The Scales of War

Just as everyone had imagined, the main Orc force was bogged down by the stubborn defense of the Ironforge Dwarves. The howling blizzards of Dun Morogh and the extreme temperature difference compared to the Searing Gorge dealt a heavy blow to the Orc army, whose logistics had failed to keep pace.

One-fifth of the Orc warriors were rendered combat-ineffective simply due to the harsh climate; beyond that, the Orcs suffered their most severe non-combat attrition since entering Azeroth.

As creations of the Titan, Dwarves are naturally passionate about stone and architecture. Possessing immense architectural talent, they had forged the defenses of all Dun Morogh into an impenetrable iron barrel. Various small fortresses were hidden behind the snow-capped peaks, monitoring every major thoroughfare of these snowy mountains.

Compared to the Dark Iron Dwarves, who relied solely on Blackrock Spire for defense, the Ironforge Dwarves spread throughout the Dun Morogh region were like a turtle covered in layer upon layer of shell, drastically slowing the advance of the main Orc force.

However, in recent days, the Alliance command based in the Hillsbrad Foothills had received more than just the good news of the Orcs' slow progress. The relocation of residents in the hilly regions, the centralized management of grain, and the war mobilization of various kingdoms—one expected or unexpected trouble after another constantly frayed the nerves of everyone in the command center.

Attachment to one's homeland is a sentiment held by all. Without truly witnessing the approaching threat, the civilians who had lived peacefully in the Hillsbrad Foothills for over a thousand years held deep resistance toward the Alliance's relocation orders.

Yet, beyond sentiment, more importantly, the relocation plan affected the projected harvests of farmers who had completed their spring sowing. When their own interests were harmed, those in power were always the easiest targets for blame. Most common folk would not consider whether the other party was acting for their long-term benefit; they would only oppose and obstruct with greater intensity.

Consequently, the relocation plan for the scattered civilians of the Hillsbrad Foothills alone consumed half the summer. In the end, the Alliance leaders, led by Terenas, had to compromise with those unwilling to leave their homes and fields: the Kingdom of Lordaeron would shoulder the majority of the cost, with other kingdoms providing a percentage of gold to purchase the unripened crops from the relocated civilians at last year's prices.

If the relocation plan involving civilians was so fraught with obstacles, it was obvious that grain policies involving nobles and wealthy merchants would be even harder to implement. Whenever war looms, there are always those attracted by the massive profits of grain speculation. They do not care if their actions hinder the war effort, nor do they worry if their race might suffer defeat due to a lack of logistical supplies.

Often, these individuals who stuff their pockets with wealth stained by blood, tears, and accusations are families or individuals with a certain foundation in mainstream society. For instance, the nobles of various kingdoms and those merchants whose wealth rivals nations possess formidable armed forces and extensive networks, ensuring they remain unscathed.

Against these parasites of the Alliance, even the kings of the various kingdoms found it difficult to devise a solution. Fortunately, the Kingdom of Lordaeron had begun preparing in secret a year ago; the grain stockpiled in Stratholme, Andorhal, and the capital city of Lordaeron was sufficient to meet the needs of all Alliance soldiers for several years.

As for war mobilization, even the Kingdom of Lordaeron, which always considered the Alliance's interests first, had its own concerns this time. After all, not every citizen could rush out to perform acts of heroism when the flames of war had not yet reached their own doorsteps. Therefore, the assembly of the Alliance army did not meet the expectations of Anduin Lothar—neither in quantity nor in speed was it satisfactory.

The most obvious example was King Genn Greymane, the ruler of Gilneas. The peninsula where Gilneas was located was easy to defend and hard to attack, and the Biting Reef made it impossible for large ships to enter via sea. Believing the matter did not concern him, Greymane sent only a token force of soldiers.

Compared to the elite rangers brought by Alleria, this small squad of logistics troops from Gilneas possessed no advantage in combat proficiency or discipline; they could be considered a reserve unit within the Alliance ranks with almost no combat value to speak of.

However, Lothar and the other kings of the Alliance had never pinned their hopes on Gilneas, which had been influenced by isolationism since the previous generation of kings. The main force of the Alliance would be the armies of the Kingdom of Lordaeron and Stromgarde, along with the navy from Kul Tiras—this was the consensus of everyone at the time.

Meanwhile, the Kingdom of Alterac, the nominal owner of the Hillsbrad Foothills—which would become the future main battlefield—and a small number of Gryphon riders from the Wildhammer Dwarves were arranged as reserve forces rather than the true main force.

While humanity spent nearly half a year consolidating its defensive lines, a small group of Orcs, guided by an inexplicable force, broke into the abandoned Grim Batol fortress in the northeastern Wetlands—a home once abandoned by most Wildhammer Dwarves—looking out over the highlands where a large number of young Red Dragons roamed.

"Powerful strength!"

The young warlock gripped a small golden disk in one hand, letting out a thunderous roar. A violent surge of energy swept across his body, causing his pitifully crude robes to snap in the wind.

Golden light radiated from the small disk, illuminating the entire vast space within the fortress, as well as the two behemoths hidden in the shadows—

Bodies over a hundred feet long nearly filled the deepest part of the fortress, their wide wings tightly wrapped around their massive frames, their dark red scales taking on a faint purple hue in the dim light. Tiny sparks of fire flickered in their slightly opened mouths and beneath their tightly closed dragon wings, but they no longer possessed their original intense heat or wild power.

Dragons, and two of them!

The two massive Red Dragons kept their eyes half-closed, their pale golden pupils filled with endless rage. Although they longed to tear the two Orcs before them to shreds, the influence of the Dragon Soul had stripped them of almost all their power, leaving them like fat sheep on a chopping block, waiting to be slaughtered.

The Goblin had not lied; this was a true artifact! Feeling the terrifying power coalescing in his hand, for a moment, Nekros felt as if he had grasped the entire world!

"Terrifying power." The young warlock, having lost his reason and composure, disappointed Zuluhed, who stood to the side. He shook his head slightly and muttered, "Even more terrifying than I imagined."

Secretly suppressing the urge to blast the other man's forehead with a Chaos Bolt, the old chieftain waved the staff in his hand and tapped the rocky ground, drawing the other's attention.

"Send more men to catalyze those dragon eggs. From this day forward, our clan shall be renamed the Dragonmaw Clan; we are the powerful Orcs who can seize the throat of a dragon!"

The great war between humans and Orcs was on the verge of breaking out, and the scales of this war had already begun to tip toward one side, unbeknownst to all.