The End

Time seemed to stand still as the fragments of the legendary sword fell to the ground. The Dwarf Charge horns echoed across the battlefield, and Nathanos, Alleria, and Turalyon felt their breath catch in their throats. They witnessed the moment, yet could not stop what was about to happen—the Doomhammer's strike became unstoppable, crashing heavily against Lothar's damaged breastplate with a shattering sound. The Lion of Azeroth tilted, but he swung his broken sword downwards, plunging the nicked dagger into the Doomhammer's chest before the hilt could slip from his grasp. In the ensuing silence, the battle ceased. The Alliance leader lay on the ground, his body convulsing, his life slipping away. Nothing could alleviate the pain in his chest; he felt as if his internal organs had been shattered.

Doomhammer staggered forward a step, raised one hand to press against his wound, blood gushing from between his fingers, but he still struggled to stand up straight, raising the warhammer high with his other hand, wanting more people to see it.

"I have won!" he said hoarsely, swaying and coughing up blood, but this did not change the outcome in his heart. "All the enemies of the Horde will die! Until your world belongs to us!"

"No!" Turalyon roared, shoving aside all those blocking his path, and knelt beside the Alliance leader, his spiritual mentor, his commander. Then, his gaze fell upon the Orcs, who was much taller than him, and who was also staring at him.

He suddenly understood. For months, Turalyon had been struggling with his faith, and the question that had been troubling him was: the Holy Light connects all living beings, but how does it encompass such a loathsome and cruel creature as the Orcs? Unable to grasp these two points, he began to doubt himself and the teachings of the Church, and could only watch with envy as Uther and the other Paladin enthusiastically bestowed blessings and used the Holy Light on the battlefield, knowing that he was no match for them.

But what the Orcs had just said, about the "Doomhammer," touched some of Turalyon's subconscious, and he began to try to recall, "Until your world belongs to us."

That's the answer to the question.

He remembered the Dark Portal, which Khadgar had told them about during their first meeting, and which had been mentioned several times when discussing the Orcs threat. But it had never been truly taken seriously. Until now. The Orcs did not belong to this world. To this planet, to this vibrant world, they were invaders. They came from elsewhere, empowered by demons from even more distant lands.

The Holy Light does indeed bless all life, all life in this world. But this does not include the Orcs who do not belong here.

He now understands clearly that he bears the responsibility of upholding the Holy Light and using its dazzling glory to cleanse the world from external pollution and keep it pure.

Orcs don't belong here. That means he can take them down without feeling guilty.

"In the name of the Holy Light, your days here are over!" he shouted, rising to his feet. A blinding the Holy Light quickly enveloped him, causing all the Orcs and humans to turn and shield their eyes. Nathanos, who had just arrived on the battlefield, also felt a sharp pain.

"You do not belong to this world, nor to the Holy Light. You do not belong here! Get out!"

Orgrim's face contorted, and he took a step back, covering his eyes with his hands. Taking advantage of this opportunity, Turalyon crouched down beside Lothar once more.

"May the Holy Light be with you, my friend," he whispered, placing his hand on Lothar's chest. His tears fell, mingling with Lothar's blood. "You will enter an eternal paradise, where the Holy Light welcomes you into its embrace."

Turalyon rose again, one hand holding the broken Quel'Zaram. "As for you, you filthy creature," he roared, turning furiously towards the unstoppable Doomhammer. "You will pay for the sins you have committed in this world!"

Doomhammer picked up his warhammer and swung it, preparing to parry the impending blow. But Turalyon gripped the hilt of his sword with both hands, and bathed in dazzling the Holy Light, slammed the broken Greatsword down heavily onto the warhammer's shaft. The impact traveled to the hilt, knocking the warhammer from its master's grasp, where it fell limply to the side. When Doomhammer realized what had happened, he closed his eyes, awaiting the Greatsword's descent.

But at the last moment, Turalyon spun his sword, striking the Orcs with the side instead of the blade. Doomhammer was forced to his knees, collapsing beside Lothar.

"You will be judged for your crimes," he said to the unconscious Orcs, the Holy Light still surrounding him. "You will stand in the Capital City in chains, and when the leaders of the Alliance decide your fate, you will realize your utter defeat."

Then he turned around and looked up at the other stunned Orcs.

"You will not be so lucky." Turalyon chanted a prayer, pointing his broken sword at them, the Holy Light shooting from the blade and forming a new edge. "You will die here, and this world will be freed from war!" He leaped forward, the sword beginning to dance, severing the throat of the first Orcs before he could react, blood spurting from the wound.

This broke the temporary silence on the battlefield, and the other Orcs and humans resumed their fight. Uther and the other Silver Hand charged to the front lines once more. As he charged into the assembled Orcs, he saw a familiar figure, wielding a sharp longsword and felling Orcs after orc, until finally the two stood back to back.

"You have brought victory, my child," Uther said to Nathanos. With the addition of the Bronzebeard Dwarves, the tide of battle was turning in their favor.

"Lothar brought victory." Nathanos looked at the Alliance commander lying quietly on the ground not far away; his bravery would inspire everyone.

Uther nodded, but he was also happy for Nathanos; at least Nathanos had learned to acknowledge others.

The Alliance forces then launched Charge, and the battle unfolded with remarkable speed. Many Orcs witnessed Doomhammer's defeat; his fall plunged Orcs into panic, Orcs fled, and others dropped their weapons and surrendered. They were all imprisoned. Although Turalyon declared he would kill them all, he found himself unable to do so; killing helpless prisoners was inhumane, regardless of their past actions. Of course, many Orcs persisted in fighting, but lacking organization and disoriented, they were no match for the resolute and unwavering Alliance Warrior.

"Many Orcs are fleeing across the Redridge Mountains," Khadgar reported an hour after the battle ended, the valley now quiet again. "They are heading towards the Dark Portal."

"Very good," Turalyon replied. He tore a tattered strip of cloth from his cloak, tied it around his waist as a belt, and then hung Lothar's broken sword on it. "Regroup and pursue them, but not too quickly. We're not trying to catch them."

"Why not capture them?"

Hearing Khadgar's question, Turalyon turned to his friend, reminding himself once again that the mage's talents did not include strategy. "Where is the source of all problems— the Dark Portal?"

Khadgar shrugged. "We don't know yet," he admitted. "In the swamps near the Redridge Mountains."

"Now that the Horde is suffering repeated defeats, where should the survivors go?"

The aged-looking monk smiled. "Escape back to their world."

"Yes." Turalyon cut to the chase. "And we will follow them back to that door and destroy it once and for all."

Blackrock Spire fell without a fight as the war ended, and Alliance soldiers were escorting surrendered Orcs. Nathanos sat on a small hillside, wiping his blood-stained longsword, and noticed that Alleria's Farstrider troops weren't doing what everyone else was doing. Instead, several Elf and humans were embroiled in conflict. Judging from their lip movements, the dispute stemmed from the question of how to deal with the Orcs. The Elf believed they should be Orcs, while the humans insisted on following Turalyon's orders. Then the topic shifted, and Lor'themar, an Elf arguing with a Paladin, sparked another debate—who should now lead the Alliance?

"Aside from the captured Orcs, there are no other enemies here." Without realizing it, Uther walked over to Nathanos and sat down.

"I just saw you go to the Turalyon tent. Were you there to congratulate the deputy commander on officially becoming the commander?"

Uther remained silent, which was taken as tacit agreement, his eyes fixed on the towering Blackrock Mountain.

"If you wish, you can send a knight swiftly back to Lordaeron to inquire with King Terenas and the other Alliance King who should assume the command," Nathanos added, though he knew Uther would certainly not agree. That would spark a new round of arguments. He remembered how, when Lothar was appointed Alliance Commander-in-Chief, every Alliance King harbored their own ulterior motives. Now that the war was nearing its end, the Horde's defeat was only a matter of time, and the King were now more concerned with what their kingdoms could gain from this war.

"There's no need," Uther said, feigning indifference as Nathanos had expected. "Turalyon was Lothar's second-in-command and second-in-command. When we split into two forces, Turalyon commanded half the troops. Now that Lothar has unfortunately fallen, Turalyon is the only candidate for commander. It makes sense." He said, but the man beside him sneered. Uther turned to look at him. Did he disagree?

"Don't misunderstand," Nathanos noticed Uther's eyes and explained, "What you're saying is true, but look down here." He pointed to the arguing Elf and humans. Uther frowned, understanding Nathanos's meaning. Alleria was the first Elf to join the Alliance, and she only helped them because of Elf promise the elves had made to the Arathi. But now it was different; the Orcs' actions in Quel'Thalas had filled her with hatred for the Horde. She had sworn to make the Horde pay, and she might even think all Orcs should be exterminated.

"I just saw Alleria go to Turalyon when I left, and I'm afraid..." Uther began to worry. Nathanos understood what he meant—the two were probably having a heated argument, which could even involve command.

"If it were you, who would you support?"

"Hmm?" Nathanos looked at Uther in confusion, not expecting him to ask such a question.

"I support both, yet I don't support either."

Uther chuckled twice. The answer was clearly contradictory, but he was still looking forward to Nathanos's detailed explanation.

"From Turalyon's perspective, he's right. Killing prisoners is questionable, especially for a Paladin, but I doubt his next decision." Nathanos saw some soldiers packing their belongings and continued, "Now would indeed be the best time to attack the Dark Portal, but we must leave a portion of the army to guard these surrendered Orcs."

"That would scatter our forces. Turalyon should realize that there are just as many Orcs around the Dark Portal as here, right?"

Nathanos nodded, but he was surprised to find that his words seemed to indirectly support Alleria's idea. If the surrendered Orcs were executed, it seemed that the problem of the Alliance being unable to concentrate its full strength to attack the Dark Portal would not exist. Moreover, Turalyon would gain the support of the Elf if he did so. When Nathanos turned to look at Uther, the other man was looking at him with a half-smile.

"I disagree with executing Orcs, but I also disagree with Turalyon's strategy."

"You disagree with the attack?"

"No! What I mean is..." Nathanos started to say, he wanted to say that if it were him, he would simply send the Alliance cavalry and Gryphon Rider to the Dark Portal, feigning an attack to force the Orcs to retreat to Dark Portal other side, and then destroy the portal. The Horde had already lost; their only way out was to return to their original world. This might work, but Nathanos didn't say it aloud. "It's nothing, let them decide what to do next." He stood up and walked towards Turalyon's tent.