After being reminded by Rhonin, Garrosh realized that the initiative was actually in his own hands. He didn't need to attack the Alliance's strongholds; he only needed to hold his ground and not come out.
By cutting off the Alliance's supply lines, the Alliance will eventually panic and have no choice but to seek a decisive battle once its food supplies are exhausted.
Countless lessons have proven that the Alliance is no match for the Orcs in open field battles.
Garrosh grinned, released the beautiful mage he had devoured, and patted Rhonin on the shoulder, saying, "Archmage Rhonin, you'll always be a good friend of the Horde."
Rhonin, beaming with pride, laughed and said, "It's what I should do."
Garrosh returned to his camp and changed his strategy. No matter how much General Xiboli provoked him, the Orcs army focused on building fortifications and held their ground, resulting in a stalemate between the two sides.
At the highest point of the fortress, General Xiboli gazed at the Orcs fortress under construction in the distance, his face filled with bitterness and helplessness. He said to his subordinates:
"I provoked Garrosh in every way possible to make him spend his forces on an offensive, but now the Orcs army is holding firm and refusing to engage, while our food supplies are dwindling. What should we do?"
A subordinate whispered, "General, things have come to this. We can only plead with His Majesty the King to withdraw the entire army and engage Garrosh in a decisive battle as soon as possible. Only then will we have a chance of survival."
General Xiboli, leaning against the city wall, said with a wry smile:
"I know this principle all too well, but His King is ambitious, short-sighted, foolish, and lacks wisdom. He also has a group of Peace Dove advisors around him who harbor treacherous intentions. How could he possibly listen to my advice? Fine, we've done our duty. If things don't go well, set fire to the fortress and burn my Corpse. I will serve my country loyally and leave no trace of my flesh and blood for the Horde."
Inside the Royal Palace of the Zul'Drak Empire, Kites was in a rather good mood.
Scouts deep in the snowy mountains discovered an abandoned camp containing thousands of Drakkari Frost Trolls, mostly the old, weak, and sick, their flesh and blood completely removed, even their marrow extracted.
Clearly, the Drakkari Trolls are on the verge of collapse and have begun slaughtering their own kind for food.
Kites' lunch today is a roasted Tauren. Ever since Kalimdor's richest man Doras, took control of the Orcs trade, Tauren meat has become so popular that Doras, in conjunction with the Cenarion Circle and the Earthen Ring, developed a new method of raising Tauren.
Tauren raised using this method can be ready for market in just three months. Although their intelligence is similar to that of cattle and sheep, their meat is more delicious and chewy after being nurtured by magic, making them a favorite among the upper classes of the Alliance and the Horde.
Kites was in high spirits, humming a little tune as he ate his roasted Tauren meat.
A commotion erupted outside the door, as if someone was arguing. Kites frowned, his good mood completely ruined. He slammed his hand on the table and asked, "What's all the noise about? What happened?"
A guard, kneeling on one knee, replied, "King Majesty, it is a messenger from General Xiboli, requesting an audience with you. Having received no response, he is attempting to force his way in."
Kites was furious and had a very bad impression of General Xiboli. After hesitating for a moment, Kites thought to himself: You are going to be a great ruler for all time, why bother arguing with a bunch of brutes?
So he forced a smile and waved his hand, saying:
"Let him in."
The dust-covered messenger entered and immediately knelt on the ground with a thud:
"Your King, Garrosh's army has cut off our supply lines, and our food supplies are running out. We implore Your Majesty to withdraw from the Zul'Drak Empire as soon as possible, engage Garrosh in a decisive battle, and reopen our supply lines."
Kites ate the Tauren meat, burping contentedly, and was about to say something.
An aide pointed at the messenger and loudly reprimanded him:
"How dare you! The Drakkari Trolls are about to be destroyed, and His Majesty the King will soon become a wise and benevolent ruler, remembered for generations. Countless people will praise the King's greatness. How dare you ruin His Majesty's glorious future! Your intentions are despicable, and your crime is unforgivable."
Kites's face darkened; the more he looked at the messenger, the more displeased he became. He wanted nothing more than to push him out and chop him into mincemeat. Suppressing his anger, he asked, "How much rations do we have left?"
The advisor did some quick calculations. "We can hold out for another six months."
Kites chuckled and said confidently:
"In less than a month, the Drakkari Frost Trolls will starve to death in the snowy mountains. Our army still has six months' worth of rations, so why panic? In that case, allocate some rations to General Xiboli and tell him to hold his ground. Once the Zul'Drak Empire is destroyed, I will take Garrosh's head."
Kites' biggest worry was that Xiboli wouldn't be able to hold his rear and that Garrosh would cut off his escape route.
When Kites learned that Xiboli had easily defeated Garrosh and nearly killed him, forcing Garrosh to avoid further battle, his confidence swelled.
Since even the mediocre Xiboli general under his command could win, Kites thought Garrosh was a pushover and not worth taking seriously.
The messenger, knowing there was food, stopped making a fuss, even though he was still suspicious.
Following the guards to the Quartermaster's station, the Quartermaster glanced listlessly at the messenger and handed him a bag of dry rations. "Here, this is the food you need, enough for the journey."
The messenger looked puzzled, opened the bag, and saw some moldy flatbread. He asked unhappily, "I need military rations, not dry food."
The Quartermaster scoffed, "Rations? The supply lines are cut off, where would we get rations? The army has been without food for three days. These rations are what I saved from my own rations. Go back now."
The messenger refused to listen and argued, "His Majesty the King told me that you have six months' worth of rations."
"Six months?"
The Quartermaster smirked, shook his head with a wry smile, and said:
"Our army has enough food left to feed His King for half a year, but the soldiers are eating only grass roots and tree bark. His King is deaf and blind, and the advisors of the Peace Dove are obstructing the process. He has no idea what's going on in the army. Let's go back; there's no hope for the Alliance."
The messenger glanced at the menacing Royal Guards beside him, knowing they were all from the Peace Dove and that he would never see the King again. He could only sigh helplessly and leave with his provisions on his back.
Northwest of Zul'Drak, near the border of Storm Peaks.
A small Floating City slowly descended, Robbie led Drakuru out of the Floating City.
Dozens of Scourge mages constructed an Undead Magic Circle near the Floating City. As the Magic Circle operated, the Power of Death enveloped the entire Zul'Drak Empire, and countless undead rose from the ground and moved towards the Floating City.
The Alliance's invasion was a disaster for the Zul'Drak Empire; the Loa were so eager to escape that they had no time to collect the souls of the dead.
More and more zombies gathered around the Floating City, a dark mass, haunted by ghosts, with gusts of black wind blowing, turning the place into a terrifying graveyard.
Robbie said to Drakuru, "A Scourge Necropolis will be built here, named Voltarus. If any Alliance soldiers come to join us, remember not to refuse them. Feed them well and let them help us build the cemetery."
Drakuru asked respectfully, "Should we turn them into Undead?"
Robbie shook his head and said seriously, "In the Scourge, the living are more precious than the dead. Don't let any soldier die of hunger. I have my own arrangements."