Dazzling shafts of sunlight streamed down from the sky, bringing people the sunshine they had not seen in so long. Mount Hyjal teemed with people. The Third Line of Defense no longer looked anything like it once had. It had become a refugee camp, crowded with the Horde's Orcs, Trolls, and Tauren, and the Alliance's humans, Gnomes, Dwarves, and other races, all packed together.
As they walked along the street, they found the gravel-paved road completely occupied by people.
"Has the situation become this dire?" Rex asked Tyrande beside him.
"This area is still relatively good. It's worse farther inside." Tyrande sounded displeased. The Night Elves had always presented an image of sanctity, and these scenes had taken a considerable toll on them. Every Night Elf palace was now occupied, with crowds everywhere.
The soldiers have lost the will to fight. The situation is grim! The thought surfaced in Rex's mind. These had originally been the elite troops of the Horde and the Alliance, brave warriors meant to battle the Burning Legion. Yet now, whether human or Orc, none of them looked like elite soldiers. They lay sprawled on the ground, listless as heaps of mud, scarcely better than third-rate troops.
The blow had been too devastating. The damage Archimonde's earth-shattering strike had inflicted on the Allied Forces went beyond the loss of two defensive lines and the warriors who had died. It had also broken their spirits.
Invincible, unbeatable... Such impressions had begun to gather around Archimonde. In Rex's view, losing the two defensive lines was secondary. The blow to morale had done the greatest damage. That was their heaviest loss.
Yet even knowing this, restoring morale would be incredibly difficult. A few hastily shouted slogans and stirring words could never accomplish it.
The simplest way to raise morale