Drek'Thar opened his eyes, his face filled with horror, his heart pounding.
The very clear omen indicates that reversing the future will be extremely difficult.
Saving his people is impossible; saving himself would be a miracle.
A true wise person must know how to make choices; if the lives of their people can be sacrificed, then so be it.
Will I die?
Drek'Thar's heart pounded, his eyes darted around, and a cunning glint flashed across his face.
Drek'Thar took out a map, pointed to Hillsbrad Foothills, Blackmoore's territory, and fell into thought.
According to the prophecy, this was his only way to be saved.
"I will die, I must die, but some things must be passed down."
Drek'Thar stood up and went to the bottom of the cliff by the river.
A thatched hut stood nestled in the dense grass. Drek'Thar, his belly protruding, stood before the door and spoke with a booming voice:
"Bront, come out and see me."
An old, decrepit Orcs pushed open the half-closed wooden door, dressed in tattered clothes, and bowed obsequiously, saying:
"Master, you called me."
Bront was Drek'Thar's apprentice, having started his apprenticeship with him at the age of thirteen.
He served her hand and foot for seven years, sleeping only three hours a day, eating worse than livestock, and working harder than Leiti.
When he was twenty, Drek'Thar bestowed upon him a book of elemental Manual.
Bront was deeply grateful and became even more respectful and attentive to Drek'Thar.
Strangely, despite following the scroll's instructions, Bront was unable to communicate with the elements.
Bront earnestly sought advice from Drek'Thar, after carefully examining his body, stroked his beard and said:
"Your aptitude is excellent, but what you lack is the cultivation of your mind. You need to overcome the trials of the elements and temper your will before the elements will accept you. Don't be impatient."
"How can I temper my will?" Bront asked his master.
Drek'Thar narrowed his eyes slightly and said seriously:
"The mind is the Way, and the Way is in life. Upholding oneself and staying true to one's heart is the way to cultivate the mind."
Bront then calmed down and devoted himself to serving his master.
This process of refinement lasted for thirty-seven years.
Bront is fifty-seven years old.
Because of years of hard work, poor rest, and bad food, his health deteriorated, and he looked older than his master.
Over the years, Bront's physical strength has declined, and his mind has become unclear. He is willing but unable to serve his master and often makes mistakes.
Drek'Thar grew disgusted with him and, in the name of the element of perception, ordered him to live far away from his people.
No one knows how Bront survived. Looking at his thin, bony body, Drek'Thar despised him from the bottom of his heart.
"Bront, how have I treated you all these years?" Drek'Thar asked loudly.
Bront habitually flashed a fawning smile:
"My master has shown me profound kindness, like a second parent, his grace surpassing even the Oshu'gun Mountain. Even if I were to be shattered to pieces, I could never repay him."
Drek'Thar nodded in satisfaction. "You do know how to be grateful. I just communicated with the Ancestral Spirit and saw a clear omen: my time is up."
Bront was taken aback, and tears streamed down his face as he said:
"Master, how could this happen? There must be a way to solve it."
Drek'Thar sighed:
"I know my own body. The elements gave me power, but they also damaged my health. It's terminally ill and irreversible."
"Master!" Bront knelt before Drek'Thar, hugging his legs and crying uncontrollably.
Drek'Thar patted his head and said, "Don't be sad. I've enjoyed everything in my life. I've had my fill. Back in Frostfire Ridge, the Frostwolf Clan women had to be sent to my tent before they got married. Even Draka chuckled!"
When talking about the past, Drek'Thar was very animated, but then his expression changed and he said seriously:
"There's just one thing I'm not happy about. I, Drek'Thar, have served the elements my whole life, yet I have no successor. Seeing all my skills about to be buried in the ground, I simply can't swallow this bitter pill."
Bront cried, "Master, it's all my fault for being unfilial and unable to communicate with the Elemental Power."
Drek'Thar looked at him kindly:
"Your talent far surpasses mine, but the difficulty of your cultivation is also much greater. In martial arts, this is called Martial Arts Obstacle; in the elemental realm, it's called Elemental Barrier. It's because your master's abilities are insufficient to teach you. I am willing to use Elemental Power I've accumulated throughout my life to help you break through the Elemental Barrier and to pass on all my Elemental Power to you."
Bront's body trembled violently, and he burst into tears, crying like a baby, "Master, this is absolutely not allowed!"
"Master's time has come. If there's anything you can't accept, you must obey my orders," Drek'Thar said sternly.
"Master!" Bront was too grief-stricken to speak.
Drek'Thar stroked his full head of white hair. "Master had no children in his life, and nothing to cherish but his reputation. Bront, after you inherit my Elemental Power, you must use Elemental Magic to disguise yourself as your master and continue to serve your people in that capacity. If you disobey, I will not let you go even if it means my death."
"Master, your kindness to me is as heavy as a mountain, how could I dare to disobey!" Bront said, tears streaming down his face.
"Let's go, your master will help you break through the Elemental Barrier and then impart the magic to you."
Drek'Thar led the way, with Bront following closely behind, until they reached the top of the cliff.
The sky was clear and blue, and a gentle breeze caressed my face.
Drek'Thar stared at the deep pool below the cliff, a barely perceptible smile playing on his lips.
Drek'Thar pulled four Magic Crystals from his robes and said in a serious tone:
"Bront, these four crystals represent the four elements: earth, fire, water, and wind. The elements of Draenor are more volatile, while those of Azeroth are more peaceful. We should focus on communication, not enslavement."
"I will heed your teachings, Master," Bront said respectfully, kneeling to the side.
Drek'Thar arranged the four crystals into a simple Magic Circle, closed his eyes, and muttered incantations.
Powerful Elemental Power converged, earth, fire, water, and wind forming a vortex, and Drek'Thar roared:
"Open!"
The Elemental Power Bront's body, his thin body suddenly swelled, his wrinkles smoothed out, and his aged face instantly became young.
Drek'Thar was secretly jealous; he had long known that Bront Shaman with exceptional talent, a once-in-a-century genius.
For example, Drek'Thar himself cannot use Elemental Powers to become younger.
Bront opened his eyes, and his cloudy eyes became bright and alert.
"Master, is it all over?"
Drek'Thar nodded, deliberately standing on the edge of the cliff, feigning a weak cough, and spitting out several mouthfuls of blood:
"My master is nearing the end of his life and won't live much longer. Seeing that you have inherited my Elemental Power, I am content."
Bront sensed the Elemental Power within his body, and seemingly feeling something, he exclaimed with delight:
"Master, I have a way to heal the hidden injuries in your body and make you as young as me again. Give me some time."
Drek'Thar was stunned.
For years, Drek'Thar has been working to resolve the hidden injuries within his body, but unfortunately, limited by his talent, he has not succeeded despite exhausting all his efforts.
Unexpectedly, his disciple was able to solve it so easily.
However, with death looming, Drek'Thar warned himself that he could not hesitate and needed to make a choice.
He looked down at the cliff below, where clouds and mist swirled, and whispered a reminder:
"Bront, don't you have anything you want to say to your teacher?"