Progress

"Ha!"

Malone shouted, swinging his weapon down toward Teron Gorefiend.

A grave expression appeared in Teron Gorefiend's eyes.

Although he parried Malone's attack and felt not a shred of fatigue, he still slid quickly to the side.

Because Teron Gorefiend knew that Malone would soon strike at his right flank.

Just as Teron Gorefiend had anticipated, the moment he blocked the sword, Malone immediately released one hand, switching to a one-handed grip.

Since Malone's strength far exceeded Teron Gorefiend's, he felt confident enough to suppress his opponent with one hand while leaving the other free to punch at Teron Gorefiend's abdomen.

Of course, Malone's attack struck empty air; Teron Gorefiend would not expose his abdomen or his ribs to such an attack.

But Malone had learned how to counter Teron Gorefiend; while he was still at a disadvantage in the duel, he was no longer just passively taking a beating.

Yet, this situation did not make Malone happy; his brow furrowed deeper and deeper.

Because Malone realized that he was starting to feel tired.

This was easy to understand; he was not a true Death Knight. He needed to eat, and naturally, he needed to rest.

Teron Gorefiend noticed that Malone's movements had slowed down. He hesitated for a moment, then stepped back and sheathed his weapon.

"What is wrong, Maicomarlon?"

Teron Gorefiend asked with concern, unsure if he had accidentally injured Malone.

"It's nothing, I'm just a bit tired..."

Malone looked up at the sky. The sky over the Burning Spire was always in a half-dead state, but Malone could tell from the height of the sun that it was already noon.

"How long have we been fighting?"

Malone looked at Teron Gorefiend in surprise.

"About two hours, perhaps a little more," Teron Gorefiend replied.

"That long..."

Malone thrust his two-handed sword into the ground, signaling Teron Gorefiend to take a break.

"Are you not tired, Teron?"

Malone plopped down onto the ground, propping himself up with his hands behind him, and looked up at Teron Gorefiend to ask.

"I am not."

Teron Gorefiend shook his head and then sat down beside Malone.

"Why would a Death Knight feel tired?"

Teron Gorefiend seemed very puzzled by Malone's words.

"Is that so... perhaps I am indeed different."

Malone replied vaguely.

"Hmm... you are progressing very quickly, you are indeed different," Teron Gorefiend said.

"Really?"

Malone was happy to hear Teron Gorefiend say this.

"Indeed. I have trained many Death Knights, but none of them had your talent. Perhaps by this time tomorrow, you will be able to begin training on how to use spells in combat," Teron Gorefiend said.

"Isn't that simple enough?"

Malone seemed to have forgotten their previous dispute over "disarming." He casually cast a small Death Coil toward the ground in the distance.

"Look, I can already do it," Malone said to Teron Gorefiend, gesturing toward the puff of dust kicked up by the spell.

"That is not the same."

Teron Gorefiend shook his head.

"When you are fully focused on fighting an enemy, you always forget the fact that you can use spells; if you are constantly thinking about spells, you may fail to concentrate on observing the enemy's movements," Teron Gorefiend explained.

Indeed... Malone felt that Teron Gorefiend was right. He had just sparred with him for two hours without once thinking to fire off a Death Coil.

It seemed that in such a battle, multitasking was indeed difficult to achieve.

"You need to continue training, Maicomarlon. Master one or two spells that can be cast instantly using runes, and then use them proficiently in combat," Teron Gorefiend said.

"Mm, I understand."

Malone nodded.

"Let's continue."

Having rested enough, Malone stood up from the ground and pulled the two-handed sword he had driven into the earth back out.

"Do you not need a longer rest?"

Teron Gorefiend also rose to his feet, but instead of attacking immediately, he asked Malone.

"No need, this is enough."

Malone shook his head in reply—though he could not go without sleep like a Death Knight, his body was not as fragile as a human's; it was as if he existed somewhere in between.

"Then let us continue. Try to see if you can incorporate the spell you use into our combat."

Teron Gorefiend said.

"Very well!"

Malone did not stand on ceremony; he raised his hand to cast a Death Coil at Teron Gorefiend, and while the other was busy dodging, he lunged forward with his sword.

Just as Malone was fighting Teron Gorefiend to become stronger, Rend Blackhand stood before Orgrim in the Warchief's tent.

The Warchief of the Horde remained seated upon his throne, his expression grave.

"Shall I implement your plan now, Doomhammer?"

Rend's tone could hardly be called respectful, but at least he did not address Orgrim by his name alone like Kaldara did, and he kept his back slightly hunched.

"Tomorrow."

Orgrim replied.

"But..."

Rend looked up; he did not understand why they should not resolve this issue as quickly as possible. If the conflict between the Trolls and the Orcs escalated further, the Horde might well fall apart.

"No rush. Wait a little longer. I want to see if Kilrogg will truly do anything."

Orgrim said.

"If he..."

Rend did not finish his sentence, but he believed Orgrim understood his meaning.

"If he truly intends to use this incident to oppose me... I will smash his brains out without a moment's hesitation, and then... the Bloodfang Clan will need a new chieftain."

Orgrim did not seem to intend to hide anything from Rend Blackhand.

Yes, you certainly would... just as you did to my father.

—Rend Blackhand said to himself.

"Rend?"

Orgrim noticed his lieutenant was dazed.

"Oh... if there is nothing else, I shall return."

Rend Blackhand said with his head bowed.

"Hmm."

Orgrim nodded and waved his hand—though with his head bowed, Rend could not see the gesture.

Rend's thick soles struck the floor of the tent, producing soft footsteps.

After the young Orc, once a Blackrock and now the chieftain of the Black Tooth Grin Clan, left the tent, Orgrim shifted his posture on the throne to make himself more comfortable.

"Sigh..."

It was unknown how much time had passed before Orgrim let out a sigh.

For its size, this tent was far too desolate; if only Durotan had not...

The Warchief of the Orcs thought to himself.