Gargoma

Hellfire Ramparts truly lived up to its name, reeking of foul stench. At that moment, Sylvanas hid in a dark corner of the citadel, breathing in the acrid stench of rotting corpses.

Several Bonechewer Orcs shuffled past not far away. She pulled down her hat brim, took a step back, and shrank into the shadows.

These guys are notoriously brutal, killing for pleasure. Their ruthlessness is fully embodied in their weapons—cutting off a hand and attaching it to the weapon. Sylvanas wouldn't be afraid in a fair fight, but this is enemy territory, and making too much noise would only get her captured.

Moreover, she herself had no right to act freely. The operation was commanded by Honor Hold's high-ranking scout, Cardevik. She was merely one member of the operation.

This was an extremely risky mission, involving only four people, including her. Sylvanas wasn't originally on the list, but the more dangerous the mission, the faster one could gain prestige. Besides, she could hunt Orcs along the way—for any reason, she couldn't refuse.

The mission was simply to investigate the fortress's defenses; the Female Elf had no intention of lingering and wanted to resolve the matter quickly and efficiently. If all went well, it would be even better if she could take down a few Orcs before leaving.

Several patrolling Orcs turned a corner and wandered behind the animal pen. She had two minutes before they returned, more than enough time to memorize the entire defensive layout.

The sunlight couldn't reach the shadows where she hid. Huge crates were piled haphazardly throughout the city wall passageways, providing her with excellent cover.

On a watchtower at the corner of the city wall, several figures carrying crossbows stood guard. But they were chatting loudly, making a racket that sounded like they were cursing in the street. Even if Sylvanas were covered in bells and ran right past them, these fools wouldn't hear her.

Because they felt that no sane enemy would dare to come here.

A bloodied corpse was dragged to the front of the pen by two Orcs, and the Worg inside began to go berserk. The sounds of flesh being torn apart mingled with the arrogant laughter of the two Orcs as they witnessed everything.

"Those beasts," Sylvanas cursed under her breath, carefully stepping over the rusty chains winding across the ground and squeezing through the gap between a pair of cranes. This was how the Orcs usually disposed of corpses. That's where the pervasive stench came from.

Sylvanas stopped and took a moment to compose herself. Perhaps shifting her gaze would be a good option, but when the Female Elf's eyes glanced beyond the city walls, she saw Fel Reaver wandering across Hellfire Peninsula, which only deepened her gloom.

Footsteps approached from around the corner; the patrolling Orcs had returned a little early. She didn't have much time, perhaps only a few seconds. She surveyed the area one last time. The Female Elf prepared to leave, but the sound she heard made her temporarily abandon the idea.

"Get to work!" The speaker was a burly Orcs, his neck and shoulders bulging with thick muscles like a bull. Both his hands were replaced with weapons, covered in bloody welts. Sylvanas had heard that this was an Orcs tribe called the Shattered Hand Clan, but she couldn't believe that these Orcs were so cruel as to play with their own limbs.

"Get moving, you bunch of lazy pigs!" the Orcs taunted two laborers who were checking the supplies. Sylvanas had witnessed everything; the two unfortunate fellows weren't slacking off or being lazy, but their superior just happened to be in the mood for tormenting them.

"We haven't been slacking off, Lord Gargoma," one of the laborers explained, but he regretted it the next second. Gargoma said nothing, only angrily taking a few steps closer to the Orcs he saw as arguing. The laborer panicked and stumbled backward, cowering on the ground with his hands on his head. If Gargoma were to physically assault him, it wouldn't be a matter of pain; anyone who knew the city wall sentry knew how dangerous Gargoma's "arms" were.

However, Gargoma did not punish the laborers; he simply laughed loudly with his two bodyguards. Among the Orcs had also drunk Demon Blood, some were arrogant and conceited, while others remained utterly useless.

The weak are just weak.

Gargoma walked away dismissively.

Sylvanas, hidden in the shadows, didn't look away. From the conversation, the Female Elf had confirmed the arrogant Orcs: Gargoma, the garrison commander of Hellfire Ramparts. She'd heard that this fellow's thirst for blood was bordering on the perverse; he even wanted to eat the hearts of living people.

This infuriated Sylvanas so much that she had to pinch her palms between her fingers to control her urge to attack. She was so angry she felt dizzy. How could such a beast be allowed to live? The Ranger took a deep breath and once again suppressed the urge to fire.

But the Orcs hadn't gone far when he started yelling again, "You bunch of useless trash, listen up!" Gargoma said, "Chieftain Kaga's's Horde doesn't tolerate parasites. He told me that sometimes, even your most loyal subordinates forget their place. So, you need to remind them from time to time..." His gaze swept over everyone he could see. Every Orcs within his sight retreated in disarray.

Sylvanas gritted her teeth, hesitating whether to take advantage of Garmagg's momentary lapse in vigilance to send him to hell. Exposure meant certain death, but without Garmagg's interference, the Alliance's attack on Hellfire Citadel might suffer fewer losses.

But I still have so much to do. A voice inside the Female Elf reminded her that she still had the Quel'dorei who followed her, she had not yet defeated her sister, and she had not even found Nathanos.

"I can't die yet!" Sylvanas raised her head, but she did something contrary to her heart. She carefully took down her bow and arrow and aimed steadily at Garmagg, who was in the distance, boasting about how he had obtained everything from Kargath, the Warchief the Fel Orcs tribe.

Before she let go, she was already calculating the chances of survival after jumping off the city wall, thinking about how to use the cloak to slow down her fall as much as possible, and what kind of landing posture would prevent serious injury.

I will not die, nor will I give up a chance to become famous.

The Female Elf released her bowstring, and the arrow flew through the air, aimed directly at Garmaggo's neck, showing no mercy...

In an instant, roars and footsteps filled the city walls. Amidst the chaos, a dozen Bonechewer Orcs surged forward, all having heard the sentry's bone-chilling screams. At the same time, several Orcs present pointed out the assassin's hiding place.

Sylvanas fired wildly from her bow, not bothering to care whether those hit by her arrows lived or died.

There is only one way to escape!

The Female Elf climbed onto the city wall—good heavens, it was higher than she had imagined. The wind whipped her coat, making it crackle like a sail. Sylvanas no longer wanted to stay in this wretched place.

She jumped off the city wall.