Underground fortress, strategic checkpoint.
The Rebel Army's leaders had finally arrived. General Nazgrel, who had been addressing the soldiers on the Rebel Army's front line, returned once more to his own sparse final line of defense.
"My soldiers... I hope you can forgive them. This civil war is neither their responsibility nor their fault."
Nazgrel stood quietly at the center of the defensive line, watching Thrall and the other leaders stride into the underground hall. At last, he made his request.
"Of course, old friend. The Horde will not hold any soldier accountable. They have nothing to do with politics, and they should not bear the sins of war. The same goes for you."
Thrall looked at Nazgrel. Like the other Rebel Army leaders, he struck his fist against his chest in salute. They respected this Horde Warchief as well.
Nazgrel shook his head. "Then you may attack now. For the glory and loyalty in my heart, for the mission and duty the Horde entrusted to me, I will fight until my final moment."
"This is meaningless, my friend. You have fulfilled every one of your duties. No one could have done better than you. Surrender. No one will blame you for it, and your honor will never be tarnished."
Thrall let out a heavy sigh, his voice pleading.
Nazgrel did not answer. He merely tightened his grip on the crimson Warchief's battle-axe and raised it high.
He had made his final choice.
"Come! I crave an honorable battle! Lok-tar ogar!"
Nazgrel stopped his soldiers from taking any action and sternly ordered them to remain where they were. Then, alone, he charged the Rebel Army—just like Brox, the orc hero who, ten thousand years ago, had resolutely leaped into a Fel Portal and traveled alone to the Argus world, using