Tracking

In the worst-case scenario, they are invaders, plotting something sinister. If that's the case, Oslo vows he won't let them leave alive.

For over a decade, Redridge Mountains had been under constant threat from the Orcs. Oslo had learned the Orcs language, so he could understand the conversation between the uninvited guests. However, being quite far away, Oslo, huddled behind a tree in the distance, only caught a few words.

The meaning sounds strange. One person is saying to proceed as planned, another mentions "the Forsaken," and then "Alliance dogs," a term Orcs use to insult the Alliance.

Then, Oslo heard a complete sentence. "They must be made to fight, and then the Horde will help the Forsaken."

Someone asked a question, Oslo only caught the word "terrorist attack." The person who had spoken first replied, "Because that would make them the chief's war machine."

To get a better look at the three men, Oslo cautiously peeked out. Contrary to his expectations, he only saw two Orcs with their backs to him, and they weren't dark-skinned. They were about the same size. However, the sharp-eyed Oslo noticed that the armor of the two closest to him was familiar; he had bought a book about the Horde from a street vendor's stall in Stormwind City.

In an instant, Oslo felt his blood run cold. He recognized the armor of those two men— Kor'kron, the Horde's elite guards, the Great Chief's personal guard.

But now, the Orcs soldiers who should have been in Orgrimmar are here, arrogantly shouting that they want to launch a terrorist attack.

Seeing this, Oslo was filled with rage and wanted to rush up and kill those three guys, but he immediately dismissed the idea. Without a doubt, none of those three were someone he could handle, let alone one against three.

Unfortunately, one of the Orcs was blocked by the other Orcs. Oslo couldn't see his face clearly, so he decided to leave temporarily and report the matter to the mayor.

But suddenly the two Orcs who had their backs to him turned around and shouted at the tree where he was hiding:

"It's human!"

"We've been discovered!"

"Kill him!"

The third sentence came from the Orcs in the blind spot. Oslo was shocked; he couldn't understand how he had been discovered. But now was not the time to think about that. Having missed his chance to hide, the human took off running, running with all his might, because although Orcs were much bulkier than humans, they were not slow, let alone Kor'kron.

Oslo sensed that the Orcs behind him weren't chasing him. He turned around and saw the two men standing there watching him, while another Orcs emerged from between them. Now he knew why he had been exposed. It was an Orcs assassin wearing a black mask, skilled in counter-surveillance.

The Orcs held a dagger in his hand and casually swung it...

Oslo felt his chest heaving violently. His initial frantic run gradually turned into a staggering gait. His strength was rapidly draining away; to be precise, the injury on his back was slowly draining his strength, and even each breath became a struggle.

But he was still trying to escape.

In a daze, he felt his consciousness beginning to fade, but he couldn't afford to be distracted. He had to run back to Lakeshire and tell his people everything that had just happened. Even injured, he controlled his steps; he was determined to escape. If he ran far enough, he would encounter the patrolling guards of Lakeshire.

That's what he hoped for.

At this moment, Oslo's mind was blank. He cleared his mind of all distractions, focusing solely on taking steps, stretching out one leg after another. The wound on his back gradually numbed his sense of pain; he didn't even realize that his back had become fused with his clothes, nor that the exhaustion from overexertion was numbing his limbs.

He is still at large.

He stumbled, his left leg too weak to lift, and his right leg lost its balance as he took a step forward, finally crashing heavily to the ground. The dirt and pebbles stung his face and nose mercilessly.

"You can really run, human." Oslo heard voices and the sound of Orcs footsteps, then felt a heavy weight on his head as a foot pressed him firmly to the ground.

"We were just looking for a human body, a fresh one, and you delivered it right to our doorstep. Very good."

Oslo struggled with all his might, despair gradually engulfing him. He seemed to smell death, the stench of rotting corpses. Before his eyes closed, he saw the body Undead an Undead placed before him, draped in a blue skull robe. Then, a bloodstained dagger was shoved into his hand.

The Orcs stepping on him laughed wildly. "For Grommash!"

The other two Orcs shouted in agreement, "For the Horde!"

An hour after interrogating Harkel, Marla and her two companions headed to Razor Ridge. This place was once the territory of the Wildkin, but now belongs to the Forsaken. The protruding rocks and dense black thorns scattered throughout form a natural defensive barrier, making Razor Ridge a forward outpost for Maraudon's main base.

Marla's plan was simple: the three of them would split up, ask the people here for useful information, and then meet up in an open area outside Razor Ridge.

Compared to the navy of Tatsel, the Forsaken of Razor Ridge were much more cooperative. They kept inquiring until Dusk.

Cleya spoke first, "It seems we're too late. The people here say it's too late to go out to sea now; the waves have basically washed away all traces of the battle on the Witherer."

"It's quite obvious that the Forsaken Razor Ridge later sent out to search for clues also came up empty-handed," Calila added. "Those guys were of no help whatsoever, and they all looked completely clueless when it came to the fog."

Marla nodded; she was in charge of finding out if there had been any recent reports of the Alliance on Kalimdor. "It's not their fault. When you encounter dense fog at sea, you can't even determine your direction, let alone look for clues."

"So what did you discover?"

"I have already questioned the intelligence chief here, as well as the adventurers and the Goblins who like to do business in Ratchet, and they all say that they have not found any trace of the Alliance."

"This shouldn't be the case," Calila said in a low, authoritative tone. "The Alliance ships that attacked the Witherer have no chance of returning to the Eastern Kingdoms without stopping to resupply. But the problem is, Theramore is no longer in Kalimdor, and the Northwatch Hold has long since fallen. Where else can they dock?"

"Then there's only one possibility: they've gone into hiding."

Cleya and Calila both cast questioning glances at Marla.

"Hide? Where could they hide? The north is the Horde, and the south is us. Where could they possibly hide?"

"There are always corners we overlook. But since they have a boat, they must be able to stay close to the coast. We can search along this line."

"It sounds like finding a needle in a haystack," Calila chuckled.

Cleya nodded. "I agree. We have no other choice. Veronalara is waiting for our answer."

When Frederick reappeared in Maraudon's underground tavern, the Death Killer Alaric Hawkins had already been lurking in the shadowy corner for an hour.

Following instructions from Belmont, leader of the Shadowblade, Alaric was ordered to investigate rumors that had recently begun to circulate among the Forsaken. The growing discontent among the Forsaken towards the Alliance was anything but normal. Belmont suspected someone was behind it all.

Alaric heard that similar disputes often occurred in the taverns of Megnos, so he inquired in Megnos and learned that a stranger Frederick Federic always steered the conversation toward the conflict between the Forsaken and the Alliance.

Megnos wasn't good at describing people's appearances; the only description he could muster was "he was whole," but a third of the Forsaken could fit that description. The tavern owner confidently assured him that if Frederick reappeared, he would recognize him immediately.

Alaric arrived early. To avoid drawing attention to himself, he deliberately chose a seat tucked away in a corner, hoping to blend into the tavern and discreetly observe the people drinking and chatting. Speaking of which, Megnos's tavern was truly excellent: the tables were clean and tidy, the benches were neatly arranged, and there wasn't a speck of trash on the floor. Of course, the beer was also very good— Dwarf morning wheat beer, pungent and flavorful. He resisted the urge to ask for a refill. This way, he could maintain his inconspicuousness.

The group of people in the tavern were dressed very casually, mostly in sleeveless shirts and loose cotton trousers, as if they had come here to relax after a hard day's work. But the Forsaken did not feel tired at all.

When a few more guests walked in, Megnos shouted, "Find a table, guys, if you want wine, pay up!"

"What, are you buying yourself a coffin?" one of the Forsaken asked with a grin.

"You'd better apologize to me, or your drinks will be doubled," Megnos greeted them with a laugh. Alaric noticed that everyone's attention was on him, which was good.

While mixing drinks, Megnos turned to look at a stranger at a table in the tavern. This man had arrived later than the previous Forsaken, yet he was already drinking his second glass of wine. The owner nodded to Alaric, who was sitting in the corner.

That's Frederick?

Alaric turned his head to look, watching the other person cautiously and warily.

He was indeed perfectly intact; there wasn't even a trace of repair on his body. Was this a corpse?

At this moment, Alaric gave the tavern owner a wink, signaling him to cooperate. Megnos then put down his already cleaned glass and waved to Frederick, saying, "Oh, you're here again? Planning to condemn humans or Dwarf today?"

"I don't understand what you're talking about." Frederick was clearly taken aback by this remark. He got up from his seat and walked briskly toward the door.

Alaric finished the last of his drink, stepped out of the tavern, and saw Frederick frantically disappear into the tunnels of Maraudon. Turning back to make sure Frederick had no accomplices covering his retreat, he was about to follow when he inadvertently caught sight of the Frost Wyrm skull hanging at the tavern entrance. The hollow eyes within the skull unsettled Alaric; it seemed as if it had been watching him the entire time. But then he thought, it was precisely this unsettling and oppressive atmosphere that made the pursuit more thrilling.

After years of reconstruction, Maraudon's once muddy roads have been completely transformed, and every tunnel has been repaired into a solid surface. Because of the large number of travelers, the spacious tunnels often harbor Forsaken, providing Alaric with excellent cover, eliminating any worry about being tracked or discovered.

Throughout the journey, Frederick moved swiftly, weaving through the crowd of Forsaken. It was as if he knew someone was following him. But Alaric was convinced he hadn't been exposed, Frederick's flustered behavior was merely a result of Megnos's words that had unsettled him.

Belmont to send him to investigate was wise; known as the Death Killer, he possessed exceptional reconnaissance skills. He avoided peeking out and maintained a constant distance from the target, keeping Frederick always within his sight.

Before long, he found himself at the gates of Maraudon.

Is this guy trying to escape?

Once outside the underground world, Frederick became noticeably more cautious than before, glancing back several times. Fortunately, Alaric was quick enough to hide and avoid being discovered.

Finally, the Undead, its features intact, entered a low, mud-brick hut. Only guards usually come to the fortress outside Maraudon. Because the Forsaken's skin cannot withstand the Wailing Caverns winds and sands of Desolace, the guards' shifts change frequently.

And Frederick arrived at the cabin precisely at that moment. Alaric grew increasingly suspicious, and he slowly approached, the faint light of a hanging lamp flickering inside the cabin.

No movement? Alaric was somewhat surprised; he was afraid that Frederick might know some kind of teleportation magic.

The Death Killer pushed open the door of the cabin, looked around, and found no one inside!

"Frederick?"

"I really have to thank you for following me."

"How could this be..." He quickly turned around and saw the Undead appear inexplicably behind him.

"I just happen to lack a more useful shell." Frederick's hand suddenly unleashed a surge of dark energy that struck Alaric.

Suddenly, Alaric was horrified to find that something was blocking his throat. Every bone in his body began to tremble. Something was pressing down on him. He tried to scream, but no sound came out.

"I don't have time to play the tracking game anymore. Your mission ends here."