Sudden Change

"The outcome is decided!"

As Raymond George, bearing the military standard, led the soldiers of the Kingdom of Lordaeron charging out of the woods, the young commander who had been observing the battle through his telescope finally relaxed his brow.

Maxwell wore a look of relief and a faint smile as he issued an order to the messenger behind him: "Garithos, have the Third Column move up to assist George and his men—don't let a single one of those damned Trolls escape!"

There was no suspense; intercepted by over a thousand human soldiers and a mass of Gnoll cannon fodder, the Troll berserker Hamia—deprived of his berserk state buff—and his band of fewer than a hundred Trolls stood no chance of turning the tide.

The soldiers of the Kingdom of Lordaeron had secured their first victory since the war officially began, with their own casualties being negligible. If one were to ignore the Gnolls used as fodder and the destroyed siege equipment, it would have been a flawless battle.

Meanwhile, on the southern continent of the planet Azeroth, a battle between humans and another race was entering its most intense stalemate.

Stormwind City, the pride of the Kingdom of Stormwind, the majestic city sung of by bards.

Years after repelling the vanguard of the Orcish Horde led by Cho'gall and Kilrogg Deadeye, the thick walls of Stormwind City—built from massive white stones and standing over sixty feet high—were once again facing the challenge of the Orcs.

This time, the Orcish Horde, having suffered a defeat beneath the walls of Stormwind City before, was clearly well-prepared. Their camp now featured things that had not belonged to them previously: large-scale siege equipment—catapults, battering rams, and siege towers.

These were lethal weapons they had traded for with the Goblins of the south, using gold and silver plundered from human settlements in Duskwood and Westfall. Orgrim Doomhammer, who had just seized the throne of Warchief from his uncle Blackhand by taking advantage of Gul'dan's coma, had used those items—useless to Orcs—to present the frontline soldiers with a gift capable of prying open the defenses of Stormwind City.

The autumn sky always seemed exceptionally vast. On this cloudless day, the warm sunlight shone upon the now-dilapidated walls, witnessing the progression of history: fragile lives, cruel struggles, and frenzied slaughter.

The urban area within 100 yards of the wall had long been ravaged by the Orcs' new toys. All residents had evacuated this sector in the first few days of the battle; the bombardment of boulders and the fires caused by the chaos had turned this once-vibrant marketplace into ruins. There was hardly an intact house in the entire area, only broken walls and debris everywhere. Walking through these streets, one could hear the sound of buildings collapsing from some direction at any moment.

Atop the wall, a blue battle flag embroidered with a golden lion was already tattered, fluttering passively in the cold wind. The thick outer wall was pitted with countless holes of varying sizes from boulder impacts, and a small section had even developed a gap over twenty feet wide. The original white stone blocks had turned a dark, bruised red under the baptism of war and blood, and a nauseating, putrid stench permeated the ramparts.

As a dull thud echoed across the battlefield once more, countless Orc warriors, crowding around heavy battering rams and giant siege towers, began to move slowly toward the wall like a tide, accompanied by the sound of desolate horns. Days of grueling combat had exhausted the already scarce giant ballista bolts in Stormwind City, while the Orcs, having run out of ammunition for their catapults, could no longer provide cover for their advancing troops.

Although they knew full well that ordinary bows and crossbows could not pierce the sturdy shields held by the Orcs in the front row, the commander still gave the order to fire. A small number of unlucky Orcs were struck by stray arrows and fell to the ground, but more Orc warriors had already reached the base of the wall, where the final line of defense, composed of the flesh and blood of Stormwind's soldiers, awaited them.

The bloody battle between humans and Orcs fell into a deadlock; the sounds of slaughter and roars merged into a wave-like roar that made the earth tremble. Bright red blood seeped into the gaps between the white bricks on the ramparts, oxidizing into dark, rubbery clots. Flashing arrows and blood-stained blades claimed helpless lives every second on this narrow battlefield.

This was a war between races; there was no compromise, no retreat, only the collision of life and death, the entanglement of blood and fire. In the chaotic melee, tactics no longer mattered; only the soldiers' own willpower could sustain them as they swung their swords at the enemy. Kill the enemy, or be killed by them—the choice between life and death rested entirely on a single thought.

The more fragile life is, the more cruel war becomes.

A young Stormwind soldier had just plunged his blade into the chest of a green-skinned Orc when a heavy battle-axe whistled past the back of his head. The human soldier from Westfall wore an expression of disbelief; he stumbled a few steps, then grabbed an Orc warrior who had just stepped onto the wall from a siege tower and leaped off the sixty-foot-high rampart.

The caught-off-guard Orc and the young man slammed hard into the solid ground together, having only enough time to let out a cry that was cut short. On the blood-stained earth, the young man lay still, the deep blue sky reflected in his silent eyes.

In the final moment of his life, the child who had stepped onto the battlefield just after coming of age wore a gratified smile—it was the satisfaction and peace of vengeance.

The bloodthirsty Orcs showed no fear; the final line of defense of Stormwind City was in jeopardy before the Orc army, which had grown vastly in strength after drinking demon blood. Even the supreme commander of the entire defensive line, Sir Anduin Lothar, had to join the fray personally, fighting side-by-side with the common soldiers atop the walls.

Although he had entered middle age, his strength was no less than that of the powerful Orcs, not to mention his profound martial arts skills that far exceeded those of an ordinary soldier, and the high mage Khadgar, who followed him closely.

Thanks to Medivh's tutelage, this young mage, who looked like a withered old man, performed even better than most veterans, even on such a chaotic battlefield. Clad in a suit of mithril chainmail, he held a sword in one hand and a staff in the other, clearing the way for Lothar several times when the commander fell into danger.

"There are too many of them! Bring up the reserves!"

Khadgar used a Burning Hand to blast an Orc who was attempting to ambush Lothar from behind off the wall, then hurried to the commander's side and shouted. Amidst the noisy battlefield, the usually refined mage had to use the maximum volume of his voice.

"No—"

The middle-aged warrior had just shouted a single word to his comrade when a rapid tolling of bells suddenly erupted from within Stormwind City. Whether it was due to some added magical effect, the ringing could be heard clearly even above the thunderous roar of the battlefield.

The crisp bell chimes seemed to carry a strange magic; Anduin Lothar, who had been fighting bloodily just a moment ago, stood completely frozen in place as if struck by a human binding spell. Seeing three Orc warriors closing in, the mage had to step forward quickly to block the enemy's attack for him.

Raising his longsword with his right hand to parry a heavy hammer coming down on his head, Khadgar ignored his nearly numb arm and the split webbing between his thumb and forefinger, waving his staff to cast a Frostbolt.

"O'zuill!"

As his words fell, a blue-white frost swept past him, encasing the three Orc warriors alive. The surface of the ice shimmered with wisps of cold air under the warm sun, while the Orcs inside remained in their attacking postures, their expressions frozen in terror.

Despite quickly resolving the immediate trouble, the mage was still marked by a battle-axe from one of the Orc warriors who had turned into an ice sculpture. Even the Frost Armor surrounding him could not completely block the sharp blade, which left a shallow wound on his arm.

However, at this moment, Khadgar had no time to care about such things; he turned to the still-distracted middle-aged warrior and let out a roar: "Anduin, are you trying to get yourself killed!"

Seemingly awakened by the mage's shout, the commander shuddered, his expression shifting rapidly before he finally looked at the mage who had saved his life once again.

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