The weapon used to attack Bront was a triangular sword with sharp serrations at the tip, which was usually hidden in Drek'Thar's cane.
Bront had ways to dodge, and could even knock Drek'Thar away the moment he drew his sword.
But the one who ambushed him was his most respected master. Bront did not dodge, letting the sword pierce his heart.
"Master, I've repaid you everything I owed you," Bront said, trembling.
Drek'Thar laughed and stirred violently, shattering Bront's heart, and he died instantly.
What's going on?
Velen and Anachronos, both in mid-air, were stunned.
The powerful and arrogant Drek'Thar was actually ambushed and killed by a masked old Orcs.
Drek'Thar didn't have time to retract his triangular sword. Before the others could react, he rushed straight to the nearby stream, jumped into the water, and disappeared.
After Bront's death, Thrall and Rend were freed, and the two cautiously approached the body.
Thrall turned Bront's face towards him, scrutinizing him for a long time. "Yes, he's that old idiot Drek'Thar."
Even on his deathbed, Bront did not forget his master's instructions and maintained Drek'Thar's appearance.
Anachronos breathed a sigh of relief, "Although the Drek'Thar in this Parallel Worlds is terrifyingly powerful, we were fortunate enough to complete the mission by sheer luck."
Rend said with lingering fear, "Drek'Thar is so strong at this moment. If he were to teach Blackmoore, the consequences would be unimaginable."
Velen chuckled and said, "Fortunately, we've already halted Blackmoore's growth; his path to leadership is blocked."
Anachronos said seriously, "Don't let your guard down; we must completely crush Blackmoore."
"What should we do next?" Velen made a throat-slitting gesture. "How about I sneak into Blackmoore's house, kill his whole family, and stage it as a suicide? Haha, I've done that a million times. I kill hundreds of Draenei every year for fun."
Anachronos scoffed, "Are you a match for that Woodcutter?"
The thought of the mysterious Woodcutter left Velen speechless, his face turning deathly pale.
Seeing that the other three were unable to make a decision, Anachronos said loudly:
"We don't need to deal with Blackmoore; we'll head straight to Lordaeron."
"You mean, King Terenas?" Velen understood.
Rend clapped his hands and exclaimed, "Taking advantage of Blackmoore's weakened state, we've instigated King Terenas to assassinate him! Brilliant! What a brilliant plan!"
Anachronos glared at the Frostwolf Clans on both sides of the river and said viciously:
"Our identities must be kept secret. Anyone who sees our faces deserves to die."
The Frostwolf Clan's settlement was engulfed in flames. After the four left, Robbie and Kel'Thuzad emerged from the shadows.
Bront's body was charred beyond recognition. Kel'Thuzad shook his head and said regretfully:
"If we hadn't given Drek'Thar the wrong prophecy, he wouldn't have died."
Robbie stroked his chin and said, "This Bront is a rare genius, but he's timid by nature and really not up to any great task."
Kel'Thuzad replied without hesitation, "Undead magic can alter personality, even transform him into someone else; that's not difficult."
Robbie suddenly realized something. "We're directing Drek'Thar to Blackmoore's territory, but I still don't feel entirely at ease. Bront can be a backup."
Kel'Thuzad readily agreed, "Very well, I'll cast the Soul Summoning on him right away."
As the saying goes, the greatest truths are the simplest.
Kel'Thuzad's Soul Summoning was simple; he drew a circle on the ground.
Under the influence of this wondrous domain of rules, the souls of the recently slain Frostwolf Clan gathered within the circle.
Bront was among them; Kel'Thuzad extracted the resentment of all the souls and concentrated it into Bront's soul.
A resentful Orcs soul was born.
The Durnholde internment camp changed its leader, and after a series of personnel changes, life returned to its usual uneventful routine.
Blackmoore has just acquired a fine horse, which he named Blanchy.
On a whim, Blackmoore mounted Blanchy and, with a few trusted men, galloped around the territory.
When they arrived at the riverbank, a rustling sound came from the grass.
Blackmoore's eyes narrowed; years of combat experience allowed him to immediately determine that it was an Orcs.
It's not surprising to find wandering Orcs in Hillsbrad Foothills; they might be escaped from the Internment Camps or deserters from years ago.
Blackmoore made a gesture.
Several bodyguards split up to encircle the enemy, while Blackmoore and Tamis launched the main attack from the front.
Carefully parting the bushes, a filthy old Orcs came into view.
Drek'Thar was exhausted and hungry. He used Elemental Magic to escape from underwater, but his skin was cut open by the pebbles at the bottom of the river.
After finally managing to climb ashore, Drek'Thar was so exhausted that he fainted. When he woke up, his wounds had turned black and festered, and he had a high fever.
"Help me!" Drek'Thar cried out weakly.
"You useless old Orcs, I'll give you a quick death."
Blackmoore was ruthless and merciless, showing no mercy to the Orcs, and was ready to strike them down at any moment.
"I am Shaman of the Frostwolf Clan, and I can teach you Shaman magic," Drek'Thar said hastily.
"Shaman?" Blackmoore looked at his wounds. "But you can't even heal your own wounds."
Drek'Thar said weakly, "My village was attacked. I barely managed to break through, but I'm exhausted. Please, save me. I'll do anything you ask."
Blackmoore laughed:
"Alright, I'll give you a chance and see if you're tough enough."
Blackmoore took out a rope and tied it around Drek'Thar's legs, with the other end of the rope attached to the saddle.
Blanchy dragged Drek'Thar along as they galloped away.
Drek'Thar screamed and howled in agony as his wounds reopened, quickly turning him into a blood-soaked mess. By the time he returned to Blackmoore's manor, hardly a patch of his skin remained intact, and he was unconscious.
Tamis examined Drek'Thar's injuries and exclaimed in surprise, "He's still alive."
"Orcs aren't that easy to kill." Blackmoore settled Blanchy in, admiring his work.
Tamis asked curiously, "He's a Shaman. If we were just going to kill him, that would be one thing. But if we really wanted to recruit him, why treat him like this?"
Blackmoore gave a mysterious smile:
"Different methods must be used to deal with different people. Some need to be lured with benefits, while others need to be confided in and become close friends. As for the Orcs, we must torture them severely to make them utterly fearful, only then can we gain their loyalty."
Tamis nodded thoughtfully. "My lord, you are right, but not Orcs are the same."
Blackmoore said coldly:
"I examined his wounds; they weren't from fighting the enemy. As a Shaman highly respected by his people, he has a responsibility to protect them, yet he abandoned them and fled alone. Such a person must be treated cruelly. Throw him into the stable, and, oh yes, put a magic-suppressing collar on him."
Tamis was taken aback. While Blackmoore was brave in battle, his intelligence was only average.
When did you become so intelligent?
"My lord, you seem somewhat different."
"Really?" Blackmoore scratched his head and said, "I feel it too. Many things I couldn't understand before suddenly make sense."