Appointment

"Sylvanas!" Nathanos exclaimed, then his eyes widened as he looked at Gelbin Mekkatorque with a questioning gaze. He almost shouted out loud—what was going on? The Great Craftsman simply shrugged, holding a blueprint in front of him; now Nathanos could only see the few fingers holding the blueprint.

What are you doing here?

The Female Elf rose from her rocking chair, her expression displeased. Her human tone was filled with impatience and boredom, but Nathanos didn't share this sentiment; in fact, he was somewhat pleased that Sylvanas had come to see him.

"What kind of tone is that?" she asked coldly.

Nathanos shook his head, opening his arms not to embrace Sylvanas, but to show her his current wretched state. "That's not what I meant. There's too much going on here... a complete mess! You shouldn't have come here..." he said, not asking why Sylvanas had found him, because he already knew the answer in his heart. He vowed to teach Stephan a lesson when he got back, wondering what kind of spell the little guy had been cast by Sylvanas.

The Female Elf, clad in blue leather armor and carrying a magnificent longbow, made him, already disheveled and sweating profusely, look like a fool. Finally, Sylvanas nodded, reluctantly accepting the reason, but she remained rooted to the spot. Nathanos looked at her puzzledly for a moment before realizing her meaning: she wanted him to leave with her.

"I still have work to do," Nathanos explained, then looked pleadingly at Mekkatorque, who remained silent to the side. But the latter's completely detached attitude made Nathanos want to release the rats locked in the cage and let them bite the dwarf's beard.

"I don't understand." The Female Elf returned to her usual tone, which reassured Nathanos somewhat. "You didn't want to work in the Farstrider, but instead came here to do hard labor? If my sister knew, she would definitely think you were racially prejudiced."

Nathanos snorted, "Alleria wouldn't think that way; she knows me."

Sylvanas's eyes turned cold; she didn't want to continue the discussion. In the two months following the war's end, Alleria had written many letters to Nathanos, hoping Nathanos would join the Farstrider. She had even considered bestowing upon Nathanos the titles of Ranger-Captain or Ranger-Lord, but this was met with staunch opposition from the Silvermoon Council. The Female Elf remembered that two weeks earlier, Prince Kael'thas, who had been researching magic in Dalaran, had returned to his homeland. He had visited Windrunner Tower and specifically mentioned this matter to Alleria, which had even led to an argument between them.

Sylvanas stood there for a long time, closing her eyes to clear her thoughts. The human was looking at her with a puzzled expression. She hadn't come to see Nathanos for casual conversation as usual; she had brought some news. Alleria had sent her to see Nathanos. Thinking of this, a smile crept onto Sylvanas's lips. Alleria had been too busy with official duties to come, so she had to do it in her place.

"I have something important to tell you." Sylvanas turned and left, her tone commanding and urgent, leaving no room for negotiation.

Draenor

"Grom!"

A legendary battle axe was wielded by its master, the wind whistling through the fine holes in its blade like a dragon's roar. The Orcs laughed wildly, a roar that was the origin of his name. With each movement, his long black hair flowed behind his head, his red eyes flashing as he relentlessly hacked at the imaginary enemies before him with the battle axe, honing his skills in this way. Nathanos would never have imagined that this Orcs would do the same. Even though it was just in his imagination, his formidable skill was already evident; he could control his speed and power with effortless ease. Grom Grommash heard someone call his name, snorted coldly, turned away, forcing himself to break free from this "battle." But his thirst for blood remained undiminished, just like his crimson eyes.

"Grommash!" the other person shouted again, this time using his surname.

Grom Grommash lowered his Gorehowl and looked up. Someone was walking towards him. The person was covered in wounds and left a deep impression.

"Kargath," he replied, waiting for the Shattered Hand Clan chief to approach him. They clasped each other's hands. Of course, Kargath extended his right hand. This was because long ago, Kargath's left hand had been severed and replaced with a sharp blade, a tradition of the Shattered Hand Clan.

"What a rare guest."

"That won't be anymore," Kargath said. What did that mean? Grommash couldn't decipher the smile that peeked out from the Orcs's fangs.

"Getting back to the main point, it seems the Warsong Clan has also received Ner'zhul's message."

Grom nodded and smiled slightly. The chieftain of the Shadowmoon Clan also sent messengers to all the existing Orcs clans.

"He seems to have some special plan." Grom draped Gorehowl over his shoulder, and then the two leaders turned and walked across the valley, passing between the Warrior of the two clans, toward the ruins of the Dark Portal.

"Is it related to this door?"

Kargath nodded in reply, "Yes, but that's not important. What's important is that I don't really trust him. I heard his plan was decided after consulting with two Death Knights." Kargath Bladefist loathed the corpses and didn't understand why Orgrim would have allowed such creatures to join the Horde.

Grom absentmindedly ran his fingertips lightly across the blade of his axe. "It's better than doing nothing. We've accomplished nothing these past few months! What did the Alliance do with our captured brethren? Will they attack Draenor? We don't know any of that. The Alliance defeated us and drove us back into this world! But I don't want to stay here day and night, only to rot and decay like carrion!"

Kargath nodded. "So, you agreed to his call?"

Grommash nodded. The Shattered Hand Clan chieftain remained silent for a moment, Grom knew he was making up his mind. Kargath was a pure war machine, born to fight and kill. Grom admired this quality in him. Orcs were naturally warlike, and they constantly honed their perception and combat prowess, for without it, they would become weak. Years ago Grom Orcs ordered his people to fight the Ogre of Nagrand to train them, until the Orcs established the Horde and united all their clans into a powerful army. Whether it was his Warsong Clan, the Thunderlord Clan, the Burning Blade Clan, or the Laughing Skull Clan, even Orcs clans that had once been at odds with each other were now united.

They continued toward the ruins ahead. Grom didn't say anything outwardly, but he was deeply concerned about why the Horde had failed. They were numerous; when they marched, even the mountains trembled at the deafening sound of their footsteps! How could such a powerful army be defeated by the Alliance?

"It's all Gul'dan's fault." Grommash snorted. In Draenor, the once lush plains were lifeless, the vibrant trees were all withered, and the azure sky was now blood-red. All because of that Warlock, who destroyed Draenor, and it was because of his betrayal that the Horde failed to defeat the Alliance and conquer the world called Azeroth.

Grom shook his head, reminding himself that it was all in the past. Blackhand and Durotan were dead, Doomhammer had been captured, and the Horde was now practically extinct.

He and Kargath had arrived at the portal and could clearly see the person waiting for them. Although Ner'zhul's hair and beard were now completely white, as the chieftain of the Shadowmoon Clan and the former leader of the Horde, he still looked as wise as ever.

When Grom saw the old Shaman's face up close, he was speechless with astonishment, as was Kargath. Ner'zhul's cheeks, upper lip, nose, brow ridges, and forehead were covered in white paint, as white as bone. He had painted his face to resemble a skull.

Ner'zhul spoke loudly, his voice still clear and resonant. "Grom Grommash and Kargath Bladefist, thank you for coming!"

"What do you want with us?" Kargath said calmly, which made Ner'zhul feel uneasy, as if the other party didn't care at all about what he was about to do.

The Shaman replied, "I have a plan."

Grom sneered. "The Horde lost, and now you have a plan?" His voice was filled with obvious anger and skepticism. He pointed at Ner'zhul's skeletal face and said, "You turned a deaf ear to Gul'dan's actions, then refused to cross the Dark Portal, hiding here with your followers, barely clinging to life! Now you've come to tell us you have a new plan. Whatever your so-called plan is, I don't want to hear it."

Grom was surprised to find a trace of sorrow in his angry voice. The Ner'zhul before him was no longer the strong, stern, and intelligent Orcs once was.

The old Shaman touched the patterns on his face and sighed deeply. "I have never forgotten. I witnessed the deaths of some noble Orcs. I made myself look like this to remember it all. I originally wanted to continue... to continue to turn a blind eye, but now I understand—I owe the Orcs something, so I should stand up."

"Just like before?" Kargath roared. "Leading us to betrayal?" He brandished the weapon bound to his left hand at the old Orcs.

Ner'zhul was about to answer him when someone came running up from behind Grom and the other man.

"Grata!" Ner'zhul called, waiting for the Orcs to approach. "How did it go when I sent you to find the other clans?"

"This is terrible!" Grata was bent over, panting heavily. His disheveled appearance inexplicably fueled Grommash's anger. "The Thunderlord Clan is fighting the Laughing Skull Clan! And the Bonechewer Clan and the Bladefist Clan, none of them are willing to accept your summons. Only the Burning Blade Clan is on its way."

The Shaman was enraged upon hearing the report. "That's why I've stepped forward again!" Ner'zhul roared. "If I don't take care of this mess, we'll just be killing each other here!" He bared his teeth, his face contorted.

"So what did you do while you were hiding?" Grom snarled. "For that ridiculous dream you speak of, you abandoned us all. This is your retribution!"

"I understand," Ner'zhul said softly, his voice heavy with pain. Grom looked at the grief and shame on his face and swallowed back the angry words that had been on the tip of his tongue.

"Are we just going to let the Orcs head down to their doom?... No!" Ner'zhul shook his head. "We must save the Horde and unite the Orcs once more! Only then can we regain our glory! This is our chance!" His last words were particularly loud, and all the Orcs present heard them.

Grom composed himself, exchanging a glance with Kargath. The Warsong Clan chieftain gripped Gorehowl tightly; the old Shaman before him was right—this was an opportunity. If there was a way to save the Horde, Grommash would certainly carry it out. He was currently only angry, dissatisfied with Ner'zhul, but Grom knew he couldn't let his personal resentment override the fate of the entire Horde. Even if Ner'zhul was entirely wrong, if he had a way to save the Horde, Grommash would follow him—that was why he was here today.

"Tell us your plans," Grom said loudly, making sure everyone present could hear him clearly. Ner'zhul knew he was announcing that the Warsong Clan had agreed to his leadership. The old Shaman breathed a sigh of relief and looked at Kargath, awaiting his response.

Kargath tilted his head slightly and said, "If it's actually feasible, the Shattered Hand Clan can too!"

"Very well." Ner'zhul's voice returned to calm as he took a step forward. Beneath the deathly markings on his face, he smiled, a smile that looked utterly eerie.

"I will tell you my plan, but afterwards you will need to seize some things."

Azeroth, Stormwind City

"Time Rift?" Nathanos looked at Sylvanas curiously. He had changed into clean clothes and Sylvanas had gone to a secluded spot. The Female Elf's beautiful appearance easily attracted attention, so they had to find a quiet place to avoid being seen.

"Yes," Sylvanas said coldly. "We have discovered a Time Rift near the Dark Portal, and the mages have told the Silvermoon Council that the energy in that rift seems to be increasing."

"You mean the Orcs might return here?" Nathanos said, catching the Female Elf off guard, and she nodded.

"The people of Dalaran should know this too." The human put his hands behind his head, feigning indifference.

Sylvanas stopped and said angrily, "Knowing doesn't mean you can solve it."

"Then why did you tell me?"

"It's Alleria." Sylvanas produced a roll of parchment bearing the seal of the Silvermoon Council. "She asked me to tell you, and I was going to tell you anyway." She turned her head away, using her long, pale blonde hair to conceal the uncontrollable blush on her face.

Nathanos took what was in her hand, his brow furrowed. What she held was something Nathanos had wanted years ago, but now...

He threw the thing into the nearby stream. Sylvanas's rage erupted instantly, and she roared at the human, "What are you doing! Are you insane? Do you know how much effort Alleria and I went through to give you this honor? How dare you..."

"Thank you!" Nathanos interrupted her, and Sylvanas looked at him in surprise.

"I will not accept Quel'Thalas's appointment, but I will go to Alleria after I finish what I have to do here."

The author explains why there's a third update today: the book is almost 300,000 words.