The symbol of Orcs glory, the invincible Saurfang the Great, has been defeated. What's even more terrifying is that he was defeated by only an ordinary Dragonblood Orcs, of whom there are 100,000.
Several Blue Dragonflight to the Orcs camp, their faces grim, and opened dozens of Portals one after another.
One hundred thousand Dragonblood Orcs entered Southshore through the Portal; they will become the main force in the conquest of Azeroth.
Orcs, led by Saurfang, realized they had been rendered obsolete, reduced to useless waste and laborers for the Burning Legion.
They were forced to hand over their armor and weapons, as well as their accumulated rations, which consisted mainly of Tough Jerky. From then on, meat rarely appeared in their diet.
Saurfang sighed helplessly; at this moment, he could only remain humble and low-key.
The camp of 100,000 Dragonblood Orcs was filled with crimson blood energy that shot straight into the sky, forming a blood-red dark cloud—what a terrifying power!
Not only Saurfang, but even Mannoroth, the Pit Lord, sensed the power of the Dragonblood Orcs. What he couldn't understand was why Archimonde didn't absorb the Dragonblood Orcs into the Burning Legion, but instead let the foolish Thrall lead them.
The Burning Legion conquers the universe, destroying countless worlds, but never forgets to absorb fresh blood.
Mannoroth hurriedly sought advice from Archimonde.
Archimonde glanced disdainfully at the Dragonblood Orcs camp and asked in a rather casual tone, "Mannoroth, in your opinion, what is the fighting strength of the Dragonblood Orcs?"
Mannoroth hesitated for a moment, then answered crisply, "Comparable to the Elite soldiers of the Legion."
Archimonde laughed heartily, "Mannoroth, you only see the surface. You and I have conquered many worlds; you should be able to see that the Dragonblood Orcs have a huge weakness."
Mannoroth lowered his massive head, pondering for a long time. "They don't know magic."
That's right, Orcs simply can't comprehend advanced magic.
Archimonde smiled and nodded, "You're not too stupid. I know very well about the origins of the Dragonblood Orcs. Ten thousand years ago, in order to fight against the Highborne, the Dragonkin tried to accept the power of Fel. However, the Dragonkin bloodline contains the power left by the Titans, and without exception, all the Dragonkin who accepted Fel went mad."
"After the Sundering, Nozdormu saw the Orcs ten thousand years in the future through the river of time. The Orcs could absorb the power of Fel, Dragonkin saw this as an opportunity; their goal was to create a new species. Unfortunately, the Dragonkin didn't know that the Orcs' tolerance for Fel energy was limited, far less than that of the Night Elf race. The Dragonkin had no choice but to change their methods, granting the Orcs the power of dragons. Over ten thousand years, hundreds of thousands of Blue Dragonflight and millions of Orcs were sacrificed to create these hundred thousand Dragonblood Orcs. They were merely defective products; with each killing, they would gradually lose their minds and become a bunch of madmen."
Mannoroth listened with some confusion. "Dragonkin are not weak to begin with, so why would they create a new race?"
Archimonde said coldly:
"This is due to the limitations of their Racial Power, a shackle imposed on the Dragonkin by the Titans. They cannot reproduce in large numbers, Dragonkin constantly yearn to break free from the Titans' constraints. Of course, this is also related to the internal strife within the Dragonkin. Among the Five Dragonflights, the Blue Dragonflight have always been at a disadvantage, yet this has made the Red Dragon Queen wary. This is because the Blue Dragonflight are the most promising race, far surpassing the Black Dragonflight. They possess an innate affinity for magic, and magic can create infinite miracles. Unfortunately, Malygos is a fool; he has completely failed to realize the immense potential of his race."
Mannoroth finally understood the reason. Archimonde's scheme was terrifying. It would take some time for these defective creatures to discover their flaws, but Archimonde was clearly not giving the Dragonkin that chance.
"What a pity, a full 100,000 Dragonblood Orcs will inevitably become food for the Murloc."
Varimathras deceived Thrall, but he dared not deceive Archimonde and reported everything in detail. As Archimonde's Adjutant, Mannoroth naturally also knew the truth.
"Lord Archimonde, even though the Dragonblood Orcs are defective, why not put them to good use? One hundred thousand Dragonblood Orcs, before they go berserk, would be enough to conquer half of Kalimdor," Mannoroth asked, puzzled.
Archimonde the Defiler gave a sinister smile, "We and the Blackhand are all operating from behind the scenes. Under the Blackhand's manipulation, the Orcs probably can't defeat the Night Elf race, and we've never been able to figure out the Blackhand's true identity. Now, I'm going to force the Blackhand to surface, and the Dragonblood Orcs are the best bait."
In Archimonde's eyes, the 100,000 Dragonblood Orcs were merely bait to be sacrificed at any time.
This is how powerful figures control the Destiny of ordinary people; the oblivious Thrall has no idea that he has been abandoned.
On a calm and peaceful day, 100,000 Dragonblood Orcs boarded the Troop Transport Ships one after another. The fleet set sail from Southshore, heading for the Echo Isles to accept the surrender of Chief Sen'jin.
Thrall, aboard the flagship, was filled with confidence. The power of the Dragonblood Orcs had made him lose his vigilance, and he was completely unaware that this was a brutal war. He spent his days enjoying the sea breeze on the deck.
The life advisor Eitrigg, carefully served Thrall. Thrall was extremely picky about his food, and even during the Orcs' most difficult times, Eitrigg made sure that Thrall had a live Tauren to eat every day.
Since becoming the Orcs Warchief, Thrall has never eaten carrion. If Tauren accidentally dies during a meal, Thrall will put down his knife and fork, carry the dead Tauren away, and replace it with a living one.
After slaughtering all the inhabitants of Dalaran, Thrall became obsessed with the delicious food of the Pandaren.
It's important to know that Thrall is a great Savior. Thanks to the exaggerated propaganda of the Dragonkin, Thrall enjoys extremely high popularity and fame in Pandaria, with a large number of fans.
There will always be Pandaren fans who brave the dangers of the journey to Southshore just to catch a glimpse of their idol. As a result, those Pandaren with tender flesh and a perfect balance of fat and lean meat will become Thrall's food, and he will eat them alive.
After several days of sailing, the Echo Isles came into view.
Sen'jin's messenger delivered another letter of surrender, agreeing with Thrall to hold the surrender ceremony at Tidal Bay. Sen'jin was very reluctant, but still agreed to provide half of his people as food for the Orcs' army.
Thrall glanced at the surrender document, casually tossed it aside, and said to Eitrigg with great dissatisfaction:
"Trolls taste terrible. They're not as chewy as Tauren meat, and they're not as greasy as Pandaren meat. They're only good for ordinary soldiers as rations."
Eitrigg said with a fawning expression, "Great Savior, the taste of meat depends on what people usually eat. I've heard that the trolls of the Echo Isles live a Troll life, and their commoners often struggle to get enough to eat, so their meat naturally doesn't taste as good. If it were a noble, the meat should be of much better quality."
Thrall nodded; he was quite knowledgeable about Azeroth's cuisine and could be considered a connoisseur of fine food.
"I heard that Chief Sen'jin has four Legitimate Sons, and he has already cooked one of them. So I asked him to send the other three over. I hope they won't disappoint me."
At this moment, the Dragonblood Orcs' fleet had slowly sailed into Tidal Bay, a natural and excellent harbor. Looking at the steep cliffs on the coast, Thrall suddenly had a bad feeling.