A Sudden Change

"The battle's decided!"

As Raymond George, carrying the army's banner, led the Lordaeron soldiers behind him out of the woods, the young commander who had been watching the battle through a spyglass finally relaxed his furrowed brow.

Maxwell's expression eased into a faint smile. He turned to the messenger behind him and gave an order. "Garithos, send in the Third Column to help George and his men. Don't let a single one of those damned Trolls get away!"

There was no suspense. With more than a thousand human soldiers and a great many Gnoll cannon fodder blocking their way, Hamia, the Troll berserker who had lost his Bloodlust, and the fewer than one hundred Trolls under his command had no chance to pull off any tricks.

The soldiers of the Kingdom of Lordaeron had won their first victory since the war officially began, and their own casualties were so low they could practically be ignored. If one didn't count the Gnolls used as cannon fodder or the siege engines destroyed, it would have been a flawless battle.

Meanwhile, on the southern continent of Azeroth, a battle between humans and the other races was reaching its fiercest stalemate.

Stormwind City, the pride of the Kingdom of Stormwind, was a mighty city celebrated in the songs of minstrels.

After holding out for years against the Horde vanguard led by Cho'gall and Kilrogg Deadeye, Stormwind City's sturdy walls—built from white megaliths and rising more than sixty feet high—were once again facing an Orcish challenge.

This time, the Orcish Horde had clearly come prepared after suffering a setback beneath Stormwind City's walls. Their camp now held things they had never possessed before: large siege engines, catapults, battering rams, and siege towers.

These weapons had been traded from the Goblins in the south for the gold and silver they'd looted from human settlements in Duskwood and Westfall. Orgrim Doomhammer had only just seized the Warchief's throne from his uncle, Blackhand, taking advantage of Gul'dan's coma. He had sent the soldiers on the front lines a generous gift—one made from things that were utterly useless to Orcs, but more than capable of breaking through Stormwind's defenses.

The autumn sky always seemed especially vast. On a cloudless day, warm sunlight fell upon the now-ruined walls, bearing witness to the course of history: fragile lives, brutal conflict, and frenzied slaughter.

The district within a hundred yards of the walls had long since been reduced to rubble by the Orcs and their new toys. All the residents had fled the area in the first few days of the battle. The bombardment by boulders and the fires sparked by the chaos had turned what was once the liveliest marketplace into ruins. Almost no buildings remained intact. Rubble and broken walls lay everywhere, and as one walked along the streets, the sound of buildings collapsing could be heard from one direction or another.

Atop the walls, a blue battle standard embroidered with a golden lion was already in tatters, fluttering helplessly in the cold wind. The thick outer wall was riddled with craters of every size and depth from the boulders, and one section had even been breached, leaving a gap more than twenty feet wide. The white stone blocks had turned black and red under the ravages of war and bloodshed. A dense, putrid stench clung to the walls, nauseating all who smelled it.

A dull rumble rolled across the battlefield once more. Countless Orc warriors crowded around the heavy battering rams and massive siege towers, advancing slowly toward the walls like a rising tide, accompanied by mournful horn blasts. After days of fierce fighting, Stormwind City's already meager supply of giant bolts had run out. The Orcs, too, had exhausted their catapult ammunition and could no longer provide cover for the assault.

Though they knew perfectly well that ordinary bows and crossbows couldn't pierce the sturdy shields carried by the Orcs in the front ranks, the commanders still ordered their soldiers to fire. A few unlucky Orcs were struck by stray arrows and fell, but more warriors had already reached the base of the walls. Waiting for them was the final line of defense, formed from the flesh and blood of Stormwind's soldiers.

The bloody battle between humans and Orcs had ground to a stalemate. The sounds of fighting and roars of fury merged into waves of noise that made the earth tremble. Bright red blood seeped into the cracks between the white bricks atop the walls, turning into dark, clotted stains as it oxidized. Every second, gleaming arrows and blood-red blades claimed helpless lives on that cramped battlefield.

This was a war between races, with no compromise and no retreat—only the clash of life and death, the tangle of blood and fire. In the chaos of close-quarters combat, tactics no longer mattered. Only the warriors' own will could drive them to swing their blades at the enemy. Kill or be killed—the choice between life and death rested entirely on a single thought.

Life was as fragile as war was cruel.

A young Stormwind soldier had only just thrust his blade into the chest of a green-skinned Orc when a heavy battle-axe whistled past the back of his head. The human warrior from Westfall stared in disbelief. Staggering a few steps, he seized an Orc who had just climbed from a siege tower onto the wall and leapt with him over the sixty-foot drop.

The unsuspecting Orc and the young man slammed into the hard ground together, managing only a single, abruptly cut-off howl. On the bloodstained earth, the young man lay still, the deep blue sky reflected in his silent eyes.

In the final moments of his life, the boy, who had only just come of age before willingly stepping onto the battlefield, wore a relieved smile. It held both the satisfaction of revenge and a sense of peace.

The bloodthirsty Orcs felt no fear. Stormwind City's last line of defense was on the verge of collapse before the Orcish army, whose strength had surged after drinking Demon Blood. Even Sir Anduin Lothar, supreme commander of the entire defense, had no choice but to join the battle himself, fighting shoulder to shoulder with the ordinary soldiers atop the walls.

Though he had reached middle age, his strength was in no way inferior to that of the mighty Orcs. His mastery of combat far surpassed that of ordinary soldiers, and the high-ranking mage Khadgar stayed close behind him, never leaving his side.

Thanks to Medivh's tutelage, the young mage, who looked like a withered old man, performed better than most veterans even on such a chaotic battlefield. He wore mithril chainmail, wielded a sword in one hand and a staff in the other, and had repeatedly rescued Lothar from danger.

"There are too many of them! Send in the reserves!"

Khadgar used Burning Hands to blast an Orc trying to sneak up behind Lothar off the wall, then hurried over to the commander and shouted. On a battlefield this noisy, the usually refined mage had to raise his voice to its utmost.

"No—"

The middle-aged warrior had only just shouted a single word to his comrade when urgent bells suddenly rang out from within Stormwind City. Somehow, the sound carried a magical effect; even amid the deafening shouts and clashes of battle, the bells could still be heard clearly.

The clear ringing seemed to carry a strange magic. Anduin Lothar, who had just been fighting with all his might, froze in place as if struck by a human paralyzing spell. With three Orc warriors closing in, the mage had no choice but to hurry in front of him and fend off their attacks.

Khadgar raised his sword in his right hand to block a heavy hammer coming down on his head. Ignoring his nearly numb arm and the split skin in his palm, he swung his staff and cast Cone of Cold.

"O'zuill!"

As the words left his mouth, a wave of blue-white frost swept out before him, trapping the three Orc warriors inside. Wisps of cold mist rose from the ice in the warm sunlight. The Orcs remained frozen in the midst of their attack, their faces locked in terror.

Though he quickly dealt with the immediate danger, one of the Orc warriors, now turned into an ice statue, still managed to leave a mark with his battle-axe. Even the Ice Armor surrounding Khadgar couldn't entirely stop the sharp blade from opening a shallow wound on his arm.

But Khadgar had no time to worry about that. He turned to the middle-aged warrior, who was still distracted, and roared, "Anduin, do you want to get yourself killed?"

The mage's shout seemed to jolt the commander awake. He shuddered, his expression shifting again and again before he looked at the mage who had once more saved his life.

"It's Stormwind Keep! Something's happened at Stormwind Keep!"