Orgrimmar, Underground Fortress.
The corpses of the heroes lay on the ground like torn sacks. The entire army had been wiped out.
Because the Twilight Domain had completely sealed off the hall, every Chieftain's Guard and Mantis demon unit sent by The August Celestials Council as reinforcements had perished here.
At this point, Garrosh was no different from a commander without an army.
Oh, no, there was still one difference. At the lowest level of the Underground Fortress stood a massive military factory, where the Goblins of the Steamwheedle Cartel manufactured all manner of war machines day and night.
However, Gazlowe, who had become the final line of defense, was hardly feeling honored.
More than loyalty to the Horde, this Trade Prince valued the policy support Garrosh had given him, as well as the vast mountains of gold that had fallen into his pockets.
And now, even an idiot could see that Garrosh was finished. He would go from the lofty Warchief to a prisoner who would most likely be publicly executed.
There was no need for Gazlowe to be buried alongside him, was there?
Thus, Gazlowe took the initiative to open the heavy iron gates of the military factory fortress, revealing more than a dozen engineering production lines before the rebels.
"I surrender! I surrender! Don't attack! We Steamwheedle Cartel aren't fighting anymore!"
Riding a large Goblin logging machine, Gazlowe raised a loudspeaker and shouted at the leaders of the rebel army.
But this Great Goblin was no fool. He kept a precaution in reserve. Though he shouted that he was surrendering, the employees under the Steamwheedle Cartel had not put down their weapons. Every production line and armory remained on alert.
What a joke. His life was worth a fortune. What if the rebels refused to let him