The last time he had visited Durnholde Keep had been three years ago.
Hilton handed his warhorse's reins to Lieutenant Drak as a formality, exchanged greetings, and chatted about various odds and ends.
By tacit agreement, neither mentioned the fighting around Southshore.
"How is Thrall? Last time, I said I would teach him Holy Light spells." Hilton did not know what had motivated Thrall's instructor to teach him combat skills. Racial superiority, or the desire to tame a warrior of another race?
Hilton was different. Thrall had an exceptionally strong affinity for the Holy Light. If he could study it further, he would make an outstanding paladin or a priest of the holy specialization.
At the mention of Thrall, Drak's expression darkened considerably.
Since the last Dueling Grounds match, Thrall had been kept in isolation. Lieutenant Drak's younger brother was responsible for overseeing Thrall's meals and daily routine.
Morey Drak was a notorious racist in Durnholde, and his methods of controlling the orcs were exceptionally cruel. Drak had spoken with his brother countless times, trying to change his views on Thrall, but to no avail.
Lieutenant Drak could only hope that Thrall would obey Lieutenant General Blackmoore's orders for the time being. At least that would spare him some suffering.
"He's grown up. There are things he no longer listens to us about," Drak said with disappointment.
Hilton understood. The education provided at Durnholde Keep was not merely about berating Thrall and turning him into a warrior devoted to killing. Systematic theory and complex cultural lessons would inevitably elevate Thrall's mind and strength to heights an ordinary person could hardly reach.
Perhaps Thrall would not openly defy Blackmoore, but in private, he would certainly make his own choices.
Hilton stood with the Holy Light, and he was genuinely happy for