"Garrosh... Warchief?..." Old Grommash Hellscream's eyes had originally gone dull. In this world, he believed that he had made the Orcs weak and brought this disaster upon them. After sending away the last of the Mag'har Orcs, he had been prepared to die in battle, yet his wish had not been granted.
When he heard of the two worlds, of his son's name, and that he had become Warchief, his eyes lit up once more, carrying the gaze of a fierce wolf king.
But soon, he remembered how Garrosh Hellscream of another world had guarded Grommashar in Nagrand with Gorehowl and ultimately died in battle. His eyes turned sorrowful once again.
Archbishop Yrel was quite pleased by the change in Grommash Hellscream's expression. Nodding approvingly, she said, "That's the look, Grommash Hellscream. That is the look you should have—the look of a wolf, even if you are already old."
Archbishop Yrel had never forgotten the Iron Horde Warchief who had once filled her with despair, nor the figure who had charged at the very front and unleashed Whirlwind during the decisive battle against the mighty Defiler Archimonde.
Grommash Hellscream was a wolf, the wolf king of the Orcs.
"Ha ha ha ha, retribution has come, Yrel! The warriors from Azeroth defeated my Iron Horde before, and now they can defeat you as well! The Army of the Light's end has come!" Grommash Hellscream's body was incomparably weak, yet he laughed with unparalleled exhilaration. The warriors of Azeroth had left a deep impression on him. Even the Burning Legion had fallen—what was the Army of the Light in comparison?
Archbishop Yrel's expression changed instantly, becoming utterly cold. "Grommash, you old wolf, just keep struggling here obediently. Once I defeat those warriors from Azeroth, I will come back and tell you that