Conspiracy

The Tauren's counterattack yielded remarkable results. Under Magatha's command, the valiant Tauren rallied together and quickly tore through the Centaur-dominated battlefield, even pushing the front forward by a considerable distance.

Yet the price paid by the Tauren remained unimaginably heavy.

Even as the tide turned, the Centaurs' madness remained unchanged. They neither tried to reclaim the advantage nor fled in fear. They only fought, killed, fought...

That frenzy even chilled the Tauren warriors facing them. When they saw enemies rushing at them alone with crazed smiles, many inexperienced warriors lost their lives for a moment's hesitation.

These madmen seemed to have completely degenerated into tireless beasts, charging at the Tauren's blades like moths into flame.

Faced with such mindless slaughter, even with justice on their side in resisting invasion, countless Tauren still felt numb and sickened. They formed ranks and mechanically swung their spears, burying these pitiable, twisted lives.

Magatha charged at the forefront, her twin hammers whistling through the air. No one could withstand even a single exchange with her. Empowered by the elements, she could not even feel fatigue.

Dried blood stuck her eyelids shut, only to be washed away by fresh, warm blood soon afterward, over and over again.

The corpses of civilians, the corpses of warriors, the corpses of the elderly, the corpses of children... The sight of those lives ending flashed through her mind like a carousel.

Magatha did not know how long she had been fighting. No matter how many Centaurs she killed, the fury in her chest never seemed to find release, and her hatred never eased.

She had thought she could remain calm, but now it seemed she had overestimated herself. This rage was like poison that corroded bone and melted the heart, devouring what little reason she had left amid the baptism of blood.

When she raised her hammer against an opponent far too young for the first time, a halberd blocked her path.

A Centaur with a ponytail and half his scalp gleaming bald stood in Magatha's way.

"Has the chief culprit finally decided to show himself?!" Magatha roared furiously. "Leader of the Magram Clan! Come forward! Pay the price for this invasion! Face your death with dignity!"

Magra Khan stood before Magatha like a statue. Bare-chested and holding a spear, he was enormously tall, even slightly taller than Magatha.

He planted his spear against the ground and silently stared at his enraged opponent.

Without saying a word.

That silence only enraged Magatha further. She roared and launched even fiercer attacks, yet the Centaur Khan deflected each one.

"Argue back! Fight back! I will make you repent for your crimes! Repent for my kin who died such miserable deaths!"

Attack, defense, attack, defense...

The two fought before the lines, one attacking and one defending. From beginning to end, Magatha did not advance a single step, nor did the Khan retreat one.

The commander issued no further orders, and the Tauren forces stopped as well. It looked as though the Centaur Khan had held back an army of thousands by himself.

Behind the Khan, a group of people wholly out of place on the battlefield were fleeing in panic. Most were elderly, weak, women, or children. Many wore cloth and grass armor and did not even have weapons to defend themselves. Their faces were filled with terror and despair.

Magatha did not stop to consider why such a group had appeared on the battlefield. In her eyes, once they had taken part in this war, none of them had any right to stand apart from it.

Her thirst for revenge burned fiercely, yet the Centaur Khan was clearly stronger than she was. Like an immovable mountain, he blocked all her attacks and turned her hopes of vengeance into bubbles.

Hatred fermented in Magatha's chest. It seemed as though demons were whispering in her mind, and a vicious thought crept into the Shaman's heart.

She suddenly leaped backward.

Switching from melee to ranged combat, she gathered scorching power in both palms and fired a Flame Shock straight at the Khan's face. The Khan raised his spear to block it, but that bought Magatha time. The Shaman transformed rapidly in midair, her body stretching as dark fur became covered in a translucent ghostly glow.

Before she even landed, Magatha had transformed into a Ghost Wolf. She lunged forward, flashing past the one blocking her path with wild speed and charging straight toward the people behind the Centaur!

When she transformed back into human form, her body was already leaping high into the air.

Magatha clenched her left hand around gathering electricity while gripping her hammer in her right, then brought it down with crushing force, calling forth a chain of devastating lightning.

The Centaur Khan reacted swiftly, using Intervene to rush toward Magatha's target and forcibly taking both powerful area attacks with his own body.

Wild currents instantly surged through his body. Even with his rage offsetting some of it, the damage he suffered was terrifying.

The Centaur Khan coughed up several mouthfuls of blood. His nose filled with the heavy stench of blood and scorched flesh.

His body was difficult to move from paralysis. Seeing this, Magatha threw down an Earthbind Totem. Now the Centaur Khan could not move even an inch.

"Magatha Grimtotem, you truly are as ruthless as the rumors say."

Magra Khan coughed up blood, then said mockingly, "But I will not hate you for it. You and I both know that we must pay for our actions. Today, it is my turn, so... come claim your prize, victor!"

Under these circumstances, the Centaur Khan finally spoke his first words since the two had met.

Just as he said, they had never met before, yet at their first encounter, they had been forced into a mad battle to the death.

Run, run... my foolish, pitiful people.

Come. Kill me, and let this sin-stained life buy my people a little more precious time!

He shut his eyes tightly and lowered his head.

Yet his verbal provocation did not bring the death he expected. Magatha took one step after another toward the elderly, weak, women, and children who stood frozen in place.

The Khan's calculations had failed. Magatha had seen through his thoughts, and so she intended to torment him deliberately.

What could be more painful than watching those one wished to protect die before one's own eyes? Magra Khan had finally experienced that helpless, despairing agony!

He hated the Magram Clan's stupidity so deeply. He hated Nightmare's conspiracy, hated the malice beneath those sweet lies.

But what he hated most was his own stupidity.

"Look! Honored leader of the Magram Clan, allow me to show you a brand-new age... the age of the Centaurs..."

At the summit of Earthsong Falls, Vel'th—curved horns, cloven hooves, purple bristles, and claws, bearing every trait of a demon—described a glorious prophecy to the great leader of the Magram Centaurs.

That prophecy contained everything beautiful he could imagine, and that agent of Nightmare called himself a Satyr.

Though suspicious, the demon disguised as a witch doctor proved it through action: he granted him and his people what they had longed for—power.

"My honored Khan, please savor this gift from deep within the earth, this blessing of the Earth Mother."

"As the finest descendants of the Earth Mother, aside from the great ones among you, I cannot imagine who else could inherit such tremendous power..."

From then on, they no longer needed to beg fickle elements for favor, nor did they need to fear the elements' wrath. With a gesture, they could make the earth tremble; with a light stomp, they could shatter boulders.

Such power was a miracle beyond the reach of Shamans. Like children handed terrifying weapons, they abused this blessing as they pleased, ignoring the elders' warnings.

Thus, the Khan became lost in fantasies of dominion.

Gradually, the valley's land began to wither, and its rivers began to grow foul.

At last, punishment descended, yet they knew nothing of it. They ignored the elders' advice and instead sought the wise witch doctor.

"Ah! This is the arrogance of the elements!"

"Look at them! They are so selfish that even for their most trivial gifts, they demand repayment and praise. They treat duty as leverage for coercion. We absolutely cannot allow this to happen!" His speech was so impassioned that every Centaur was stirred to the core.

"Help me, great Witch Doctor Vel'th! I do not want my power taken away! Please teach me what I should do!"

"Witch Doctor Vel'th! Witch Doctor Vel'th! Witch Doctor Vel'th..."

Wave after wave of cries rose up as the fanatical followers called for their deity, desperately craving a new blessing.

The Khan briefly calmed himself from his frothing delusions. Looking at his twisted, frenzied people, he suddenly felt a vicious chill.

Yes, I chose all of this.

Because of my choices, my people were deceived and the earth was polluted. Because of my choices, I could only preserve those pure people through a clumsy performance, and could only protect myself in such humiliation.

What exactly... have I done...

Magatha raised her heavy hammer. A bloodthirsty smile of vengeance filled her face as she walked toward the terrified Centaur child.

That terror might once have stirred a trace of pity in her, but now all she could feel was hatred.

There was nothing but hatred—at least, that was what Magatha believed. Yet when her hammer truly fell, she could not avoid noticing those dark brown eyes.

What kind of eyes were those? Filled with terror and despair, yet exceptionally pure. In the final moments of his remaining life, he seemed to have cast aside hatred and only wanted to ask something.

That questioning desire was so dazzling that Magatha could not face it at all.

For one moment, she gave up the thought of swinging her warhammer. But something seemed to whisper to her from the darkness, urging her onward. The whisper echoed beside her ear or deep within her heart; she could not tell whether it was the elements' plea or her soul's choice.

Filled with fear and unease, Magatha smashed down her hammer fiercely amid Magra Khan's shrill cry of grief!

Yet the expected scene of blood and gore did not appear. A runed spear flew through the air and blocked the blow.

A small commotion arose among the Tauren ranks, followed by delighted cheers.

Those cries signified only one thing—the great Tauren chieftain, Cairne Bloodhoof, had finally returned!