Impassioned Speech

The Darkblade Organization is the intelligence agency of the Forsaken, but its activities extend far beyond mere intelligence gathering. Nathanos once stated that this organization would infiltrate every corner of Azeroth. To facilitate operations in different areas, Nathanos instructed Belmont to internally divide the Darkblade Organization into multiple departments. Among these, Darkblade Organization Deathstalker are responsible for carrying out assassinations.

Alaric Hawkins is one of the Deathstalker, also known as the Death Killer.

As an assassin in Belmont, he was supposed to eliminate those who posed a threat to the Forsaken. However, a month ago, he suddenly received a mission from his superiors: to monitor the battle situation in Silithus. This was a task he shouldn't have been given, but Belmont explained that Silithus was now fraught with danger, and scouts might not be able to protect themselves. Therefore, they had to send the more capable Deathstalker to carry out the mission. Hawkins successfully completed this mission.

He walked through the dim tunnels of Maraudon, unable to wait to tell Belmont about Silithus.

"Brilliant, absolutely brilliant," Hawkins thought to himself, a strange smile involuntarily creeping onto his lips.

"Lord Belmont?" The Deathstalker stopped. His superior was pacing back and forth in the corridor leading to his master Nathanos's room, clearly agitated.

"Hawkins?" Belmont recognized him immediately. "How did your mission go?"

"I'm back to report. You'd never guess how capable that Orcs named Varok Saurfang is. He really did defeat the Qiraji. With just one inspiring speech, he united the Alliance Horde the Horde, two sides that are irreconcilable enemies. I even wrote down his eloquent speech. Would you like to hear it?"

"I don't want to. You should tell the owner of the Witherer; perhaps he'll be interested," Belmont replied coldly, leaving Hawkins somewhat helpless.

"How is Master's mood today?"

Why are you asking this?

"If he's in a bad mood, I won't bother him."

"How could you delay such important intelligence about Silithus?" Belmont rebuked, extending his hand. "Give me the intelligence, and I will personally deliver it to my master."

The Deathstalker did as instructed, but he quickly shifted his focus to his superior in front of him.

"Sir, why are you pacing back and forth here? Is something wrong?"

Belmont glanced at his subordinate, now at his wit's end, and reluctantly revealed the reason for his impatience. "I have a lot of news to tell Lord the Witherer, but none of it is good, and worst of all, there is one piece of news that is absolutely terrible for Lord Nathanos."

Hawkins blinked. He knew Belmont couldn't possibly tell him the news; the other man was simply asking for his opinion on how to explain things to his master. "My intelligence is good, sir." He smiled and nodded at the Shadowblade leader. "I don't know how bad your information is for our leader, or how he'll react after reading it, but I do know that our master hates concealment more than anything else."

These words jolted Belmont awake, and he nodded subconsciously, as if he were the one being driven. "You're right, Hawkins. I am indeed a little afraid, afraid that my master's confidence will be shaken, but it's better to say something than to say nothing."

He turned and left. The place where the Witherer handled various complicated official duties was a small room two hundred meters ahead. Belmont knew clearly that Nathanos had already noticed him, and perhaps his hesitation had already prepared the Witherer mentally.

A knock sounded on the door, followed by a muffled sound from inside.

"Come in."

"Master." Belmont bowed at the door.

"Just tell me if you have any bad news."

Sure enough! Belmont shuddered, thankful that he wasn't alive, otherwise he would have been drenched in sweat and made a complete fool of himself.

"There's good news about Silithus."

Nathanos didn't stop writing; there was just too much going on at Razor Ridge, forcing him to seize every second. "It seems the mission in Silithus wasn't yours to carry out."

"Hawkins is back, and he handed the intelligence over to me."

The Witherer glanced upwards and immediately saw the document with the words "An'khel" written on it. In fact, Belmont had several such documents, but the other party seemed to have intentionally or unintentionally placed the Silithus report on top.

"Just leave it here," Nathanos said, still focusing on his work.

"You can look at it anytime, master."

"Kindness."

Belmont wanted to say something more, but fearing being scolded, he closed the door and left.

Only the Witherer One remained. He had been alone here before, but why? Why did he feel so uneasy when Belmont delivered the information to him as usual?

An emotion made Nathanos put down his quill, an emotion he had never felt before, not even during his childhood when he was trapped on a snowy mountain, suffering from hunger and cold, during tedious and monotonous training—loneliness. A pressing sense of loneliness caused Nathanos's brows to furrow with anger. He reached for the intelligence reports and began to read them one by one.

First letter: Regarding Silithus

The Horde hero, Varok Saurfang, possessed wisdom surpassing his brute force. He skillfully deployed and commanded the Alliance and Horde armies, reaching the Scarab Wall in a mere five days. However, subsequent progress seemed less smooth; the Qiraji were endless, and the Allied forces struggled to maintain their lines. The towering walls held off Saurfang's fierce onslaught. More than twenty days passed in this manner. Finally, at the end of the month, the Allied forces obtained a treasure called the "Scepter of the Shifting Sands," capable of opening the gates to the Qiraji kingdom. I witnessed Saurfang's impassioned declaration, which remains etched in my memory:

"I am Broxigar, brother of Saurfang." (He roared as he stood before the Kalimdor Allied Forces. Orcs always gave speeches claiming to be someone's son or brother, regardless of whether others recognized their relatives.)

I am the Supreme Commander of the Kalimdor Allied Forces. You all know that. (He paused, glancing around at the tense soldiers. Incredibly, the Alliance members weren't whispering about his identity.)

An Orcs, a true Orcs Warrior, has only one pursuit in his life: to die gloriously on the battlefield in a decisive battle against the enemy.

Many of you have never been in real combat. Peace, peace has been with us for many years. We have been idle these days, but we have also fought for many years.

During those years of battle, we were sometimes enemies. The Burning Legion and the Scourge ravaged our homeland, slaughtering our loved ones. Smoke filled the sky and the earth, and swarms of insects lurked beneath our feet, waiting beneath our homes.

They are waiting to kill us all, starting with our children, to please their God.

And what will we do for the gods we worship and the faith we hold dear?

We will fight to the death, we will never admit defeat. We are one, a united whole. We will triumph, and their gods will surely fail.

Today, if we die in battle, on this battlefield, we will die with honor. Today, if we die in battle, it is to protect our children, our families, our...loved ones!

(Finally, he shouted out the question that questioned the soul at the top of his lungs) Which of you would fear such a death? Who would refuse such a great honor?