Orgrim Doomhammer firmly believed in one thing: Orcs cannot be strong forever, and when an opponent is stronger than you, you must kneel down and surrender.
When he arrived on the Battlefield wielding the Doomhammer, he saw thousands of powerful Orcs.
The Orcs, transformed by the Undead Elixir, had blood-red eyes, an even more ferocious appearance, and fangs as sharp as daggers, making him a full head taller Orgrim.
But their expressions were calm, like those of cold-blooded killers, as if killing was just a common occurrence.
Orgrim gasped, his hand holding the Doomhammer trembling slightly. How could there be such a powerful Orcs force in Lordaeron?
A human stepped out from among the Orcs, Blackmoore glanced at him casually:
"You are Orgrim Doomhammer, the chieftain of the Orcs?"
Orgrim Doomhammer was pondering how to surrender gracefully, preserving his life while retaining as much dignity as possible.
Blackmoore made his move.
The Call of All Spirits.
Flames, Lightning, Gales, Lava —terrifying Elemental Magic erupted, and smoke blanketed the sky.
In just two seconds, Orgrim felt countless spells rain down on his camp, destroying everything.
The five hundred carefully selected Orcs turned to ashes before they could even utter a wail.
Around Orgrim, the scorched earth radiated intense heat.
This is terrifying! What kind of magic is this? It's like a demon king destroying the world.
Orgrim was terrified, his legs went weak, and he wanted to kneel down and surrender, but his opponent did not give him the chance.
Two strong Orcs rushed over and supported Orgrim's trembling body, while a Black-Robed Man forcibly forced him to drink a potion.
A surge of power rushed into his mind, and Orgrim felt his consciousness being torn to pieces, most of which scattered with the wind, leaving only loyalty and obedience.
Blackmoore proclaimed, "From this day forward, I, Edolas Blackmoore, am your master, and you, Orgrim Doomhammer, are my slave and loyal hound."
"Yes, Master," Orgrim said dryly, his eyes gradually losing their luster.
Eight years after the Dark Portal opened, the Draenor World was torn apart by Ner'zhul's spell, and Grom Grommash Hellscream led the Warsong Clan to wander the Wilderness of Lordaeron.
Despite being pursued by the Alliance and enduring the harsh conditions of the wilderness, this remnant of the Orcs, numbering two thousand, managed to hold on.
Scattered raindrops pattered against the earth, and a few streaks of Lightning flashed across the sky.
Baron Rivendare, observing the routed Warsong Clan, calmly ordered a retreat.
At the forefront of the scattered Orcs, a strong, disheveled figure ran the fastest, his steps described as agile.
Grom Hellscream, the infamous legendary chieftain, was not as brave as the Legendary.
He always oversaw the Charge from behind, but he was faster than anyone else at fleeing.
The Orcs fled towards the deepest part of the Wilderness, where the land was barren and desolate, covered with pale green soil where no vegetation could grow.
Legendary thousands of years ago, this place was a lush, verdant forest. A Pit Lord was slain by the Guardian Aegwynn, and his blood Corruption the earth.
The forests were completely destroyed, and not a single blade of grass grew.
Baron Rivendare was unable to catch up.
Lengthening the supply line would put the entire team in danger of being wiped out.
"The Warsong Clan, what do they eat in the Wilderness?" The baron rubbed his temples in confusion.
After years of war with the Warsong Clan, the Baron confined Warsong Clan to the depths of the Wilderness, forbidding them from stepping Wilderness and leaving them to fend for themselves.
However, things didn't go as planned. Grom Grommash Hellscream returned time and again, proving that the Orcs had a continuous supply of resources.
No one knows how Grom Hellscream and his Warsong Clan survived in the wilderness.
A roar more terrifying than Thunder resounded, but the human soldiers, used to it, began cleaning up the Battlefield.
This is Grom Hellscream's roar, a provocation and taunt to the pursuers.
Baron Rivendare called it the rage of a coward.
The Warsong Clan's breakout attempt failed once again, Grom Hellscream, as usual, unleashed his fury, casually cutting down several Orcs weren't brave enough in battle.
Having vented his anger, Grommash Hellscream earned the respect of his people with his roar.
The Warsong Clan began migrating into the depths of the Wilderness, to dangerous areas that humans dared not venture into.
The barren Valley, shrouded in a thick gray mist, resembled the gaping maw of a demon king, with the Warsong Clan guarding its Valley.
Grom Hellscream led a dozen or so of his trusted followers into the mist-shrouded Valley.
The tribesmen all looked eagerly at their chieftain, Grom Hellscream, who always brought back food from the Valley, and sometimes clothing, weapons, and so on.
Deep within the mist, fifty Orcs gathered around a large pit. Upon seeing their chieftain arrive, they all knelt and paid their respects.
Grommash Hellscream asked in a low voice, "How was today's harvest?"
A Shaman replied, "Three groups of people came today. Hehe, there are a few pretty young ladies among them; they've been prepared for the chief."
Grommash Hellscream nodded. "Leave them all to me. That damned Baron Rivendare was blocking our way out, but I didn't lose out either; I killed 100,000 humans today."
The Orcs all knew that Grommash Hellscream liked to exaggerate his achievements in battle.
If what he said were true, he would have wiped out the people of Lordaeron long ago.
The Shaman's ears twitched, and he hissed, "Someone's coming, guys, get ready to work."
In the center of the pit was a huge white rock, about the size of a house, crystal clear like jade, emitting an eerie light.
A golden light flashed, and a group of people appeared out of thin air.
The leader carried a small flag, followed by a group of richly dressed noblemen and a dozen or so adventurers, all warily scanning their surroundings.
The one holding the small flag was a Dwarf, who called out in a loud voice:
"Gentlemen, this is the Way of Time and Space, the era of the great Grom Hellscream's battles and life. You are the Peace Dove's Recruits, selected through rigorous processes to be worthy of witnessing this history. In this very wilderness, Grom Hellscream led from the front, Execute millions of Lordaeron soldiers in every battle, and killing 50 billion humans in his lifetime. He truly deserves to be called the greatest legendary Orcs chieftain."
The noblemen gasped in surprise, and one of the girls, with a sweet face, said:
"Wow, this is how my idol fights, I'm so moved."
A young man asked, "Is there any chance of meeting the great Grommash Hellscream? And could I get his autograph?"
Another girl said, "I'd die happy if I could meet my idol."
"Orcs, won't we be in danger?" a boy asked in fear.
The leading Dwarf smiled faintly:
"Don't worry, Orcs are kind and benevolent... cough cough, what's this?"
A cloud of smoke appeared in the pit, and everyone felt weak and powerless, collapsing to the ground, though they remained conscious.
A group of ferocious-looking Orcs appeared, Grom Hellscream laughed loudly:
"The Peace Dove are so friendly; they've brought us food again."
The Orcs dragged the Peace Dove's Recruits to the edge of the pit, where slaughtering tools had been prepared and the ground was covered with a thick layer of bones.
"Foods, do you have any last words?" Grommash Hellscream asked.
The sweet-looking girl cried her eyes out, stubbornly shouting:
"Stop your arrogance, villains! The great Grom Hellscream will come to our rescue!"
Grommash Hellscream laughed, "Fool, I am Grom Hellscream."