Baby Thrall died.
Staring at the small, green-skinned corpse on the ground, Velen was stunned; his disguise magic failed instantly.
Although everything was immediately restored to normal, Blackmoore keenly noticed Velen's true nature.
It had a tall stature, a ferocious face, blue skin, reversed knees, and enormous hooves.
Blackmoore had never seen Draenei.
"So he was the Demons who seduced me." Blackmoore remained calm, having already made his judgment.
Velen is Demons, then the Woodcutter who opposes him is most likely a good person.
"Blackmoore, what have you done?" Velen asked, his face contorted with rage.
"You know my name?" Blackmoore asked, feigning surprise.
Velen was slightly taken aback, and due to his nervousness, he inadvertently revealed a flaw.
Stroking his beard, Velen shook his head and said:
"This is Hillsbrad Foothills. I know this place very well, and I know every lord here."
Blackmoore nodded. "Do you know Lord Jorls? His territory is in the north."
"Of course I recognize it." Velen regretted saying it as soon as the words left his mouth.
Blackmoore didn't say anything, but shrugged and said, "Alright, things are perfectly resolved now. Only this way can I avoid dying."
"But you have ruined the future of the Orcs; you are a sinner of Azeroth," Velen said, heartbroken.
Blackmoore replied coldly, "I am human. What do I care about the future of the Orcs?"
Kel'Thuzad, disguised as Woodcutter, laughed and pointed at Velen, saying:
"This guy's entire tribe was almost wiped out by the Orcs, so he cares about Orcs a lot, even more than his Orcs father."
Blackmoore scratched his head. "How could this happen?"
"That's not surprising," Kel'Thuzad chuckled. "Your King Terenas isn't working himself to the bone to feed the Orcs."
Upon hearing King Terenas's name, Blackmoore made no attempt to hide his disappointment and let out a heavy sigh.
"This is utterly absurd! Azeroth will be destroyed by your hands sooner or later!" Velen said angrily, flicking his sleeve and disappearing from sight.
Blackmoore breathed a sigh of relief. Kel'Thuzad stared in the direction Velen had disappeared and whispered:
"He's right. You killed baby Thrall and ruined the Orcs' future, but that doesn't mean humanity's future is bright. Someone as intelligent as you should have seen through that."
Blackmoore hesitated for a moment, then stammered:
"Our King, disregarding everyone's objections, established Orcs internment camps. Lordaeron is said to have 200,000 Orcs, and one Orcs consumes the equivalent of ten humans' worth of food. This heavy burden weighs on the shoulders of the people of Lordaeron, and Lordaeron will collapse sooner or later."
"But no one dares to oppose King Terenas, does anyone?" Kel'Thuzad asked.
Blackmoore thought of his father, who had been unjustly killed, and his nose tingled with sadness as he said:
"With the protection of the Guardian Medivh, King Terenas's word is law."
Kel'Thuzad, hands behind his back, said, "Medivh is Guardian, but he is also a human."
"Humans?" Blackmoore didn't quite understand.
"Medivh can become stronger, so can you," Kel'Thuzad said meaningfully.
Back in the ranks, Rend struck Velen hard on the head with the side of his axe:
"Damn old man, what have you done? Thrall is dead, everything is over."
Rend had initially held Velen in high esteem, but Velen's misbehavior caused his opinion of him to plummet.
Velen covered his head, stammering and unable to speak.
Anachronos, unusually, spoke up for Velen: "This isn't Velen's fault; we fell into a trap."
Rend looked puzzled.
Anachronos said bitterly, "This Parallel Worlds is influenced by Thrall, and only Thrall can change its future course."
Rend kicked Thrall hard. "But he just stays here, not doing anything."
Anachronos sighed, "We are Thrall's allies; everything we do represents Thrall."
Velen covered his head, protesting aggrievedly, "But if I don't go out, Blackmoore will raise Thrall to be a Bards."
Anachronos shook his head:
"Humans are the most fickle of creatures; their thoughts can change at any moment. We must admit that we made a mistake and lost Thrall, the chosen one of this plane."
Velen quickly realized a possibility and exclaimed in surprise, "Blackmoore killed Thrall, could he then replace Thrall?"
Anachronos nodded gravely.
"Blackmoore will inherit Thrall's Destiny and become the protagonist of this era; to oppose him is to be an enemy of all Azeroth."
Rend turned pale with fright. "Then what are we waiting for? Let's go back right now!"
Anachronos glared fiercely at Rend:
"With me here, what are you worried about? I've been through this many times. Blackmoore needs to grow. We can't fight him head-on, but we can sabotage him from the shadows."
"How do I sabotage it?" Rend asked, without much hope.
Anachronos also kicked Thrall: "In Thrall's story, Blackmoore will follow the same trajectory of how he grew up."
Durnholde internment camp.
Originally, only five thousand Orcs were imprisoned here, but because Hillsbrad Foothills is located on the border of Lordaeron and is the farthest from the capital city of Lordaeron, Orcs have been sent here one after another.
Eleven years after the Dark Portal opened, the Durnholde internment camp Orcs held 38,000 orcs.
The leader of the Internment Camp was a general named Sandru, who was of noble birth and of distinguished status.
Of course, he was able to sit in this position because he was Uther the Lightbringer's cousin.
Although General Sandru was a heavy drinker and never sober, his Adjutants were relatively diligent.
In addition to taking care of General Sandru's daily life and collecting fine wines from all over the world for him, she also managed the Internment Camp in an orderly manner.
Lieutenant Blackmoore finished his patrol and returned to Durnholde, deep in thought.
Several dried Orcs skeletons hung from wooden poles on both sides of the street, rustling in the night wind.
The sun had already set, Orcs, having finished their day's mining work, put on their shackles and lined up wearily to return to the Internment Camp.
As the large group of Orcs passed by, Blackmoore and his soldiers made way and waited by the roadside.
In the group, an exceptionally strong Orcs suddenly turned its head, its small eyes fixed intently on Blackmoore.
The Orcs's ferocious face showed fear, then his body trembled slightly as he roared something.
Unfamiliar Orcish.
Several human soldiers rushed over with weapons. The Orcs broke free of his shackles with a deafening roar and charged towards Blackmoore, ignoring the blood streaming from his wrists.
Blackmoore was a seasoned veteran; he calmly drew his weapon, lowered his body slightly, and charged towards the Orcs.
Just as he was about to collide with the Orcs, Blackmoore nimbly dodged, his Sharp Sword flashing several times.
Blackmoore sheathed his sword, the Orcs clutched his neck, his face filled with disbelief, blood gushing out as he fell backward.
"My lord, what skill!" Tamis rushed over, panting.
Blackmoore smiled slightly, "Too many Orcs have died at my hands; this Orcs must have a grudge against me."
"My lord," Tamis, Orcish, said in a low voice, "he just shouted: ' Warchief, run! I'll cover you!'"
"I am human, how could I possibly be the Warchief of the Orcs?" Blackmoore shook his head with a smile.