Skull of Gul'dan

Once again, Sylvanas sighed. She was riding her Hawkstrider back across the Wetlands to Quel'Thalas, still somewhat angry at Nathanos's attitude. The parchment had been retrieved from the water by the Female Elf; though ruined, some writing was still faintly discernible, especially the words: Ranger-Lord —an honor many Elf would never attain in their entire lives.

She was now very disappointed, not understanding why Nathanos, having chosen to help Alleria and Quel'Thalas, would refuse the Windrunner family's gratitude. What was he trying to gain by doing this? If not fame and fortune, then what was it? She wanted to ask Nathanos this question before leaving, but ultimately didn't, knowing that it would surely enrage the human.

"Stubborn fellow!" Sylvanas muttered, carefully folding and putting away the parchment. Many things had happened recently, such as the conflict between the Windrunner family and the Silvermoon Council. Alleria, now the leader of the Windrunner family and the Ranger-General of Silvermoon City, was a radical hawk regarding the Orcs. In just a few months, Alleria had secretly dispatched hundreds of Farstrider to search for Orcs hiding throughout the continent, and she had directly issued orders to hunt them down, knowing that if the Orcs were handed over to the Alliance, the humans would only imprison them. Thinking of this, Sylvanas frowned. The Alliance hadn't properly addressed the Orcs issue yet. There was still no decision on when to try Orgrim. And, there was another question that concerned her most: where was Zul'jin, the leader of the Forest Troll?

Nathanos had told her that he had ambushed Zul'jin in Quel'Thalas. Later, Sylvanas investigated extensively, and all signs pointed to the Troll still being alive. This secret was known only to her, and she chose to keep it from Alleria for the time being; her sister already had enough to deal with.

Draenor

Grommash gazed down below. He had been ordered by Ner'zhul to carry out an important mission, but he was reluctant because he was to attack members of his former Horde.

"Chief!"

"They didn't spot us, did they?"

"Yes, Grommash. They were completely unprepared!"

Grom nodded. Today was an unforgettable day.

"Warsong Clan Warrior! Charge!"

He leaped into the air.

Bathed in sunlight, Gorehowl reflected a blinding gleam as his axe swung in a massive arc, its whistling sound echoing across the battlefield. Behind him, his Warrior displayed their unparalleled combat skills. A cacophony of screams and shouts coalesced into a true Warsong Clan. This breathtaking momentum not only inspired them but also intimidated their enemies— the Bonechewer Clan!

The first Bonechewer Orcs to recover from his panic entered Grom's attack range, uttering incoherent shouts. Grommash glared at him, and Gorehowl slashed at his neck, easily slicing through flesh and even bone. His head fell, his face still bearing the expression of his earlier roar, tinged with surprise. The green body collapsed, blood splattering onto Grom's face. The Bonechewer Clan had lost a member.

All the Warsong Orcs were attacking with all their might, a feeling they hadn't experienced in a long time. Grom knew all too well that the Bonechewer Orcs' fierce fighting spirit was enough to instill fear and dread in any enemy, so he had warned his people— the Bonechewer Orcs were a bunch of madmen, ferocious and savage. Unfortunately, they only knew how to rely on brute force, not the importance of unity and cooperation. In contrast, you are far stronger. As long as you always pay attention to your surroundings and fight alongside your clan brothers and sisters, they will have no chance to resist.

All the Warsong Orcs remember his teachings. At least that's how it seems for now, but Grom doesn't know when they'll be consumed by the Bloodlust and fanaticism in their blood, causing them to abandon all reason and strategy.

Grom could never forget that feeling, that feeling that made his heart race and filled him with power. Back in Azeroth, when Gorehowl repeatedly felled his enemies, he felt his rage reach its peak, plunging him into a storm of carnage. He lost himself in the face of countless deaths and destruction.

But not now, especially after the Horde's defeat. Seeing his people's spirits Will, the young chieftain felt for the first time his responsibility: to lead his clan with a calm mind.

Grommash cold, his brow furrowing. A burly Bonechewer Orcs lifted one of his Warrior and hurled him towards a Charge group of Warsong Orcs. Blood still dripped from his warhammer. This was the man Grom had been searching for. The Warsong Clan chieftain grinned, his fangs bared in a fanatical smile, and gestured for his Warsong Clan brethren to make way for him. Finally, he and the Orcs were almost face to face.

"Halkhan!" he roared, brandishing his Gorehowl, the sound of it tearing through the air echoing across the battlefield. "Powerful Skullcleaver! I thought you were a coward. Look around you, your Warrior are almost all dead, and you only show yourself now." Grommash laughed.

"Grom!" Bonechewer Chieftain shouted back, raising his warhammer high. "Have you come to steal my treasure?"

"You know that! Give up! If you don't surrender, I'll kill all the Bonechewer Orcs!" Grom threatened.

Many of the Bonechewer Orcs fell silent, awaiting their leader's words. Halkhan, without a trace of anger, calmly retorted, "Do you think we're afraid of death?"

"I know you're not afraid. But now the Horde has a chance to make a comeback, and you're standing in our way because of your own selfish desires!"

Halkhan tilted his head slightly. "The Horde? Hahaha...!" The Skullcleaver's mockery ignited Grom's fury! "Have you forgotten? The Dark Portal has been destroyed! The Horde has... failed!"

Grom's head seemed to have been struck hard; his eyes suddenly turned bloodshot, and he let out a deafening roar. He charged forward, leaping ahead as Gorehowl slashed at Halkhan.

The chieftain of the Bonechewer Clan was a seasoned Warrior, and his mind was remarkably clear. He twisted to the side, and Gorehowl's Gorehowl grazed his shoulder, then seized the opportunity to punch Grom in the face, sending him staggering back two steps. But Grommash merely wiped his mouth and faced him again. Halkhan was astonished to find Grom completely unharmed, and he immediately grabbed his warhammer and Grommash.

Grom didn't dodge; he gripped Gorehowl and struck again. The two weapons clashed with a piercing sound, the shockwave making it difficult for the surrounding Orcs to maintain their footing, but Gul'kan's warhammer was cleaved in two by Gorehowl's blade from the handle. Grommash didn't retract his weapon; instead, he Gorehowl it again, mercilessly slicing open the upper half of Halkhan's right arm.

The surrounding Orcs waited anxiously for the outcome of the duel. But the battle was nearing its end; Bonechewer Chieftain's breathing grew heavier, and his attacks were less powerful than before. Although Grom was now almost out of his mind, he could still easily dodge or parry his opponent's savage assault.

The time to end it all had come. Grom dodged another of Halkhan's attacks, then grabbed the man's arm and, without any rhyme or reason, slammed his head into Halkan's face, letting out a powerful roar at close range.

Halkhan was knocked to the ground, blood flowing from his nostrils and eyes, and blood also began to trickle from the corner of his mouth. Grom swung his Gorehowl, drawing a smooth arc, easily severing Halkhan's head, his legendary Battle Shout gradually turning into a victorious laugh. He kicked Halkhan away, making the scene clearer for more Orcs, especially the Bonechewer Orcs.

Sighs arose, but they all came from the Bonechewer Orcs. A tall, robust young Orcs stepped forward after gazing at Halkhan's corpse for a long time. He wore a pair of bone bracers, and behind him lay a heavy mace. He pushed through the crowd to the side of the dead chieftain, crouched down, and began to search. Just as he expected, he found a skull, a skull radiating powerful energy.

"I am Tagga Spinebreaker." He walked up to Grom, the Warsong Clan chieftain who had gradually regained his composure. "This is yours." He handed over the Skull of Gul'dan.

Grommash examined the spoils in his hands; they were completely undamaged. He stared at the head for a long time, thinking of Gul'dan, then Ner'zhul, and everything that had happened in the past few years. Then he took a deep breath, pulled a thick cloth from his belt, and wrapped Gul'dan's head tightly. He then looked up at Tagga and said, "Who will lead the Bonechewer Clan?"

Tagga hesitated for a moment, then turned to look at the silent Bonechewer Orcs and replied, "There is no one else but me."

Grom Grommash sized him up and continued in a deep voice, "So, are you prepared to follow in Halkhan's footsteps, or will you lead your people to pledge allegiance to the Horde?"

This wasn't a problem, but a warning, a threat. Tagga understood this perfectly well.

"I had no other choice!"

Grommash laughed and patted him on the shoulder. "No, you just made the wisest choice."