Victory First, Defeat Later

The Horde retreated to Splintertree Post, where the atmosphere was as oppressive as a graveyard. Wounded soldiers groaned everywhere, while the shadow of food shortages hung over everyone. The Druid army that had rejoiced in its "initial victory" yesterday had become an unbeatable nightmare in the blink of an eye. The demigod's power was like an insurmountable chasm hanging over every Orc warrior's heart, bringing a weight close to despair.

Thrall stood atop an earthen slope, looking down at the demoralized, battle-scarred troops below. He knew that the Horde had reached the brink of life and death. If this continued, there would be no need for the Alliance to cross the sea—the Night Elf Druid army alone would be enough to grind them to death in Ashenvale.

He summoned every chieftain and officer who could still stand. His voice was hoarse, yet it carried the resolve of someone prepared to stake everything on one final gamble.

"Warriors! Brothers!" Thrall's gaze swept across every face, whether fearful, confused, or unwilling to accept defeat. "We have all seen that demigod's power... It is strong. Strong enough to suffocate us."

He paused, letting everyone fully feel that fear. Then his tone abruptly changed, his voice pounding like war drums. "But! Look around you! Look at the land beneath our feet! The sands of Durotar, the desolation of The Barrens! We have nowhere left to retreat! Ashenvale is the Horde's only hope of survival! If we fall here, then the Orcs... no, the entire Horde, will be wiped out on Azeroth! Our children will never have a place to stand!"

His words were like flames, igniting the Orcs' most primal fear and their yearning to survive.

"We have nowhere to retreat! Behind us lies destruction!" Thrall roared, raising the Doomhammer. "But we will not