Raid

Perhaps he had been shocked too many times already, but Diago Asnar, a homebody, had little reaction to the bloody scene before him. He tore a relatively clean scrap of canvas from the blood-soaked tent and wiped the blood off the axe handle. The handle was soaked through with blood and so slippery that he could not even grip it firmly without wiping it down.

As he walked, he clumsily swung the battle-axe, trying to get used to the weapon. It was somewhat heavy, but with his greatly increased strength, Diago could just about swing it. More importantly, he felt as though he knew how to use it, as if that knowledge came from this body's instincts. It was a strange feeling. Before crossing over, he had been a homebody who had never even chopped firewood with an axe, let alone fought with one.

But as his body grew accustomed to it, Diago felt increasingly able to control the weapon. Before long, he could swing the axe with a whistling rush of air, as though he had only briefly forgotten the technique and it had now returned to his body. Before they reached the Orc camp, he could even cross his hands and twirl the axe a few times. His progress surprised even the Druid bear, who looked back more than once to study the human fellow prisoner he now saw in a new light.

The man and bear stopped about fifty meters from the camp. Any closer and the crowd would easily spot them, even though the Orcs had not deliberately posted sentries in this direction.

"Stay behind me and watch!" The huge bear turned back and spoke to Diago in a deep, muffled voice. Then he charged. No plan, no tactics, and no escape route arranged-he simply went bounding forward, entirely on a whim.

"Only blood can wash away this shame!" the Night Elf shouted. The huge bear he had become roared and lunged toward the thickest part of the crowd. A roaring bonfire burned there, but unlike real beasts, this bear did not fear fire.

The Orcs in the bear's path were sent flying in all directions, their bones and sinews shattered by the impact. Before they could work out what was happening, the bear was already in the middle of the clearing. He reared onto his hind legs and swept a paw across the piled, blazing firewood. Burning logs shot in every direction like fiery meteors, instantly causing even greater chaos.

The camp erupted into a panicked stampede. Scattered firewood set many tents ablaze, and the shrill screams of wounded Orcs rose everywhere. Mixed with the savage beast's roars, those screams terrified the panic-stricken Orcs even further. They did not know whether this was a chance attack or a planned assault. Many stared fearfully into the darkness surrounding the camp, afraid that several more beasts just as ferocious might spring out.

At the edge of the camp, Diago leaped out of the shadows behind a tent and hacked down an Orc running past. This was not the first Orc to fall beneath his axe. While the Druid rampaged through the camp, he prowled through the shadows around its edges, taking advantage of the chaos and doing very well for himself.

He twirled the axe, flinging off the blood and brains clinging to it, then concealed himself and crept toward another tent. Just then, something on a wooden rack beside the tent's entrance caught his eye.

It was an Orc-style curved bow, roughly a meter and a half long. It looked rather crude, with small knots still visible in places along its limbs, yet this shoddily made bow stopped him in his tracks. It drew him like a magnet, leaving him unable to take another step. The attraction came from his soul, as though his life would only be complete once he held that bow, as though only then would the ** in his heart subside. He had never imagined he could want something so desperately. Even his university admission letter had not compared.

He bent low and crept toward it through the tent's shadow. As he drew closer, his heart pounded ceaselessly, as though it would leap out of his throat. At last, he snatched the bow into his hands, even more impatiently than when he had first pulled open his girlfriend's underwear.

The instant his fingers touched the bow's limb, Diago's body gave an uncontrollable shudder. He involuntarily closed his eyes and sighed in satisfaction. It was the contentment of a restless soul finding solace, like a ** traveler finding fine wine, like long-parched earth meeting welcome rain.

He did not know how long had passed-or perhaps it had only been an instant-before the Druid bear's roars and the Orcs' shouts startled him out of his rapture. He steadied his rapid breathing, surveyed the surrounding terrain, then grabbed several quivers beside the wooden rack and ran toward a small mound nearby. He felt he ought to do something he was good at.

The mound was only thirty-odd paces away, and he soon reached its top and looked around. It was not particularly high, roughly one and a half times a man's height, but he could see almost the entire camp from here.

He tugged the bowstring to test it. This Orc bow had a much heavier draw than a human bow. Though such bows had greater range, they were less accurate, since a heavy bow was harder to control and hold steady. Still, Diago felt his strength would be enough.

He knelt on one knee and dropped the quivers beside him. All four were full, each holding at least twenty-odd arrows. He pulled them all out and planted them in the soft soil before him, fletching upward.

"All right, let's begin. It's showtime!" he told himself. Then he took a deep breath, plucked an arrow from the ground, and nocked it.

Masley Bearhide wreaked havoc among the Orcs, reaping one Dragonmaw Orc after another as easily as wheat. Gradually, however, he began to struggle. After their initial panic, the Orcs had organized themselves. Seeing no further attackers, they confidently formed tight ranks and used polearms-spears and hunting forks-to hold off the bear's attacks. This was also the most common way people fought fierce beasts.

Faced with this hedgehog formation, Masley struggled to find an opening. Several times when he lunged, other Orcs even slipped in blows from the sides. Without the triple protection of his blanket-thick fur, tough hide, and the heavy layer of fat beneath it, he would already have been badly wounded. Even so, he had taken injuries and could no longer rampage as freely as before.

That human hasn't taken advantage of the chaos to run away, has he? he wondered angrily. He did not want to think so, but he still had not seen the human appear, especially now, when he needed help. It left him somewhat disheartened.

Just as these wandering thoughts distracted him, a cunning Orc attacked him from behind. Although he nimbly avoided a fatal hit, the spear still pierced his left leg.

"Barkskin!" The bear gave a tremendous roar, unleashing a Druid spell. Under its effects, his skin hardened and roughened, becoming covered in creases and as tough as ironwood bark. He twisted around and furiously swiped at the Orc, but the wound in his leg hampered his agility. This time, he missed the despicable ambusher-his first miss since the fight began.

The Orcs were overjoyed. They could clearly see the dawn of victory. Many surged forward, brandishing their weapons and trying to overwhelm their enemy with numbers. Weapons struck the Druid's Barkskin-hardened hide with dull thuds. Even Masley Bearhide now felt a trace of regret. He felt he really might have been a little rash earlier. He bounded about, dodging attacks while searching for a chance to break out, but enemies were everywhere. Having recovered, the Dragonmaw Orcs had surrounded him so tightly that there was no way through.

"The goddess is with me!" the Druid cried as he launched a desperate charge into the forest of spears before him. He was already prepared to die, determined to defend his honor with his death.

But just then, an arrow whistled over his head and struck the Orc before him.

What terrible aim. Have they finally remembered to use bows? Masley sneered coldly to himself. He did not care what weapon killed him. He cared only how many greenskins he could take down before he died.

Another arrow flew over his head, once again "accidentally" hitting an Orc. Then came a third, which also went "astray." The Druid finally realized something was wrong. As far as he knew, Orc archery was unreliable, but surely not this bad.

More arrows flew in, like venomous wasp stingers. They came one after another, stinging the Orcs and pinning them to the ground.

Almost in the blink of an eye, a huge gap opened in the encirclement before the bear. He plunged through without hesitation. The spear-wielding Orcs scrambled to turn and pursue him, but their tightly packed spear formation now became a burden instead. Few thought to raise their spears upright before turning. That required rigorous training and strict discipline, precisely what these Dragonmaw Orc raiders lacked. Those things, along with their intelligence, had vanished from their bodies after they drank Demon Blood, leaving only stupidity and madness.

Masley Bearhide circled back behind the Orcs. He bit and battered them wildly, and one Orc after another fell beneath his paws. An uncontrollable sense of familiarity rose within him. He knew this way of fighting very well. Back home, in Ashenvale, Darkshore, and Felwood, when they fought their enemies, feral Druids took the shapes of beasts and charged at the front, while Elven archers always provided supporting fire from behind as their most dependable partners.

On the hillside, Diago dispassionately drew the bow to its full extent, then released his fingers. With the twang of the string, another Orc fell screaming in the camp.

So I'm a hunter. And a good one, too, he marveled inwardly. At last, he had confirmed his class. In a sense, he had not crossed over at all, because this character's soul had belonged to him all along.

In truth, Diago knew nothing about shooting, whether with bows or firearms. Before crossing over, he had only undergone a short period of military training as a university freshman, and that had merely been going through the motions for appearances. Now, he relied more on this body's own hunter skills. They seemed to have lain hidden within him all along, like instincts, natural gifts he had been born with, and were only now awakening again. Whenever he drew and fired, those skills instinctively corrected his shooting posture, making his shots more accurate and more deadly.

At that moment, a voice rose from the depths of his heart. It was a hunter's glory, a hunter's faith, a song that belonged to hunters.

I am the king of Alterac Valley,

The frost remembers my deaths, time after time.

I am the banner of the watchtower,

The flare shines with glory.

I am the soul of the graveyard,

The gravestones are thick with frost.

I am the master of the bridge,

Its deck trembles for me.

No one can approach me,

To be spotted is to die.

No one can breach the line,

I am an unbreakable wall.

Behind me

Stands the final stronghold.

Behind me

Stands the general of Stormpike.

The Alliance will not fall

Unless I am already dead!

"I am the king of Alterac, the frost remembers my deaths, time after time..."

Diago sang softly. Arrow after arrow flew from his hands, and the vibrations of the bowstring seemed to merge into one continuous sound.

"I am the banner of the watchtower, the flare shines with glory..."

Memories of fighting day and night in Alterac Valley returned to his mind. His singing grew louder, and tears streamed from his eyes, yet even with his vision blurred, every arrow still hit its mark.

"I am the soul of the graveyard, the gravestones are thick with frost..."

The Orcs in the camp no longer dared to run about. They frantically searched for cover. It was like a miracle: arrows fell like rain, and he alone suppressed an entire army.

"I am the master of the bridge, its deck trembles for me..." he continued to sing loudly. At last, a fully armored Orc charged toward him-he had been discovered.

"No one can approach me, to be spotted is to die..." Diago half closed his eyes, as though completely immersed in the past. The blood and glory of those days gradually grew clear, and his former strength and skill were returning to his body.

Diago calmly fired an arrow at the Orc, but it failed to hit its target. The Orc swung his battle-axe and knocked it away.

"No one can breach the line, I am an unbreakable wall..." The hunter drew and nocked another arrow. His hands were steady as stone, without the slightest tremor. After taking brief aim, he loosed it.

This time, the Orc was hit, but the thick plate armor over his chest prevented the attack from doing any damage. The arrow gave a light "ting," then fell helplessly to the ground.

The Orc was closer now, only ten-odd paces away. Perhaps a single Charge would bring him right up to Diago.

"Behind me stands the final stronghold..." The song continued to drift through the air, as though it would never cease.

The hunter did not panic. He plucked the last arrow from the ground and nocked it. At the same time, a sharp current of arcane energy flowed from within him, traveling along his arm and coiling around the arrowhead.

Over the long years, hunters who possessed magical talent but had never had the opportunity to receive a mage's instruction gradually mastered ways to use the arcane power within them. They simply drew out that energy and infused it into arrows or traps. Arcane Shot, Concussive Shot, Chimera Shot, Freezing Trap... one unique hunter skill after another was invented. Gradually, hunters became an indispensable force on the battlefield.

"Behind me stands the general of Stormpike..." The song continued. In a daze, the hunter seemed to return to Alterac Valley, watching enemies surge toward him like a tide.

The Orc charged swiftly. When he was still four or five paces away, Diago could already see the bloodthirsty desire in his eyes.

The Orc raised his battle-axe, leaving his chest wide open, but he was not afraid. What had just happened proved that this human's feeble arrows could not pierce his plate armor. He opened his broad mouth in a grin, and foul-smelling saliva dribbled down his tusks.

Just then, he heard the bowstring vibrate, followed by the dull thunk of an arrow piercing armor. The distance was so short that the two sounds were almost simultaneous.

The Orc paid it no heed, but after charging another two steps, a fierce pain in his chest forced him to stop. He staggered and looked down at his chest in disbelief. An arrow had driven almost completely through his iron plate armor, leaving only a short length of fletching exposed-right over his heart.

He raised his head in despair and looked at the enemy almost within reach. Rattling sounds came from his throat, and then he toppled like a wooden post.

"The Alliance will not fall unless I am already dead!" Diago Asnar roared. The final line burst from his chest like a surging, furious tide. At that moment, the human tongue rang out with such force. He held his head high in pride and looked over the deathly silent camp, like a king gazing down upon his domain.

Note: In Azeroth, "hunter" does not simply mean someone who hunts. Like mage, Warrior, or even Paladin, it is a combat class.

In ancient times, the call of the wild drew some adventurers out of their comfortable homes to venture into the harsh, unforgiving wilderness. Those who persevered and survived became hunters.

These expert marksmen killed their enemies with shots from bows or guns. But do not assume they lacked close-combat abilities. Although these were not as outstanding as their ranged attacks, hunters could still wield melee weapons and fight their enemies at close quarters.

The art of survival was very important to hunters who roamed the wilderness. Hunters could easily track beasts, demons, dragons, or any other creatures they wished to pursue. They excelled at camouflage, passing through woods and grasslands as silently as ghosts. As kings of the wilderness, they could lay traps along routes their enemies had to take, using them to burn, freeze, and wound approaching foes.

As everyone knew, hunters formed lifelong bonds with certain wild animals. They trained hawks, leopards, bears, and all manner of other beasts to fight at their sides. They could also enhance their various abilities with help from different beast spirits.

It should be noted that hunters originally had mana. This showed that they, too, could use arcane power, although their methods might be relatively simple.