Cyclone

"Actually, sometimes I can fill in as a Rogue, too." Just then, Diago heard the Night Elf's voice coming from the air beside him. He turned his head and saw the Druid's cat form gradually materializing out of thin air.

Having returned to humanoid form, Masley took a wooden staff nearly as tall as a man off his back-Diago had always wondered where it went when he turned into a bear. The staff looked ordinary, about as thick as a wrist, with a triangular head that looked rather like the handle of a third-generation entrenching shovel. Diago could sense powerful magical energy within the oak.

"The Moonshadow Staff, a must-have for murder, arson, ambushes, and sapping!" the Night Elf introduced it, looking rather proud. "My teacher rewarded me with it when I became a full-fledged Druid. Supposedly, it was made from a branch cut from the shaded side of Nordrassil, the World Tree."

Diago had some recollection of this staff. He remembered Masley carrying it on his back at Ragefang Camp. Perhaps it had been so inconspicuous that the Orcs hadn't sent it to Grim Batol Fortress, allowing Masley to recover it.

"How many can you sap?" Diago scoffed disdainfully.

"No, I wasn't talking about Sap!" Masley said, somewhat frustrated. "I meant Cyclone!"

Understanding dawned on Diago. He knew this Druid spell. In battle, powerful Druids could summon cyclones to bind their enemies, leaving them unable to move and at anyone's mercy. But Diago remembered that this spell hadn't become widespread among Druids until the Cataclysm era, several years later. The spell wasn't complicated, but it required powerful mana to sustain it.

As a Feral Druid who specialized in close combat rather than a Balance Druid who specialized in spellcasting, Masley lacked the mana to sustain this spell.

"The magical power in this staff can augment my mana and let me do it," the Night Elf said stubbornly.

Eventually, the stubborn Night Elf persuaded Diago. He agreed to let him try, but also insisted that he stop immediately if anything went wrong. They were only twelve Orcs, after all. Killing them all would be difficult, but not impossible.

Masley Bearhide spread his hands and called to the wind in the air. At first, only a portion of the wind elemental spirits answered his summons. A vortex the size of a small bowl began forming on the ground, colored sandy yellow by the dust it stirred up. Diago doubted it could even lift an orange. But more wind elemental spirits began joining in. The Badlands was their domain, and summoning their aid was somewhat easier here.

The vortex grew larger and larger. Diago saw that it was already more than twice a man's height and could now be called a tornado. Some grains of grit as large as soybeans were swept into it, though others were flung out of the vortex. A few struck Diago's face, stinging faintly.

Under Masley's control, the cyclone slowly moved into the mountain path. But it didn't draw the Orcs' attention. Frankly, wind was perfectly normal in the Badlands. A whole month without wind would have been something worth finding strange. As people would have put it before Diago transmigrated, in the Badlands, "the wind doesn't blow for half a month, but once it starts, it blows for half a month."

The wind grew stronger. The Orcs stirred uneasily, finally realizing something was wrong-not because the wind had come strangely, but because the funnel, now thicker than a person, was slowly moving toward them.

By then, however, it was already a little late. The dust stirred up by the cyclone blotted out the sky, turning everything a hazy gray. It rather reminded Diago of a dust storm hitting the capital before his transmigration.

It was time. Masley nodded at Diago without speaking, because he had to concentrate on controlling the spell. But Diago understood his meaning perfectly. The hunter pulled his cloak over his head and crawled forward along the rock wall.

Although his camouflage wasn't as effective as Khanifa's Stealth, and a vague outline was still visible, it was good enough for the present conditions.

In the middle of the mountain path, the Orcs scattered for cover. But the path was too narrow. The tornado had grown to three meters across, blocking most of it. The panicked Orcs dodged in every direction, and one almost stepped on Diago's hand.

Eventually, an Orc who couldn't dodge in time was swept up, along with the campfire. But the wind was so strong that the burning firewood went out before it could burn him. What inflicted serious injuries on the Orc wasn't the fire, however, but the wood itself. After several rapid, heavy thuds of wood striking flesh, the terrified Orc's screams quickly ceased.

This left the Night Elf feeling a little guilty, but he was busy controlling the cyclone to keep it from sweeping up the hunter and his pet as they passed through the disordered Orcs. The guilt vanished from his heart in less than a second.

The cyclone kept growing, carrying the Orc inside it higher and higher. From Masley's angle, he lined up perfectly with the White Lady hanging high in the night sky, looking rather as though he were flying to the moon.

Masley struggled to hold on, feeling himself nearly drained dry. This spell, which only powerful Druids could cast, consumed far too much of his energy. For a moment, he thought he couldn't hold out any longer, but a surge of natural energy brimming with vitality poured from within the staff. It wasn't powerful, but it was rich and gentle, enough to sustain him for another three seconds.

Masley bravely maintained the spell. Those three seconds felt as long as three years as he watched his friend and his pet pass through the panicked Orcs and disappear into the distance.

Panting heavily, he ended the spell and used the last drop of mana in his body to cast a shapeshifting spell. A few seconds later, a huge black panther appeared on the mountain path, then vanished silently into the night.

The uncontrolled cyclone finally dispersed, but the dust floating in the air didn't settle immediately. The Orcs coughed and called out to one another. It seemed they had suffered no unexpected casualties, apart from the Orc who had been swept up-he had been knocked unconscious by the firewood, then broken his leg upon landing.

They suspected nothing. For people in the Badlands, this wind was child's play. A true Orc warrior shouldn't make a fuss over such a trivial matter.

At the other end of the mountain path, Diago crawled slowly along the ground, gripping his cloak tightly with one hand to keep it from blowing away, though he no longer needed it-the Orcs were already more than thirty meters behind them, far enough to be safe in the dim night. Out of caution, however, he still didn't lift the cloak off himself.

Just then, he felt himself bump into something furry. He knew it was Khanifa. The big cat was still in Stealth. Through the bond between their souls, he sensed that Khanifa was somewhat tense.

"Why have you stopped?" Curious, he lifted a corner of his cloak and looked ahead.

Diago saw a leather strap tied to a wooden stake beside the rock wall, its other end fastened to a gray Worg. The beast was now scanning its surroundings warily, its black nose twitching constantly as it sniffed the air.

The Worg looked their way in confusion, but what it saw was clearly the exact opposite of what it smelled. There was nothing there but air.

"Why is there one of those here?" Diago nearly broke down. What an unbelievable twist.

What scared him out of his wits was that, the next moment, the Worg raised its head and let out a long howl. This Worg was a creature of action through and through: the instant it sensed something suspicious, it chose to alert its master. Now, not only the twelve Orc guards but even Kargath Camp erupted into commotion.

"What's going on?" he heard the Night Elf say in his ear.

"Run, brother!" Diago offered Masley no explanation. He abruptly threw back his hood, scrambled to his feet, and shouted.

With that wild cry, Diago suddenly appeared in the Orcs' sight and took off at a dead sprint. He kicked aside the Worg as it lunged at him, sending it tumbling to the ground with a whimper. With Cheetah Aspect activated, the human hunter ran at astonishing speed, tearing along like the wind with dust billowing behind him, cutting quite a dashing figure.

Behind him, the utterly dumbfounded Orc sentries took a long time to react.

Note: Those unfamiliar with Azeroth will find it difficult to untangle the complex relationships between factions, races, and their branches-this world is simply too vast, and those backstories alone could fill a book. So I've decided to compile the stories that took place in this land from the birth of the world up until Diago Asnar arrived in Azeroth, as officially published by Blizzard, and put them in the related works section. Feel free to take a look. They aren't dry background settings, but engaging, interesting stories.

Readers are welcome to visit and read-the newest, fastest-updating, and hottest serialized works are all here!