Even the greatest figures in life become ordinary after death. They become ordinary not only because of their immense strength, but also because of their extraordinary intellect.
The great Savior Thrall, the symbol of Orcs glory Saurfang the Great, and the former Warchief of the Horde Garrosh —these illustrious names, like petty thugs in the marketplace, were locked in a brawl.
Damage sustained in the spirit state will also manifest, as seen in their gruesome state of being bruised, battered, and bleeding, which is quite comical. I wonder what people who see this scene will think; they will probably be deeply disappointed.
The slender, Faceless Ones with graceful lines stepped forward, extending two thick arms that easily separated the three men. One pincer gripped Thrall, while the other clamped Saurfang and Garrosh.
Despite his Faceless Ones is actually enormous; compared to him, the Orcs is like a kitten.
"Three ignorant mortal beings, the afterlife is your eternal refuge. Why bother with the trivialities of your past life? The great Dark Side of the Moon will guide you to eternity. Welcome once again to the Land of No Shadows."
The Faceless Ones, carrying the three, spread its wings and soared into the sky, heading towards the Blood Moon in the heavens.
As they drew nearer, Thrall saw the ruins of an ancient city, a city steeped in history, telling tales of its former glory.
This is a city completely integrated with nature. Although the city has long since been destroyed, its original form can still be vaguely seen. The entire city is a towering tree, with the fruits hanging down as houses, the flowers growing as city squares and commercial districts, and thick vines encircling the tree as streets—a three-dimensional city.
At the very top of the city stands a colossal Altar with three thick tentacles, two of which are broken, holding up a massive red eyeball— the Blood Moon that Thrall witnessed.
The giant tree had long since decayed, most of the houses bearing its fruit were destroyed, most of the flowers were incomplete, withered and fallen, and the surrounding vines had long since broken into sections. The once colorful city was now reduced to a monotonous black and white.
But the ancient history that this city represents, and the awe-inspiring sense of history it embodies, remains as captivating as ever.
In those ancient times, there once stood a beautiful city on the land of Azeroth.
"It's so beautiful!"
Thrall couldn't help but exclaim in amazement.
The Faceless Ones let out a long sigh:
"This was once our home, a city long since destroyed, a microcosm of a great civilization that has vanished. We were once its inhabitants, living peacefully and happily, until the end of the world. It was a terrible war of destruction; four powerful beings surrounded our goddess, cruelly tearing her apart. Countless minions annihilated our civilization, and we were transformed into monsters."
"What did we do wrong? We just wanted to live peacefully, is that wrong? God protected us, giving us a peaceful and prosperous life. Unfortunately, everything is gone. Countless cities have been destroyed, civilizations have been lost, leaving only the flames of revenge. We are gathering our strength, and we will surely rise again."
"Orcs, souls are priceless. Welcome to our ranks, inhabitants of the Land of No Shadows."
Thrall and his two companions landed on the decaying giant tree. To prevent them from fighting again, they were placed in different locations. Thrall was in a broken fruit, cautiously looking around.
There are many Restless Souls here, including Orcs, Tauren, Trolls, Goblins, and the Restless Souls of some wild beasts. Thrall is watching them, and they are watching Thrall.
"Is that you, Warchief?"
An Orcs excitedly approached Thrall. He had a powerful physique and sharp fangs; he must have been a warrior in life.
Please don't call me Warchief.
Thrall was somewhat disheartened. He sat down on the ground dejectedly, shook his head, and smiled bitterly:
"Like you, I am merely Restless Souls, a lonely ghost."
"Savior, please don't say that. We Orcs are still waiting for your revival. Azeroth cannot do without you." The Orcs looked at Thrall with excitement and worship.
Thrall said with a look of despair, "Everyone's dead, what hope is there left?"
"No, no, great Savior, there is hope," the Orcs said solemnly. "Whenever the Blood Moon disappears, there will be two or three resurrection slots, allowing us to be reborn."
"Resurrection!"
Upon hearing Thrall, Thrall was filled with hope, and he excitedly grabbed the Orcs:
You mean we have a chance to be resurrected!
"Yes, great Savior," the Orcs said respectfully. "We don't know when the Blood Moon will disappear, but I have personally witnessed someone being resurrected; it is absolutely true."
Thrall frowned slightly. He suddenly remembered that during the campaign against Northrend, a small number of fallen soldiers had indeed come back to life. No one could explain what had happened. Some said they were just missing deserters returning.
"Could it really be possible to be resurrected?" Thrall felt he had to try. He was the great Savior; he couldn't abandon his ambition. Thrall hurriedly asked, "How can I secure that spot?"
"The spot is awarded randomly; we don't know who it will land on," the Orcs said excitedly. "But you are the great Savior, you are the Orcs' only hope. I will spread the word to all the Orcs in the city that if that spot falls into our Orcs, we are willing to give it to you."
"Can resurrection slots be transferred?" Thrall asked curiously.
"Yes, that's right." The Orcs nodded honestly, "Restless Souls that gets a chance to be resurrected will have a small Blood Moon hovering above its head, which it can actively transfer to another person."
Through the Orcs's explanation, Thrall learned that the souls of Orcs made up more than 90% of the population in this city.
Tauren can return to Earth Mother's embrace, Trolls' souls belong to Bwonsamdi after death, and Goblins also have their own place to reside. Only those abandoned, cursed souls are sent here.
If revival slots are transferable, the chances of being revived are very high.
Thrall was full of hope for the future.
In the following days, news of Thrall's arrival in the Land of No Shadows quickly spread throughout the city.
Almost all Orcs swore that for Azeroth, for the Horde, and for the Orcs, they were willing to give up their precious resurrection slots.
Of course, Thrall wasn't the only lucky one. Saurfang the Great and Garrosh also gained the support of the Orcs, and the desire to be resurrected alongside their two enemies made Thrall somewhat distressed, but he couldn't think of a good solution in the short term.
In the Land of No Shadows, there is no sunrise or sunset, and the passage of time is almost imperceptible. After an unknown amount of time, the Blood Moon hanging in the sky gradually disappeared, and countless eyelashes fell down, covering the enormous eyeball.
"The resurrection has arrived."
"We pay our respects to the great Dark Side of the Moon."
The Restless Souls of the Land of No Shadows all raised their arms in prayer, facing the Altar where the Blood Moon was located.
Three beams of snow-white light descended, illuminating three lucky individuals. Thrall was particularly fortunate; they were all Orcs.
For some reason, Thrall felt a strong sense of familiarity with the straight beam of light that stretched to the sky. He was reminded of the Druids receiving the blessing of the Moon Goddess, which looked something like this.
Thrall was already preparing beside the Altar, with Garrosh looking furious and High Saurfang the Great looking grim. They were waiting for the three lucky ones to bring them a spot for resurrection.
"Listen, I have a suggestion," Thrall said earnestly.
"We don't know what difficulties we'll face after our resurrection, and we'll probably find it hard to regain our former status. Don't forget the despicable and treacherous Vol'jin. Therefore, I suggest we cease hostilities and unite against a common enemy. What do you think?"
"Heh heh heh, that's your worry, Thrall," Garrosh chuckled smugly.
"Vol'jin and I were allies. Even if he can't tolerate me, I can simply return to Draenor and lead my Iron Horde. As for you, Thrall, you're nothing but a stray dog."
Saurfang the Great remained silent, swayed by Thrall's words. He had died because of Vol'jin's betrayal, and if he returned to Orgrimmar, he would likely suffer the same fate. It was better to unite with Thrall.
"The Iron Horde is our chance to rise." Thrall had been thinking a lot these past few days, and he knew how to convince Garrosh: "Without the Burning Legion's help, do you think the Iron Horde alone can fight against the Alliance and the Horde?"
"How will you know if you don't try?" Garrosh remained as stubborn as ever.
"What we need is survival, war, and destruction." Thrall was confident he could convince Garrosh:
"These past few days I've been thinking about who the dark force supporting Vol'jin is. I know all the Troll gods, none of them have that kind of power. The most likely answer is the Old Gods. Only the Legion can stand against the Old Gods, you know that, Garrosh. Without my connection to the Burning Legion, the Iron Horde is doomed."
Garrosh hesitated for a long time, but he was persuaded.
He is not the kind of mindless brute; he has been reflecting on his failures these past few days. A leader always has to go through some ups and downs to grow.
The Faceless Ones delivered the three lucky Orcs, who were delighted to give their chance to the Horde's three greatest warriors, the Orcs' hope.
At the center of the Altar, at the base of the three tentacles, a bright winged figure slowly emerged. Although its features were not clearly visible, it was undoubtedly a woman with a curvaceous figure, radiating a rich, holy glow.
"Spirit Healer!"
Thrall couldn't help but exclaim in surprise. He had long heard of the Legendary of the Spirit Healer, one of the very few methods on the Azeroth Continent that could resurrect without cost, and the only way to obtain it was through luck.
The Spirit Healer can resurrect the lucky ones, but such opportunities are extremely rare, so rare that they can lead to despair.
"Three fortunate Orcs Warriors, the Spirit Healer hears your prayers."
The Spirit Healer spoke in a gentle voice:
"I will help you resurrect and regain your former glory, but your physical bodies have been destroyed. I can rebuild your bodies, but I will need to be weak for three months. Are you willing to accept this?"
Weakened and revived!
Although it wasn't entirely satisfactory, there was no reason to refuse it.
Thrall, Garrosh, Saurfang the Great all nodded hastily, fearing the Spirit Healer might misunderstand.
"Then, sign this contract! The resurrection of the Spirit Healer is not without conditions. You will all need to pay a corresponding price in the future. Don't worry, it won't exceed your capabilities. We don't like to force people to do things against their will."
Three contracts were placed before the three, covered in ancient, incomprehensible script, like densely packed tadpoles. The Spirit Healer remained silent, seemingly unwilling to explain the contents of the contracts.
Saurfang and Garrosh signed their names without hesitation. Thrall hesitated for a while, but after thinking about the price he would have to pay later, he felt that this was a normal transaction and also signed his name.
The Spirit Healer withdrew the contract, and three coffins appeared before the three.
The coffin was opened, revealing three Orcs bodies that had been prepared beforehand.
"Congratulations, Savior Thrall, High Saurfang the Great, the symbol of Orcs glory, and a surprise from Warchief Garrosh! By the covenant, your souls now belong to me, hehe."
The voice was incredibly familiar, and all three of them were filled with panic!
Sylvanas Windrunner.
There was no such thing as Spirit Healer, at least not in the Land of No Shadows. It was Sylvanas in disguise. Thrall immediately realized that this was a conspiracy.
A powerful suction force emanated from within the coffin, forcibly drawing the souls of the three people into it.