The Everbloom's arena had not been this lively in a long time. More unbelievably, half the spectators were Orcs. The two most eye-catching figures among them were Grommash and Kargath.
The Iron Horde's Great Chief had thick hair flowing in the wind, beastlike muscles, a jet-black beard, and gleaming tusks protruding from his mouth. While he sat silent and composed, the Shattered Hand Clan warlord beside him had long since joined the shouting crowd. Had the Great Chief not been present, he might have already leaped from the stands and begun fighting in the arena. Amid the cheers, Kargath deliberately raised his severed hand, commemorating his past achievements. Undefeated in the arena, he had practically turned this place into his own territory.
The Everbloom had received a group of challengers. In the past, it had always been slaves raised by the slave masters fighting one another, but today was different. The Azerothian Alliance, a hostile force, had barged in and demanded to test themselves against the Everbloom's Gladiators.
Even Ogres knew that a contest in the arena was sacred. Even if the visitors were enemies, the rules could not be broken. Warlord Margok agreed to the duel request and even specifically invited members of the Iron Horde to attend.
As the lift rose, the small, unremarkable challengers came into Grommash's view. Before he could make out each of their faces, the two idiot Ogre commentators at the announcers' platform began mocking them. They called this group of calamities from Nagrand frail as twigs, like a pile of Thunder Elephant dung.
Grommash turned his gaze back to the invaders. It was this group that had caused the Iron Horde to suffer defeat after defeat on the front lines. He understood now. Malkorok wanted to use this chance to humiliate him. The