The Wager

Knowing all too well how old foxes operated, Leiluo didn't stop when Ner'zhul called out to him. If anything, he disappeared even faster. Leiluo knew that if he turned back, the old shaman would surely start acting mysterious. He'd spent most of his life doing that; if not for Gul'dan, he might have spent his whole life at it. It had become part of Ner'zhul, something he could never undo.

"I absorbed Arthas's soul, but I planted something in the part of my soul he took. As long as Arthas finds us, I can make him lose half his power in an instant!"

"Ha—long story short, we've got a fighting chance!"

Watching Leiluo's head dwindle until it was all that remained, Ner'zhul forced out that entire speech in one breath. When he finished, he didn't even dare take a breath. He just gaped, staring eagerly at Leiluo.

"Since that's the case, I'll stay. Old man, if you can't make Arthas lose half his power, you won't be the only one in trouble."

Leiluo had timed it so that after hearing Ner'zhul out, he had just enough time to leave one final remark. Ner'zhul listened, then watched the last bit of Leiluo's scalp disappear.

Once Leiluo was gone, Ner'zhul took a deep breath and settled back into his solitude. Then he silently repeated Gul'dan's name in his mind, conjured an axe in his hand, and diligently practiced his swings, one after another.

Ner'zhul had once been like every other Orc child, mastering all eighteen kinds of weapons. But after becoming a Shaman, he had never used a melee weapon again. Nearly forty years had passed since then. Today, he picked up the skills of his youth once more so that one day he could chop off Gul'dan's head with his own