surely send new ones."
Thrall showed an appreciative look. "A smart move. Eitrigg only sees the surface of things and doesn't understand the deeper meaning. You could learn from Chen Stormstout and build a Lightforging Orcs breeding base, but you're lacking an Archmage who can rival Khadgar."
Rend shook his head and said, "I don't need any breeding base. If the Lightforging Orcs want to die, I'll let them die."
Thrall raised his head and said cautiously:
"But deep down, nobody wants to die."
"That's why I came to you, Thrall," Rend smiled slyly. "Making Orcs die happily is one of your few strengths."
Thrall hesitated for a moment. "Alright, I'll try my best. Give me some eloquent Orcs."
After Thrall's brief training, a propaganda team emerged in Orgrimmar, giving speeches everywhere.
War is the cruelest thing in the world; it is the loss of countless lives and a tragedy imbued with blood and tears.
However, this propaganda team portrayed war as a joyful and fun event, and as the great significance of the Orcs' existence.
It seems that amidst laughter and joy, the opponent can be completely wiped out.
Encouraged, the young Lightforging Orcs gathered joyfully at the city gate, each with a satisfied smile.
A force of a thousand men charged out of the Orgrimmar City, only to be wiped out in less than fifteen minutes.
Then the second team began preparations, happily and joyfully singing and dancing, but soon became the Restless Souls on the Battlefield.
In less than three days, apart from the three thousand Blackrock Clans who were deliberately preserved, Lightforging Orcs who came with Eitrigg were wiped out, leaving no trace of their names.
Just as Rend had predicted, the Naruk Xil arrived and established a permanent Portal in Orgrimmar, sending in a force of 50,000 men at once.
Naruk Xil subtly indicated that the Army of the Light supported Rend's cause, and that the Lightforging Orcs were countless and could be sacrificed at will.
The propaganda team is at it again, vividly describing how the battle with the Tauren can bring joy—it's a fun and simple thing to do.
And so, these young people faced death with smiles on their faces.
The Tauren Chieftain Rom emerged from the wounded camp with a somber expression.
The legacy of the Emperor Deathhoof granted the Tauren a strong physique, enabling them to easily crush Orcs.
However, even mutated Tauren can get tired.
As the Orcs relentlessly attacked around the clock, many Tauren collapsed from exhaustion.
The Tauren are skilled in herbal medicine, but unfortunately they cannot heal the injuries of the mutated Tauren and can only keep them in the wounded camp for observation.
Rom returned to his tent. After many days of fighting, Execute countless Lightforging Orcs, and even the Scarlet Runed Spear had become dim.
"There is no Undead Legion. We also get tired, we also get hurt, and we can die."
Rom grabbed his hair, starting to think about his next move.
"It's time to send someone to negotiate with Rend Blackhand."
When Rend learned that the Tauren wanted to negotiate, he gave a sinister smile and refused outright.
However, Thrall had a different opinion, saying to Rend Blackhand:
"While the Army of the Light desires souls, they crave diversity—different souls. Even better if they lead fulfilling lives. Sending Lightforging Orcs to mutated Tauren to kill will quickly bore the Army of the Light; we must find a different approach."
"Your suggestion is to make peace with the Tauren?" Rend asked, displeased.
"It's not just about making peace; it's about forming an alliance, uniting to establish New Horde, and confronting the Alliance."
Thrall said earnestly, "That will bring more death, and souls of many different flavors."