Having witnessed the Legion soldiers' actions firsthand, Tyrande's face darkened as she realized she had been tricked, but she still stubbornly insisted, "This is the protection of Elune; she is protecting our allies from harm."
The general guarding the city smiled bitterly, while the soldiers shook their heads in disappointment.
At Mount Hyjal, a truly decisive battle has begun.
In later historical and literary works, there are very few descriptions of the siege and defense of the Night Elf fortress.
Although the Night Elves have an infinite lifespan, even thousands of years later, when the ruins of Mount Hyjal have disappeared, many survivors of this war are still alive.
However, those who experienced the war firsthand are ashamed to talk about it and always avoid the topic, the reasons for which are intriguing.
Azgalor was the commander of the Burning Legion. This pit Pit Lord, as large as a small mountain, wielded a terrifying greatsword, and green Fel clouds slowly drifted over, enveloping the Night Elf fortress.
At Azgalor's command, the Eredar Mages began casting spells, and thousands upon thousands of Infernal rained down from the sky.
Tyrande knew the fortress was protected by Nordrassil's shield and should be safe for the time being. Standing atop the city wall, she loudly encouraged the soldiers, reciting lines she had prepared long ago and knew by heart:
"Warriors of the Night Elves, we need no weapons, no armor. As long as our faith in Elune remains, under the protection of the Elune, we Invincible. The Burning Order is destined to fail."
The idea that fighting without armor and weapons seemed more glorious and honorable was absurd, and more than one soldier had this ridiculous thought.
With a deafening roar, an Infernal landed beside Tyrande, smashing a breach in the city wall and interrupting her speech.
Tyrande felt a sudden darkness before her eyes, followed by a familiar scent. It was Malfurion, who had transformed into Juxiong at the crucial moment, sheltering Tyrande beneath his body. The air smelled of burning fur.
Malfurion's bear fur on half his body was ablaze with Infernal. Enduring the excruciating pain, he shouted, "Tyrande, run! We've lost!"
Tyrande was somewhat bewildered. She was unaware that the Orcs Corruption the roots of the World Tree, weakening its protective barrier to the point that it was as fragile as paper and shattered with a single round of Infernal.
The fortress was filled with towering Infernal. Without the protection of magical armor, the Night Elf elves could not get close to these terrifying, burning monsters and could only shoot arrows from a distance.
Unfortunately, the low-level arrows from the Dark Night were also ineffective; this was fundamentally an unequal war, a one-sided massacre.
Then, the Legion soldiers outside the city launched an attack. Azgalor roared and charged his tall body toward the fortress wall. The wall shook violently, huge cracks appeared, and it was on the verge of collapse.
Azgalor raised his greatsword and hacked at the broken city wall, quickly creating a huge breach, allowing Legion soldiers to pour into the fortress.
Tyrande turned pale; this was not part of her plan at all.
She had hoped the fortress's shield would hold for a while, buying her time to boost morale from the city walls and thus creating a legendary tale of a leader fighting alongside his soldiers. Even though the fortress fell, Tyrande's bravery would be remembered for all time.
To her surprise, the fortress was breached in an instant, far exceeding her expectations. Legion soldiers were everywhere, and Tyrande discovered that her prepared escape route had been blocked.
Even though the Moon Goddess's guards fought desperately to cover the two's escape, they could not break through the encirclement of Infernal. Countless Night Elves were roasted into charcoal and burned fiercely.
In her most desperate moment, Tyrande held Malfurion's hand, her eyes filled with determination, as if she had made a tremendous decision.
"This is the only way." Tyrande gave a bitter smile.
"Fortunately, we were prepared." Malfurion nodded, looking at the dwindling number of Moon Goddess's guards around him.
Tyrande reached into her robes and pulled out a precious Teleportation Scroll.
Night Elves reject magic, but Night Elf leaders do not reject magical artifacts and enjoy the convenience that magic brings.
Tyrande tore open the Teleportation Scroll, a flash of white light, and Tyrande and Malfurion vanished from their spot.
Within the area shrouded by the World Tree, the Night Elves constructed dozens of fortified strongholds. Tyrande and Malfurion appeared inside the second stronghold, disregarding the dust covering them, and after a brief rest, climbed the walls to boost morale.
"Warriors of the Night Elves, through ten thousand years of hardship, facing countless enemies, we need no weapons, no armor, relying only on our Steadfast will, loyal faith, and devout belief in the Elune."
Rumble.
Another familiar deafening roar echoed as an Infernal stole down beside Tyrande, engulfing the surrounding area in flames.
Tyrande was on the verge of tears. She hadn't expected the Burning Legion to advance so quickly. She had only taken a sip of water and touched up her makeup; she hadn't even had time to change her clothes before the Legion attacked.
Having anticipated this, Tyrande didn't waste any words, grabbed Malfurion's hand, and tore open the Teleportation Scroll again.
The third and fourth fortresses fell in just one day, and a total of eighteen Night Elves ' fortresses fell.
At the nineteenth fortress, as night fell, the Legion ceased its attack and set up camp outside the fortress.
"Under the protection of Elune, we have achieved final victory. Look, the Burning Legion has been driven back by us. Their morale is low, and their remnants can only retreat to their camp."
Tyrande finally delivered her full speech, looking smug, but below the city walls lay exhausted soldiers, their morale terribly low, staring at Tyrande in silence, their eyes filled with distrust.
The war was lost too quickly; it was a disgrace to the Night Elf race. Tyrande's encouragement had no effect whatsoever.
Of course, Tyrande didn't need to succeed in boosting morale; she only needed a performance to provide historians with enough material to sing the praises of Tyrande's bravery and greatness. She believed she was destined to be remembered for generations, passed down through the ages, and sung by thousands.
After taking a hot shower, which slightly relieved her fatigue, Tyrande saw a familiar figure in the living room, and her heart was filled with joy.
General Feathermoon, leader of the Sentinels's Secret Mage Corps, appeared at a critical moment when the Night Elves faced life or death; Tyrande's hard work had not been in vain.
"Tyrande, you were defeated far too quickly. The illustrious reputation the Night Elf race built up over ten thousand years has been completely ruined in a single day. You are a disgrace to the Night Elves."
Tyrande remained unfazed and confidently stated, "The Night Elves are destined for victory, and the Burning Legion will surely be annihilated under the wrath of Elune."
"It's really a headache. Ten thousand years have passed, and you're still the same!"
Sandys Feathermoon touched her forehead, stood up, paused, and said:
"I know you hate the Secret Mage Corps to the core and wish you could eliminate them as soon as possible. I've also received intelligence that you're plotting against me, but the Night Elves suffered such a crushing defeat that even knowing it's a trap, I have no choice but to jump in."
Tyrande remained outwardly calm, but inwardly he was in turmoil.
General Feathermoon was not stupid; she had already sensed the slightest movement.
Shandis Feathermoon held Tyrande's hand affectionately and smiled gently:
"We've been best friends for ten thousand years. Let us bloom like fireworks in our final battle, burning ourselves out to greet the end of the Night Elves. Don't worry, I'll take your Teleportation Scroll."