After Sen'jin finished recounting his dream, it quickly sparked hushed discussions among the crowd.
Sen'jin remained expressionless, like a statue, quietly awaiting everyone's opinions.
In such a formal setting, there is a specific order to speaking, and not everyone is qualified to speak first.
All eyes were on the Priest, the Priest of the Tide Lord Feisila, who held a high position and great power in the Darkspear Horde, second only to Chief Sen'jin.
Since he represents the will of the Tide Lord, he should take the lead in expressing his opinion, and then everyone else should follow suit.
Strangely, the elderly Priest merely frowned, seemingly unable to make up his mind.
Just as everyone was looking at the old Priest with suspicion, a young Troll stepped forward. It was Sen'jin's most beloved Legitimate Son, Xiaoming, also known as the Mingwang. He was a handsome young man with sharp fangs and a loud, powerful voice.
"My esteemed father, may I have a word to say?"
Sen'jin immediately turned around, revealing a kind and satisfied smile, and nodded, saying, "My son, don't be shy, come forward quickly, your father would like to hear your opinion."
Only Sen'jin's most favored Legitimate Son was qualified in this regard.
Mingwang bowed deeply, took a few quick steps forward, and politely said:
"Thank you for your grace, Father. In my opinion, this is a divine oracle from the supreme Darkspear Lady, warning us to be wary of humans and Murloc. They are secretly plotting to destroy our Darkspear Horde. Only by uniting with the green-skinned Orcs can the Darkspear Horde find its only hope."
Chief Sen'jin's dream was not difficult to understand at all; it was simple and easy to comprehend. Many people present shared the same thought, nodding in agreement and praising the Mingwang in hushed tones.
Only the old Priest remained silent, seemingly burdened by worry.
After hearing this, Sen'jin straightened his collar and walked step by step toward his son.
Mingwang looked at his father, feeling proud and waiting for his father's praise.
Suddenly, Sen'jin's face became ferocious and terrifying, as if possessed by Demons. His eyes shot out two murderous beams of light, which frightened Mingwang so much that he knelt on the ground, his body trembling uncontrollably.
Sen'jin was never a benevolent chieftain. For example, he had not only four legitimate Legitimate Sons, but at most twelve. Mingwang was not the first favored legitimate Legitimate Son.
"Why, why you of all people? Are you so eager to inherit my chieftainship?"
Sen'jin questioned fiercely, wishing he could pierce his son's chest with his fangs.
Mingwang was terrified. He didn't understand what he had said wrong and could only beg for his life.
Sen'jin waved his hand and declared loudly, "The Darkspear Trolls have been able to establish themselves in Azeroth because of the harmony of their people, the valor of their soldiers, and the unity of their families, not because they have groveled before foreign races. How dare these mere Orcs challenge the Darkspear Trolls? I, Sen'jin, swear here and now that I will personally pluck Thrall's head from his neck."
I don't understand, it's so strange.
Most of the people present looked on with suspicion; they couldn't understand why Sen'jin would make such a decision.
Only the old Priest on the side nodded secretly, his expression relaxing.
"Someone come here."
At Chief Sen'jin's command, a dozen burly Trolls carried a large cauldron filled with boiling oil. Sen'jin glared at his beloved son and shouted, "Throw this rebellious son into the cauldron and boil him alive! Turn his flesh and blood into broth and distribute it to everyone present!"
Ignoring the Mingwang's cries for mercy, the guards grabbed his limbs and threw him into the boiling cauldron.
Sen'jin had a terrifying appearance, and his murderous gaze swept over everyone present.
"Anyone who suggests cooperating with the Orcs again will suffer the same fate as the Mingwang. I hope you will think twice."
The great chieftain had made his decision, and although the many Trolls present were bewildered, they could only loudly praise him and dared not express any opinion.
Varimathras, hidden in the crowd, closed his eyes, his heart turning cold. He hadn't expected that Archimonde's hopes would also be dashed.
That Sen'jin is truly ruthless; he sacrificed his beloved Legitimate Son to successfully keep the Orcs out.
Even if Thrall wanted to secretly collude with the nobles of the Darkspear Trolls, these Trolls, who fear Sen'jin, would probably not dare to agree.
Varimathras carefully examined his remaining three Legitimate Sons and seven powerful illegitimate Bastard Sons, all of whom were terrified of Sen'jin. It was impossible to incite these frightened Trolls to seize the chieftainship.
Has it all ended in failure?
Varimathras knew very well that with the Darkspear Trolls allied with the Murlocs and aided by the human fleet from Kul Tiras, the Orcs were no match for them.
What should we do? The person behind this is too amazing; they foresaw everything.
Varimathras didn't even know who his opponent was, and he suffered a humiliating defeat. At this moment, the Dalaran fleet was about to be completed, and the Orcs were already preparing to set sail. He didn't have much time left.
There was no point in staying in the Troll Royal Palace anymore, so Varimathras had no choice but to leave secretly. He couldn't leave the Darkspear Trolls; he wanted to bewitch the Murlocs or the humans of Kul Tiras.
Varimathras secretly killed a Murloc, attempting to do the same to him, take his identity, and then blend in with the Murlocs.
He suddenly realized that he didn't understand the Murloc's language at all. The Murloc were a strange race whose language consisted of only a few simple syllables, yet it was all-encompassing and seemed to be able to express everything.
In the end, Varimathras could only turn the Murlocs into delicious grilled fish fillets, and then wander aimlessly through the Echo Isles, hoping to find an opportunity and relying on a slim chance of luck.
Robbie's ship was adrift at sea, still some distance from the island where Vol'jin was exiled.
"Wait for me here," Robbie ordered, and jumped into the sea alone.
Using Arcane to construct an oval-shaped bubble, propelled by the power of Holy Light, it moves as fast as a barracuda.
It must be admitted that during the reign of Queen Azshara ten thousand years ago, the Highborne's magic was incredibly rich, capable of being applied to every situation encountered in life.
Robbie used magic to conceal himself and stealthily approached the Island.
In a cave on the island, young Vol'jin lay on a large rock.
Although he couldn't see a single person around him, he knew that some incredible being was watching him.
From the moment he was born, this mysterious being who claimed to be a god accompanied him.
Who exactly is my father?
Vol'jin asked again, a question he had asked countless times since childhood.
"Your father is a nobleman of the Zandalari Empire." A cunning voice whispered in Vol'jin's ear.
"He was a remarkable Troll, a hero, entrusted by his people with the responsibility of dying to enter Stranglethorn Vale and stop the resurrection of a terrible evil god. Before he departed, he entrusted you to me."
Vol'jin chuckled and shook his head, complaining, "Forget it. Last time you told me my father went into Pandaria to resurrect an old friend of the ancient Zandalari Trolls."
"Really? Did I say that?" the voice asked curiously.
"Just a few days ago, you told me yourself that my father was captured by the Evil High Elves and only escaped with his arm cut off. Do you really enjoy making up stories?" Vol'jin asked, displeased.
"My dear Vol'jin, it makes no difference; it's all the same—deceiving you."
"So you admit you were lying to me?" Vol'jin asked, a triumphant air on his face.
"Of course, and I'll never lie to you again. Your chance has come, Vol'jin."