Shadow Trails in Azeroth

"The weather today is a bit weird."

In the early morning of the next day, Marshal Lothar, escorted by a group of iron horse knights, climbed onto his majestic and fully armed horse. He reached out to take the helmet from his adjutant Turalyon and glanced at the sky again.

Said casually.

Everyone nodded in unison.

It’s not that I mean to flatter you, it’s true that the weather today is a bit weird.

In the past, the sky over the Burning Plains was always gloomy, which was related to the tragic past of this place.

More than two hundred years ago, at the end of the War of the Three Hammers, the Dark Iron dwarves, who were strangled to a desperate situation by Bronzebeard and the Wildhammer, made a desperate move to save their race and summoned terrifying monsters from outside the world.

The Fire Lord, who broke out of the elemental realm, took less than ten minutes to turn two-thirds of the originally beautiful and fertile Redridge Mountains into the Burning Plains and Searing Canyon.

The large magma pool created by the Fire Demon King almost destroyed the underground structure of the Burning Plains, and also caused Blackstone Mountain to become a volcano that could erupt at any time.

Heavy volcanic ash floats in the sky all day long, blocking the sunlight and making the place very hazy.

But today is different.

It seems to indicate that the alliance will win a glorious victory today. The weather today is very good, as if the hand of a god has passed through the sky, sweeping away all the haze.

Under the nascent sunlight, it shone on the Alliance soldiers who had formed their military formations, reflecting a dazzling cold light.

The phalanx of human heavy cavalry at the front neighed and their flags were fluttering.

On their left wing was the dwarves' steam tank unit. The short, violent muscular monsters were carrying muskets, holding battle axes and hammers, sitting on the tanks, ready to follow the human cavalry and rush into the battlefield at any time.

On the right is the phalanx of spellcasters.

The Phoenix mages of Quel'Thalas have prepared magic circles for cluster casting, and the spellcasters of Dalaran did not let the elves dominate the front. They used structures.

The tall golems made of stone are each more than five meters tall. The mages are supplying the final magic power, and then they can rush into the battlefield and slaughter the orcs.

The phalanx of human infantry is the largest. These troops from various kingdoms stand on their own positions under the command of their respective generals.

They have no horses, no tanks, no magic, only swords and shields.

They are so ordinary.

But these most ordinary warriors have never surrendered to the violent orcs in the past six years. They used their bodies and flesh to support the alliance until this final moment of counterattack.

More than 100,000 warriors of all races gathered here, occupying the plains under Black Rock Mountain.

The atmosphere on the entire battlefield was so solemn that the Knights of the Silver Hand, who served as the reserve team, also began their final prayers before the battle under this solemnity.

The brilliance of the holy light shines in front of the formation.

The Holy Light priests who acted with the rangers at the rear also responded to this prayer.

A large swath of golden light spread across the coalition formation, and the priests blessed the infantry with the most powerful holy light blessing they could release.

"You should stay in camp, Varian."

Marshal Lothar rode a war horse and came to the front of the battle. He turned his head and glanced at Varian Wrynn, who had put on a storm armor with eagle shoulder armor. He said softly:

"This is war, not a place for children like you."

"Marshal, I know this is war."

Varian, who was almost sixteen years old, raised his head and said to Marshal Lothar, whom he regarded as his father, in a sonorous tone:

“But I’m not a kid anymore.

The moment my father was assassinated by the orcs, I ceased to be a child. I couldn't hide in the camp, watch the soldiers fight for my victory, and then enjoy it with peace of mind.

This is your war and my war.

My father and the innocent citizens who died in the disaster are all looking at me. "

"very good."

When the old marshal heard this, he nodded with great relief. He put his lion helmet on his head and said angrily to Varian:

"You will make a good king. My son, your father and I will be proud of you."

After saying that, the marshal continued to gallop forward.

The knights behind him brought him weapons, but it was not the great royal sword that the marshal usually used, but a heavy and mysterious weapon wrapped in sword cloth.

The marshal looked down at the sword that was brought to his hand.

He stretched out his hand to hold the sword, but Lothar hesitated when he touched the hilt.

He seemed to be thinking about whether he was qualified to use such a weapon that was forged with glory and legend in such a war.

He seemed to be questioning whether he was worthy of it.

"Hold it, Marshal."

Saidan Dathrohan, the great knight wearing a heavy battle helmet and silver-white armor, noticed the marshal's hesitation and said softly:

"This sword is for you.

It chose to reappear at this moment, perhaps to witness today's victory. Don't hesitate, there is no one in Azeroth more qualified than you. "

"Really? Saidan."

Lothar smiled, stroked the hilt of the sword, and whispered:

"I'm not doubting my bloodline, I'm doubting whether I can still be considered a qualified warrior. After all, I have been on the battlefield as a commander for these years."

"The wisdom of judging the situation is your sharp edge, and it is no weaker than the sword in the hand of a warrior."

The great knight presented the sword in his hand and said:

"Your will is as strong as steel and your blood never fades. You are a qualified warrior, there is no doubt about it."

"Um."

Lothar nodded, held the sword wrapped in sword cloth in his hand, and put it on the weapon belt behind him.

He raised his head and looked at the Blackstone Mountain in front of him in front of the huge and majestic military formation. At the end of the hillside leading to the Blackstone Tower, the heavy door forged into a human face by the Dark Iron dwarves was still closed.

It was as if the orcs had chosen to hold on and avoid fighting.

Lothar raised his left hand, and the flag officer who reached out immediately waved the marshal's battle flag. The human heavy cavalry at the front began to urge their horses to march forward at the slowest speed.

The Kul Tiran artillery phalanx in the rear also began to aim its muzzles at the gate of Blackrock Tower.

If the orcs never come out to fight, the alliance will be forced to use siege tactics.

"Uuuuuuuuuuuuu"

Just when the heavy cavalry phalanx entered the preset impact zone, bursts of familiar horn sounds echoed in the Black Rock Mountain.

"They're coming! The greenskins are coming!"

Daelin Proudmoore, who had been waiting, heard the horn sound and immediately raised his head. A flash of extreme light burst out from his blue eyes under the battle helmet.

Not just him, all the soldiers cheered up at this moment.

In the past six years, they had heard such horn sounds countless times. The desolate and deep sound echoed, indicating that the orcs were about to launch a general attack.

"Lok'tar ogar!"

"Lok'tar ogar!"

As the orcs shouted at the top of their lungs, the door under the Black Stone Tower was pushed open bit by bit from the inside.

The powerful orc warriors needed ten people together, as well as turning the hinges at the back, to completely push the closed heavy door to both sides.

Amidst the harsh sound of boulders rubbing against the ground, the unexpectedly bright sunlight from the outside world also opened as the door opened, shining little by little into the shadow of the huge passage behind.

As the sun spread forward, amid the distant howling of wolves, Orgrim Doomhammer, riding on a huge warg, also took the initiative to walk out of the tunnel, riding the beast on his hip.

The great chief of the green-skinned orcs took the initiative to walk into the sunshine.

He wears old black plate armor that he forged with his former brother Blackhand in the world of Draenor. It was covered with all kinds of scars.

This armor is exactly the same as the storm armor Lothar is wearing now.

They are all very much like their masters. They have gone through hundreds of battles but never give up. They represent the beautiful qualities of warriors.

In the hands of the war chief, he held the legendary war hammer that was as heavy as a stone.

It is so silent.

As weathered as the black plate armor, and just like Orgrim, he was ready for a fight to the death here today.

Orgrim rides on his warg.

From the heights of the hillside, he looked at the Alliance formation in front of him. The reflection of the armor and weapons made him dizzy. His eyes were moving, trying to find the weaknesses or flaws of the formation in front of him.

But he recovered for several minutes, but he couldn't find any shortcomings that could be exploited.

Anduin Lothar, who was on the opposite side, laid out a decisive battlefield for him and his tribe.

That's his old rival.

The confrontation between him and Lothar began before the Horde captured Stormwind City.

It's been six years.

He knew how difficult Lothar was.

"An old lion king, with a group of male lions gathered in the name of revenge, is coming to devour us."

The warchief flexed his fingers and glanced behind him.

The silent orc warriors filed out of the tunnel at the rear. Except for a few warriors who were still as strong and healthy as usual, most of the orcs had fallen into weakness caused by demonic blood.

They were no longer as brave as before, and some even yawned as they walked.

They have changed from a violent army to a piece of scattered sand.

In terms of numbers, the tribe is at a disadvantage, and due to the influence of the plague, no matter how you look at this battle, there seems to be no hope of victory.

"Unless we take the initiative to create a breakout opportunity."

Orgrim thought in his heart.

Immediately afterwards, his eyes focused on the figure riding on a war horse in front of the Alliance army formation.

Lothar.

Anduin Lothar.

The strongest and weakest point in the alliance's offensive. As long as he can be seriously injured or killed, the alliance army without its commander-in-chief will be in chaos.

That's the only chance!

"Kilrogg! Saurfang! Charge."

The great chief said to the chief and the governor beside him:

"Follow the plan!"

Varok Saurfang, who was carrying a skull battle ax, rode on the wolf and hammered the breastplate hard. Although Kilrogg was dissatisfied, he also knew that the warchief's plan was the only feasible strategy at present. .

What's more, as a warchief, Orgrim took on the most dangerous mission.

So what else does he have to complain about?

The next moment, the orcs of the Blackstone Clan and the Bloodring Clan shouted war cries. Whether they were healthy or weak, they all rushed down the hillside with their respective commanders under the last burst of passion.

It was like a billowing green turbidity rushing toward the alliance's position.

While the heavy cavalry on the Alliance side was charging the greenskins, they also urged their horses, set up their lances, and began a wall charge.

The infantrymen, banging their swords and shields, followed closely behind.

The cannon roared, the rangers began to cover and shoot, the assassins jumped into the shadows, the paladins shouted the holy light, and the mages, they chanted magic spells, attracted flaming boulders from the sky, and slammed them into the orcs' positions.

Marshal Lothar also charged with the knights, and the bravest iron horse knights guarded him.

There was also Varian Wrynn. The little king was also shouting at the top of his lungs. He led his royal cavalry and shouted towards the orcs to kill him.

The two sides were colliding and slashing. Before being killed, they tried their best to pierce the opponent's chest with their weapons, and then were beaten to pulp by a flying cannonball while they couldn't breathe.

The fight between more than 170,000 people on both sides soon evolved into a melee that spread throughout the Black Rock Tower.

This is something that cannot be controlled at all, there are too many people.

"Losa can't retreat."

Orgrim Doomhammer had been paying attention to Lothar's position. After confirming that the Alliance Marshal could no longer leave the battlefield, the Warchief finally moved.

The last deadly guard composed entirely of healthy orcs, following its warchief, pierced the center of the battlefield like a fierce sword.

Their goals are extremely clear.

Lothar!

Only him!

At this moment, outside the battlefield, on the watchtower of the damaged fortress, Blake controlled the flying Old Bonegnasher and shared the field of view with it. The undead flying eagle had been hovering over the orcs.

It was as clear as Blake watching this scene from the battlefield.

"It's coming, it's coming."

With a touch of anticipation and excitement, the pirate stuffed the sandwich at hand into his mouth.

That moment is coming.

The feud between the two worlds will eventually end in the most traditional way for warriors, and the best thing is...

Blake looked up to the sky.

This time, he was not the only bystander.

Soldiers, fight with all your strength.

Please the gods with your blood.