The coalition forces were already a disorganized mess; if their supplies were cut off, morale would plummet and a mutiny would soon erupt.
Meryl Winterstorm held Uther's hand tightly:
"Uther, you are the embodiment of the Holy Light, the leader of the Order of the Silver Hand. Now, we can only count on you to defeat Thrall Orcs Calamity."
Uther's face looked like a flattened bitter gourd. "Meryl Winterstorm, you know me, I... I cannot be an enemy of the Orcs."
Meryl Winterstorm, having lived for over three thousand years, knows that some people's nature is difficult to change and cannot be forced.
"In that case, we might as well send someone to negotiate with Thrall and see what his demands are."
Uther's eyes lit up. "Negotiating with Orcs is my forte. Don't worry, I will certainly not fail in my mission."
After Uther left, Meryl Winterstorm sat down with the three Dreadlord Adjutant to discuss the matter.
"Don't place any hope in Uther," Tichondrius said grimly. "Uther is an Imp who will only kneel and surrender to the Orcs."
Meryl Winterstorm nodded. "I never placed any hope in Uther. Orcs are the purest savage race I've ever seen; they have a twisted morality. Since Thrall can become their leader, he must have extraordinary abilities."
Mal'Ganis laughed and said, "When it comes to treachery and cunning, who can compare to us, the Dreadlords? Why not hand Thrall over to me?"
Varimathras retorted defiantly, "Mal'Ganis, with your abilities, you'd be lucky to escape Thrall's clutches."
Mal'Ganis said fiercely, "What, you're not convinced? How about we have a match?"
Tichondrius stopped the two from arguing. "Mal'Ganis, you are most skilled at bewitching people, I trust you, why don't you tell me your plan?"
Mal'Ganis smiled slightly, "I've brought something good, it's something Lord Kil'jaeden bestowed upon me, capable of manipulating minds, called the Maw Helm."
Tichondrius, worried about revealing the helmet's origin, advised, "This name isn't good; it would be better to change it to 'Helm of Domination.'"
Mal'Ganis dared not disobey his chieftain's order, "Yes, chieftain, I have a plan to get Thrall to willingly don the Helm of Domination."
Uther entered Thrall's camp.
A strong, pungent smell of blood assaulted his nostrils, making him want to vomit. Uther forced himself to endure the discomfort.
Uther noticed that the tents, fences, and other structures in the camp were all built from Orcs bones.
The weapons and armor used by Orcs are also made of bone.
At the tent entrance, an Orcs gnawed on his dried Orcs arm and sneered at Uther.
Corpses hung on skeletal frames, and the Orcs Chef skillfully sliced off pieces of flesh.
Uther felt a chill run down his spine; this place was practically an Orcs Slaughterhouse.
Thrall's Tent had a curtain made of Orcs tusks strung together.
Uther, filled with unease, entered Thrall's Tent and saw a throne made of Orcs skulls.
Thrall, deep in thought, saw Thrall and gave Uther cruel smile.
"This is not our first meeting, Uther the Lightbringer!"
Uther felt a sense of familiarity and tried hard to recall.
"I understand. You are one of the four merchants of Stormwind City."
Uther exclaimed in surprise, for although Thrall's appearance had changed, his voice remained the same.
Anachronos stole Uther's Booty Bay in Andorhal, so he left a deep impression.
"Good memory, Uther." Thrall stood up, poured a glass of bright red liquid, and handed it to Uther.
"This is the blood of an Orcs Warrior, mixed with special herbs," Thrall laughed. "We Orcs have an ancient tradition: drinking the blood of our enemy grants us his courage."
Uther took the cup with trembling hands, but refused to bring it to his lips.
Thrall said regretfully, "Uther, I thought we were friends."
"Yes, yes, we are friends."
Uther held his breath and poured the blood from the cup into his mouth.
A foul, fishy smell assaulted his nostrils, and his stomach churned. Uther quickly used Holy Light to Pain Suppression and prevented himself from vomiting.
Thrall clapped his hands and praised:
"Uther, you truly are a great hero. In Azeroth, there are few people I admire, and you are one of them, though not the one I admire most."
"Who does the Warchief admire most?" Uther asked abruptly.
"Arthas Menethil."
Uther pondered for a long time before he remembered that it was the name of the Prince of Lordaeron.
How could a mere boy earn Thrall!
Uther couldn't understand it.
Thrall sat on the bone throne. "My stance has never changed, Blackmoore of Hillsbrad Foothills. It's a pity that Tirion Fordring and you have disappointed us so much, returning empty-handed from two campaigns, which has led to the current situation."
Uther, with a mournful face, protested, "Warchief, it's all because of the Orcs."
Thrall grinned. "So I took care of the Orcs for you."
It took Uther a long while to catch his breath. "Warchief, what do you desire?"
Thrall smiled faintly, "I will lead the Alliance army to destroy the Lich King Terenas and Blackmoore."
Uther returned to the Allied fortress with trepidation and recounted Thrall's demands.
Meryl Winterstorm was not surprised to hear this, and was particularly concerned about the relationship between Uther and Thrall:
"So you've met before, Thrall isn't just one person."
Uther, recalling Anachronos's dread, said with a pale face:
"One of them knew many secrets; I was coerced."
The Meryl Winterstorm seemed to be talking to itself, murmuring:
"Why are they targeting Blackmoore? If it's because Blackmoore killed Orcs, Thrall killed far more. What is the connection between these four and the Cult of the Damned?"
Uther wasn't feeling well and went to rest.
Mal'Ganis chuckled slyly, "Since Thrall wants to deal with Blackmoore, I'll make sure he can't have it, and eventually collapses in despair."
After drinking a cup of Orcs blood, Uther didn't sleep well all night, only managing to drift off to sleep at dawn.
When Uther awoke, it was already noon.
The charcoal in the brazier had long since gone out, and there was an unusual chill in the room.
Uther's face darkened. His daily life had always been taken care of by a dedicated person, and now something had gone wrong.
"Adjutant, go to the military court and collect one hundred lashes, then get out of here and go to the vanguard battalion."
No one responded.
Uther was furious. He hastily threw on his clothes and stormed out of the room.
The once bustling campsite was now deserted, as silent as a tomb.
Uther was stunned.
Soon, the sound of hurried footsteps could be heard, and Thrall led a group of Orcs in.
Seeing only a lone Uther, Thrall rushed over in a fit of rage and grabbed Uther by the collar:
Where are they? Where did everyone go?
"I... I don't know."
Uther almost cried.
Wetlands, Thandol Span.
A Legion Portal stood at the bridgehead, and the Allied forces Portal camp near it.
Mal'Ganis stared at the Legion Orb, enjoying the sight of Thrall's furious expression, and smirked maliciously:
"A skilled schemer needs to anticipate his opponent's next move. What will Thrall do next?"
Meryl Winterstorm thought for a moment and said, "Given Thrall's personality, he would never attack Blackmoore, much less fight the Lich King Terenas."
Mal'Ganis clapped his hands and exclaimed, "You guessed right!"
The Meryl Winterstorm traced the map of the Silverpine Forest:
"The Kingdom of Gilneas is Thrall's next target."