Terenas, oblivious to the empty treasury, roared:
"If the national treasury is empty, levy taxes on me; if I can't pay, sell the people into slavery. They're all useless trash anyway, destined to be food for the Orcs sooner or later."
The old minister sighed, "King Majesty, both levying taxes and selling slaves take time. Please grant me three months."
"I'll only give you three days," Terenas roared menacingly.
Terenas's arrogance was so extreme that even Tirion Fordring couldn't stand it anymore and loudly proclaimed:
"Your King, if you have any sense, you should know that three days is simply not enough."
Terenas was most averse to being told he had made a mistake, and roared in a frenzy:
"What? You're saying I'm brainless? I'm the greatest King in human history, and all my decisions are correct."
The old minister lowered his head and thought for a moment, "Your King, there is no need to levy taxes or sell slaves. I have a way to raise the money within three days."
"Speak quickly!"
The thought of the Orcs' brutal massacre tormented Terenas, making each day feel like an eternity.
The old minister bowed deeply. "The late king's tomb contained many burial goods; the gold coins alone were enough to fill the Royal Palace of Lordaeron."
Terenas was taken aback upon hearing this.
Grave robbing is something that has always been despised.
In particular, a son digging up his father's grave is utterly outrageous.
I had expected Terenas to be furious, and I was prepared to die.
Unexpectedly, King Terenas remained calm:
"My father was a good-for-nothing, and all my ancestors were good-for-nothings. They dug up all their graves and took their burial goods for the Orcs."
The court erupted in uproar; everyone could hardly believe their ears.
For the sake of the Orcs, King Terenas dared to challenge all conventions and defy the world.
Tirion Fordring sensed King Terenas's determination and realized that he was already mired in a quagmire and was about to face annihilation.
In the Hillsbrad Foothills, Anachronos and his companions traveled upstream along the Whitewater River.
Anachronos asked as he walked, "Gentlemen, who is the most powerful Prophet in the history of Azeroth?"
Neither Rend nor Thrall spoke, Prophet Velen couldn't help but reveal a smug look:
"Although the Draenei come from Argus Planet, they were once a member of the Alliance. Who else deserves the title of the strongest Prophet?"
Rend seized the opportunity to mock, "You're no good. You couldn't even predict the Draenei being slaughtered by the Orcs."
Velen was speechless for a long time before finally saying, "A so-called Prophet is someone who is omnipotent in small matters but powerless when faced with big ones."
Anachronos shook his head. "The strongest Prophet under the stars in Azeroth can only be Edolas Blackmoore."
Rend was confused and asked curiously, "Blackmoore? How could he be Prophet?"
Anachronos looked at Thrall and chuckled, "In Thrall's fabricated story, when did Blackmoore find Thrall?"
Rend stroked his chin and said, "It should be the second year Dark Portal."
Anachronos nodded:
"Two years after the Dark Portal opened, the Orcs had just ended a war with Kingdom of Stormwind, but the progress was not smooth, and many races in Azeroth were completely unfamiliar with the Orcs. Blackmoore, a low-ranking officer Thrall Lordaeron, prophesied the moment he found Thrall that the Orcs would sweep across the continent, be defeated, and imprisoned in Internment Camp. That's why he adopted Thrall, intending to train him to be a leader who would lead the Horde against the Alliance. Blackmoore, with his powerful prophetic abilities, foresaw the course of history for more than a decade to come. Velen, can you do the same?"
Velen shook his head. "I can't."
Rend laughed and patted Thrall on the shoulder, "Your story has too many flaws."
Thrall chuckled sheepishly and shrugged, "Flaws don't matter, as long as enough people believe them."
Anachronos carefully observed the traces in the river. "Blackmoore's prophetic abilities were too extraordinary, so they were corrected in this world. It was changed to the eleventh year after the Dark Portal, when Blackmoore met Thrall as a baby, but Thrall was clearly born in the first year Dark Portal."
Velen asked in surprise, "You mean, the power of spacetime?"
"That's right, someone sent Thrall from the Dark Portal a year ago to where he is now. I'd like to see who's behind this."
Ripples appeared in Anachronos's eyes, clearly revealing traces of incompatibility with this time and space.
The four of them traveled to the upper reaches of the Whitewater River, where their trail disappeared into a large white rock.
Anachronos stroked the white boulder and exclaimed in surprise, "There was once a rift in spacetime here, and it still retains a strange aura."
Velen and the other two all looked puzzled.
"I initially thought it was an Infinite Dragonflight, but judging from its aura, it wasn't."
Anachronos smiled mysteriously, "Things are getting more and more interesting."
Every Orcs rescued adds another mouth to feed.
Outside the dilapidated tent, scouts patrolled the area, while a group of Orcs huddled around the campfire, gleefully watching the stew simmering in the pot.
Orgrim Doomhammer leaned against the edge of the tent, clutching his hammer, his long, gray hair disheveled, his thoughts drifting aimlessly.
Seven years after the Dark Portal, Orgrim escaped from Undercity and began dedicating himself to saving the Orcs in the Internment Camps.
Initially, there was some resistance, but things quickly went smoothly, and more and more Orcs gained their freedom.
But then he discovered a problem: the Orcs needed to eat.
Orgrim's method was to plunder from humans, just as during wartime, by slaughtering entire villages to satisfy the Orcs' appetites.
However, Orgrim found things were getting tougher; humans were on guard, and they often couldn't get a single grain of food for months at a time.
A terrible hunger forced Orgrimmar to resort to the ancient Orcs tradition of survival of the fittest.
Orcs had to undergo rigorous selection processes to become soldiers in Orgrimmar; those who failed were eaten.
Orgrim only maintained a force of 500 Orcs, and would go to the Internment Camp to rescue Orcs in the event of famine.
Four years have passed, Orgrim's Orcs have come and gone, turning countless Orcs into Tough Jerky.
Orgrim then understood why he had been able to escape from Undercity so easily and even take his signature weapon Doomhammer, with him.
The cunning humans, unwilling to kill the Orcs in the Internment Camp, resorted to Orgrim's intervention.
It's no wonder that Orgrim's liberation of the Internment Camp went exceptionally smoothly, encountering minimal resistance; they were practically welcomed with open arms.
Based on this calculation, it won't be long before the Internment Camps in Lordaeron become history, and the Orcs will be slaughtered by Orgrim.
Orgrim viewed the lives of Orcs as worthless and didn't care about them; he was simply unwilling to be used by others.
He decided to learn from the Warsong Clan and venture into the wilderness to survive.
Over the years, the indomitable Warsong Clan has wandered the wilderness, suffering greatly.
Orgrim worried he wouldn't be able to endure such hardship.
While I was hesitating, suddenly, an alarm sounded.
A scout ran towards the tent, panting, and reported to Orgrim:
"Warchief, it's terrible! We're surrounded!"
Orgrim was taken aback. Right now, all the Internment Camps in Lordaeron were eagerly awaiting his arrival; how could they possibly send troops to wipe him out?
"Tell me slowly, which unit is it? What flag are they flying?" Orgrim asked.
"It's an unfamiliar Orcs force," the scout replied.