The Name on the Tombstone

What is your strategy?

"First, the bomb must be detonated in Theramore; second, we must ensure that everyone survives."

The Female Elf blinked, confused by Nathanos's contradictory statements.

"My informants have reported that Jaina is seeking help from the Kirin Tor."

"Yes, she hopes to gather the power of many mages to defend Theramore." The Female Elf nodded.

Do you know why Dalaran became a floating city?

"I heard from Jaina that the Kirin Tor councilors used the power of the Eye of Dalaran. Why are you suddenly bringing this up?"

The Witherer took out the prepared magic array blueprints and handed them to Sylvanas, saying, "They can make a city fly, so naturally they have the ability to instantly teleport a city to another place."

Sylvanas gasped in disbelief, her hand holding the blueprints trembling slightly. "This is... your method?"

"There's no better way. Tell Jaina that if she doesn't want bloodshed, she'd better accept reality."

The Ranger-General found it hard to comprehend Nathanos's ideas; they sounded too outrageous, practically a fantasy. What if they failed? Could they even succeed? Sylvanas didn't voice these questions aloud. She assumed Nathanos had anticipated her questions and was already prepared with answers to convince her. So, she simply asked, "Theramore, where will we be teleported to?"

A hint of shame flashed in his eyes—was it just an illusion? Sylvanas finally gleaned something from the subtle expression on the Witherer's face, but she couldn't delve any further.

"A safe place."

"This answer won't help me convince Jaina."

"As long as you tell her that doing so will minimize the sacrifices, she won't hesitate." With that, Nathanos stood up. Sylvanas was a step ahead of him, and so the two returned to the delicate atmosphere they had when they first faced each other.

"Perhaps... the odds of winning are greater if we fight with all our might."

Nathanos's eyes flashed for a moment, like a fleeting burst of anger, before quickly regaining their composure. "If you want Theramore to become the second Lordaeron, why not give it a try?" These words, though surprising, struck a nerve with Nathanos, a fact he skillfully concealed in front of Sylvanas. "Theramore's disappearance from the map of Kalimdor is inevitable. Fundamentally, it cannot be changed. But this battle must be a stone weighing down on Grommash's shoulders."

Sylvanas was startled. "Let him lift a stone himself."

"And it will only hurt him," Nathanos continued. "Whether Grommash cares about becoming alone or not, he will inevitably follow the Lich King's path. Theramore is where he begins."

"But the Alliance's Seventh Fleet is heading to Theramore, and if we did as you say, they shouldn't be here."

Do you know why Grommash didn't attack Theramore immediately?

"It's obvious he's waiting for everyone to gather together so he can use that bomb to wipe them all out in one fell swoop."

Nathanos was pleased, yet surprised, that the Female Elf could see through the conspiracy.

"Theramore is extremely important to the Alliance," Sylvanas continued. "No matter how dangerous it is, Varian will not stand idly by."

"What if the Seventh Fleet didn't come to support you, but instead headed straight for Orgrimmar?"

The Female Elf's eyes lit up as she looked at Nathanos with curiosity. In that instant, she felt all her questions were answered. Grommash, worried about Orgrimmar's safety, would only hasten the end of the Theramore campaign, hence his premature use of explosives... the key lay in Theramore's decision-making at the moment the bombs fell.

That's all I wanted to say. I think... it's time to say goodbye.

"Please wait a moment." In her haste, Sylvanas grabbed Nathanos's hand. Both of them were shocked.

"What for?" he asked.

For a moment, the Female Elf was at a loss for words. She had so many questions for Nathanos: whether he hated Alleria, whether he needed her help, and... why he chose this moment to appear. He could have easily sent a messenger like last time. These were all questions Sylvanas wanted to know, but she didn't know how to begin. Some of her confusion touched upon Nathanos's privacy, while others might involve the interests of the Forsaken. Sylvanas didn't know what kind of ambiguous relationship she had with him in Nathanos's eyes. Several times she tried to speak, but couldn't utter a single word.

"When will we meet again? I think many people will thank you after the war ends." The Female Elf tried to maintain a smile, but the smile vanished the next second.

"No," Nathanos shook his head. "They will only fear me. Because I have no intention of hiding anymore."

The Witherer's expression shifted from a bittersweet relief to astonishment as he watched the Female Elf.

"Thank you, Sylvanas."

The Female Elf blinked.

"Thank you for taking care of my father."

The setting sun looked huge and red. Garrosh Grommash was in a very conspicuous tent. He seemed to be in a good mood. Over a fire, a large piece of zebra loin was skewered on a fork and roasted, the sizzling fat dripping down and emitting a mouthwatering aroma.

"Great Chief." Malkorok burst in. He had no intention of disturbing Garrosh's interest, but he did have something very important to say.

"What's wrong?" Garrosh asked.

"The Tauren and Troll want to see you."

The Orcs, seated on the cushion, picked up a small knife, cut off a piece of glistening roasted meat, and put it in his mouth. Then he downed a large glass of strong liquor. "Now?" Garrosh asked. Malkorok nodded. Grommash grunted and said, "Bring them here."

Soon, the Tauren and Troll who were supposed to see Garrosh arrived before him. The Orcs only recognized the Tauren; he was Dezco, chieftain of the Sunstrider Tribe, a Sunwalker. He had never seen the other Troll Garrosh, before, only knowing that he was Vol'jin's agent.

"You..." he pointed at the Troll, "What's your name?"

"Volas, Chieftain." The Troll, whose eye was covered by an eyepatch, remained unfazed by Grommash. In Garrosh's eyes, he was just as obnoxious as his leader.

"So, what brings you here?"

The Tauren and Troll exchanged glances, looking at each other in bewilderment. Finally, Dezco spoke first, "I speak on behalf of Great Chief Baine Bloodhoof. Grommash, your people await your command. They yearn for war. Chieftain Baine is also concerned about the situation here. To be honest, the calm here is unsettling. He sent us here to tell you frankly and earnestly that you must launch an attack immediately, or the Alliance will have time to prepare their defenses!"

"And Vol'jin, that's what Vol'jin wanted to say too." Volas nodded.

"I thought they really liked the Alliance since Baine and Vol'jin didn't come in person," Garrosh drawled. His dark little eyes were sharp and wary, a stark contrast to his languid demeanor.

"The Tauren's loyalty has always been with the Horde," Dezco said. "You know that, without a doubt."

Garrosh glanced at Volas; the Troll seemed to share the same thoughts as the Tauren.

"Since your respective tribes are loyal to the Horde, you should learn to obey your Great Chief," Garrosh replied. "I'm tired of you constantly questioning me. Tell me what to do and what not to do. If you don't want to listen, just tell me honestly." His cheerful and relaxed demeanor vanished, and the tip of his meat-cutting knife moved incessantly between the Tauren and the Troll.

"We're not questioning," Dezco said cautiously, as if afraid the knife would pierce him. "We're simply stating the advice of our respective leaders. Trust me, their intention is to avoid unnecessary bloodshed. The sooner the battle ends, the less the Horde will suffer."

"Tauren and Troll have always been friends of the Orcs," Volas continued, picking up the thread. "My eyes were blinded in Northrend when we faced the Scourge. Dezco lost his children in the naval battle against the Alliance. Many Troll and Tauren have also sacrificed themselves for the Horde. I'm not seeking your reward, I just want to say that you are the Great Chief of the Horde, but not just the Great Chief of the Orcs." His gaze shifted to Malkorok, standing beside Garrosh. He stood with his arms crossed over his broad grey chest, glaring fiercely at the Tauren and Troll. "You lead all of us, and you need our strength, but we don't understand why you seem to only listen to the Orcs, especially this dark-skinned fellow."

Malkorok took a step forward with a low growl. Garrosh raised a hand, and the Orcs stopped midway. He stood up with a smile. "In that case, go back and tell Vol'jin and Baine that I heard their advice." His gaze was fixed on Volas, then turned to Malkorok, and he ordered in a louder voice, "Go tell the approaching Blood Elf fleet to stay away from Theramore. No Horde ships are allowed on the sea. Have the Blood Elf land at Ratchet and come over by land."

Malkorok grinned, glaring mockingly at the Tauren and Troll.

"What?" Volas exclaimed in disbelief.

"You intend to abandon the attack on Theramore by sea?" Dezco said, his face full of shock.

"Yes," Garrosh said. "I don't intend to do that, or even have the Blood Elf walk here; that would 'waste' several more days." He stood up, walked over to Dezco, and asked in a low, warning tone, "Now you hear me, Tauren. This is my order. Do you have any objections?"

Time seemed to stretch on endlessly, the atmosphere tense and silent. Everyone remained motionless.

"You are the Great Chief of the Horde," Volas said after a long silence. "You have the authority to make the decision."

Before Garrosh could continue mocking them, the Tauren and Troll walked disappointedly toward their camp, the Orcs' shrill laughter echoing behind them.

The atmosphere in Theramore was now resolute and somber. The city's militaristic character was not yet apparent, but it was now out in the open. Inns were no longer places for drinking and conversation around the fire, but rather tents for storing resources, piled high with grain, smoked meat, and barrels of fresh water.

When Jaina heard that the Horde had not yet attacked and that the Seventh Fleet was rapidly approaching, her hope was amplified many times over.

"Sixteen warships in total, bringing not only Stormwind City's best sailors, but also several renowned generals." Jaina seemed relieved from her tone. "Varian also told me he would send as many men as possible. Our chances of winning have increased considerably."

"We are waiting for reinforcements, Garrosh is waiting for them too." Sylvanas's voice broke into the council of mages. More than her appearance, which made everyone's eyes light up, she was more curious about who the woman standing next to Jaina was.

Who is this?

"Fleet Admiral Rogers, captain of the Alliance ship Skyfire," Jaina introduced.

Rogers saluted Sylvanas. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Ranger-General. We are discussing the current situation. The Horde has remained inactive, while our reinforcements are about to appear on the horizon."

"I've heard similar stories countless times," Sylvanas said coldly to Jaina. "I'm sorry, but I had to think things through on my own for a while at this crucial moment. I've sorted out a lot of things. Would you like to hear it, Jaina?"

"Of course, your advice is indispensable." The mage nodded, at the same time wondering why Sylvanas had suddenly become so hesitant.

Sylvanas took a breath; on her way back, she had prepared a whole host of things to say to persuade Jaina.

Tell Jaina that if she doesn't want bloodshed, she'd better accept reality.

Nathanos's words echoed in the Female Elf's mind. Yes, more than victory in war, Jaina hoped that more people could survive. She disliked war; she only wanted to protect the people of Theramore.

"I think...we should reconsider this war." Sylvanas's eyes swept over everyone in the meeting. The curiosity in their eyes gave her the confidence to continue.

Most of Stormwind City's military force had been taken away, and the patrolling soldiers in the city seemed too lax, as everyone's attention was on Kalimdor.

It was late at night, and there was almost no one else around, so Nathanos could kneel peacefully before a tombstone, a beautiful little white flower swaying in his hand. Only a few starlight points to him, and in the dim light, his hand, completely devoid of flesh and blood, is clearly visible.

The tombstone bears the name of a beautiful woman— Tiroya.

After a long while, light footsteps finally approached. The newcomer looked around, and after confirming that no one else was there, walked up behind him.

"He found out. I saw his expression; your brother was shocked."

"Is it shock, or fear?" Beneath the black cloak, the Witherer's rough, grating voice rang out again, echoing around.