Naval Battle

There was no one specifically guarding the Horde where the Horde's ships were docked in Southshore. Orgrim believed there were no other humans around the coast, but his initial confidence allowed Gul'dan to escape with ease.

Nathanos stood on the shore. The footprints of the Horde army were still on the beach. The ships that once anchored here seemed to completely cover the Great Sea, but now, apart from some abandoned small transport ships, no other sails could be seen.

"That was fast!" Nathanos sneered as he opened a carelessly discarded wooden crate containing damp bandages that had clearly not been used.

"Strange?" Nathanos opened several more such supply crates, filled with various kinds of provisions. What was even stranger was that most of these crates were concentrated near the sea, with several floating on the surface, some trampled over. Were these not left behind, but thrown overboard from the ships? Nathanos was filled with questions. It was understandable if the Horde couldn't transport supplies during a retreat, but why throw things off the ships?

"Was it to lighten the load on the ship and sail faster? But what was the point?" He observed his surroundings; the Orcs were moving in a hurry. Why were they in such a rush? Nathanos wondered. He seemed to recall Lothar mentioning that a portion of the Orcs had split up and headed towards the sea. This was why Nathanos was here—he wanted to find out why the Horde had retreated.

"If you're going to retreat, why split your forces into two groups? Aren't you afraid of being defeated one by one?" Nathanos shook his head. He believed Orgrim would have figured this out, but it seemed the Horde's Great Chief was determined to go his own way. "Perhaps the Horde army that set off from the coast isn't retreating, but rather on some mission." He nodded, thinking this was the most likely explanation, and that their mission was probably related to the Horde's retreat.

"Well, the Horde's retreat is a good thing, but the problem is they haven't failed yet. If..." Nathanos was muttering to himself when a sudden gust of wind blew from behind. He turned around and looked up to see a Red Dragon, no smaller than Christalyssa, fly overhead and drop something onto the beach. Nathanos immediately hid inside an abandoned transport ship. Clearly, the Red Dragon hadn't seen him, and Nathanos noticed there were no Orcs behind him.

"Strange! How come there's Red Dragon here?" He stepped out of the ship, and the sudden turn of events vanished immediately, leaving him only with questions.

"What is this?" Nathanos walked over to the object that had fallen from the Red Dragon's body; some red liquid had already soaked the beach.

"Blood?" Nathanos sniffed the air; the pungent smell was very strong. The dragon was injured; no wonder it had flown so low and moved so slowly and stiffly. "It looks badly injured, but why did it fly towards the sea? If it's exhausted..." Nathanos seemed to have a premonition of the dragon's fate. He shook his head, turned, and left. There was nothing more to his attention here.

On the other side, the Broken Isles

Things seemed to have developed in a way that exceeded Rend and Maim's expectations.

"No," Maim said softly, roughly bandaging his still-bleeding wound with a linen cloth. "We must catch up with Gul'dan!" Though his wounds made him stagger, and one leg was still wrapped in a rough bandage.

"There's no need for that," his brother said. "These... creatures have taken care of them for us." As he spoke, some strange things appeared before them, creatures with numerous tentacles and joints, covered with many sharp teeth. They suddenly emerged from the ground, hungryly tearing at the bodies of those attacked. Some Orcs were already paralyzed with fear by their terrifying gazes.

These creatures had emerged from the temple, and although Rend was a Warrior, he could sense the faint magic within. His intuition told him that this power originated from the dilapidated yet strange building before him; it was incredibly powerful, unimaginably evil, and filled with hatred, directly impacting all living beings. Under this power, only these monsters survived.

At that moment, the ground beneath their feet trembled, and a deafening echo reverberated from within the temple. A deep, low laugh erupted from within, accompanied by a foul, putrid stench, and something else entirely. This sent chills down Rend's spine. Although he couldn't see anything, he clearly sensed something evil surging from this incredible place, beginning to crack and ultimately vanish in the sunlight. The low rumble continued, the ground trembled, the rocks beneath their feet cracked, and the entire island seemed to be splitting apart.

"Gul'dan can't possibly survive!" Rend steadied himself. "That traitor must have alerted something terrible. Whatever Gul'dan's purpose in coming here, only his death awaits him." Rend only hoped that Gul'dan's death would be slow and painful, and indeed it was.

"So, what should we do now?" Maim asked as they turned to leave the temple.

"We must return to Doomhammer," Rend said to him. "We still have battles to fight, but at least for now we don't have to worry about traitors undermining our forces from within. If anyone dares to do so, we'll make them pay the price." The two brothers walked toward the shore, where the ship was already waiting.

Is everything ready?

"Everything is ready, sir."

Daelin Proudmoore nodded, his gaze fixed on the starboard side of the ship. "Good, well arranged. We can attack them quickly once they're within range!"

"Yes, sir." Daelin's personal bodyguard Cyrus, saluted him and walked to the large bronze bell beside the wheelhouse, striking it twice. After the bell rang, the sounds of people running, ropes sliding, and objects falling mingled together as everyone quickly rushed to their posts. Daelin smiled; he liked this orderly arrangement, and all his men knew it, especially since they had a battle to fight today.

The admiral turned his attention back to the sea ahead, observing the sky and waves. He continued to raise his binoculars and look into the distance, searching for the small black dots he had just spotted. They were over there, and had grown significantly larger. Some of them were already visible. He was certain they would be even clearer from the watchtower. He estimated that in another ten minutes, the shapes of ships would be discernible from these shadows.

The Orcs' ships, or more precisely, the Orcs' fleet.

Daelin punched the hardwood railing, the only way he could vent his excitement. He had been waiting for this opportunity since the war began, and finally! When he heard the news of the great victory in Lordaeron and that the Horde had set off south, he was so excited that he almost jumped for joy. When the Orcs had reached the Great Sea, he immediately ordered the Kul Tiras naval fleet to be deployed to intercept them.

The sentry also told him that the Orcs had split into two groups. The first fleet quickly sailed into the sea, while the second hurriedly gave chase, and the two sides began to fight. Could there be a traitor among the Orcs? Daelin didn't know, nor did he care. What they did didn't matter to him; he only cared when they would turn back and cross the Great Sea again, returning to Lordaeron.

This will put them in their own pockets.

Now he could see the enemy ships without binoculars. The Orcs ships had no sails; they moved using rows of oars. They were fast, of course, but their maneuverability was sluggish. Although Daelin didn't intend to boast, his ships could easily surround them. Naval warfare was a perilous task, Proudmoore wanted to bury the Orcs fleet to the bottom of the sea as soon as possible.

He is now anchored behind some islands, northeast of Kul Tiras, with his entire fleet behind him, awaiting the Orcs to enter his encirclement.

They've arrived.

"Fire!" Proudmoore shouted as the enemy ships entered firing range. They were lying in ambush between the two islands, their sails lowered and lights extinguished, giving the Orcs no indication of anything amiss. As a result, the first volley of bombardment caught the Orcs completely off guard, and most of the ships were severely damaged in the middle, breaking in two and sinking immediately.

"Raise the sails! Attack!" At Daelin's second command, the ship sailed forward at full speed, cutting through the waves. He knew that the gunners had finished reloading, and the other sailors were also preparing gunpowder barrels and crossbows.

"Attack that enemy ship next to us!" Proudmoore ordered. The crew nodded and threw gunpowder barrels onto the enemy ship. They also lit crossbow bolts wrapped in oil-soaked rags and fired them, igniting one of the gunpowder barrels. The fire spread across the deck instantly, causing the other gunpowder barrels to explode one after another. Soon, the flames engulfed the entire ship, and the thick wooden planks coated with tar were reduced to ashes.

Everything was going as Proudmoore had anticipated. These Orcs were not sailors and knew nothing of naval warfare. However, Orcs excelled at close combat, and it would be dangerous if they approached and boarded his ships. Nevertheless, he had ordered all ships to maintain distance from the enemy. Meanwhile, his second fleet attacked from the flanks, the third fleet turned to intercept enemy ships that slipped through the lines, and the fourth fleet was closing in from the south to form an encirclement. Soon, the Orcs fleet would be trapped in the middle and attacked from all directions. The Horde had already lost three ships, and a rare smile appeared on Proudmoore's face. Soon, Orcs here would be wiped out. And Kul Tiras would be victorious.