Author: Baoyue Liuguang

Boom boom boom!

The dull sound of explosions came in from the window of the palace, and the thick walls of Stormwind Fortress still could not isolate the violent explosions.

From morning to night, the sound got closer and closer.

In the King's Hall, Orgrim glanced at the sunset projected through the window with a thoughtful look on his face.

It seems that the alliance has no intention of stopping the siege. They really can't wait to take back the city.

Orgrim snorted coldly and picked up the sword beside him.

This is the sword left by King Lion - the Sword of the Lionheart King. Without the Doomhammer, he can only make do with this.

The afterglow of the setting sun slowly climbed higher, and finally shone on his face. The warmth brought back some of his old memories, and Orgrim couldn't help but fall into memories.

That was the first time he met Durotan when he was in Draenor, and they hunted wild beasts together at the hunting conference in Nagrand. Their luck was terrible that day, and they didn't find any decent prey until the evening.

The sunset that day was also so warm.

He still remembered the warmth of the setting sun on his face, he still remembered Durotan's familiar face, and the forgotten conversations also emerged one by one at this time.

"Look, Durotan, I have never seen such a majestic beast!"

"Don't rush Orgrim, let us attack together."

"Haha, okay, if we take down this monster, we will definitely win the hunting competition today."

Durotan held the battle ax tightly, and his white wolf followed closely behind him. Orgrim approached the terrifying beast from the other side. He took aim at Durotan and his white wolf, Orgrim from time to time.

Mu has always envied such a mount. After joining the Blackstone Legion, he chose to become a warg cavalry, thus having a pure black warg.

However, compared to Durotan's White Wolf, Orgrim always felt that his Black Wind was lacking something.

Pat, slow footsteps interrupted Orgrim's thoughts.

With a sharp look in his eyes, he stood up suddenly, turned around and looked into the darkness behind him.

A black figure gradually emerged in the darkness. When he saw the figure's appearance, Orgrim breathed a sigh of relief.

Orgrim (Warchief): "Black Dragon, you haven't left yet, I thought..."

Morpheus (King of the Black Dragon): "What else do you think?"

"I thought it was the human assassin again. Since that day, the haunting guy has tried to assassinate me several times."

Morpheus nodded, was silent for a moment, and suddenly said: "You don't actually have to do this. As long as you are willing, I can take you away."

Orgrim shook his head, "No, I must stay. If we want our plan to proceed smoothly, this war must end. The war between the Alliance and the Horde must come to an end, and this end must be brought to an end by

I, the chief of the tribe, completed it myself.

Otherwise, how can the war be considered over?

What's more, it's not my style to leave my soldiers and run away alone."

Morpheus couldn't help but sigh, "Okay, if you insist, do you have any last wishes? If possible, I will try my best to help you fulfill it."

Orgrim thought for a while, "Show me that artifact."

Morpheus hesitated for a moment before handing the Dragon Soul to Orgrim.

Orgrim took the Dragon Soul, looked at it carefully, and was a little surprised when he looked at the stone piece in his hand, "So this is the so-called Dragon Soul? Haha, is it just that? Nekros has been using that piece all day long.

The sparkling magic gem hung on the staff and swaggered through the market, but it turns out that the real artifact is so ordinary."

From the outside, the Dragon Soul is indeed very ordinary, a stone disk-like thing, simple and simple, but if you look closely, you can see a strange light flowing in it.

Orgrim looked at it and suddenly showed a sneer as if his conspiracy had succeeded, "And now this artifact is mine. Thank you for handing it over to me. I originally thought it would cost a lot of money."

It’s Kung Fu.”

What! Morpheus's eyes turned cold, and the next second, Orgrim burst into laughter, "Hahahaha, it's just a joke, I'll give it back to you."

As he spoke, he threw the dragon soul over again without any hesitation.

Morpheus carefully caught it with both hands and inspected it carefully before putting it away again.

"This is not funny at all." Morpheus said angrily.

"It depends on which perspective you look at it."

Boom! A thunder came through the city gate, mixed with the roar of the orcs.

Orgrim looked out the window at the setting sun again, and the time had come.

"It's time for me to set off, goodbye Black Dragon King."

"Orgrim, I..." Morpheus hesitated.

"No more mother-in-law. If you feel you owe me, work hard to complete the plan. Don't let down my sacrificial boy." Orgrim said calmly patted Morpheus on the shoulder and strode towards

Walk outside.

Morpheus looked at Orgrim's back, shook his head regretfully, turned around and retreated into the darkness.

When Orgrim walked into the main hall of Stormwind Fortress, the place was already crowded with defeated orc warriors, and the air was filled with the smell of blood.

This breath made Orgrim extremely familiar. In a daze, he seemed to have returned to that autumn evening. When he and Durotan walked into the hunting meeting side by side carrying the monster's head, the air was filled with such blood.

breath.

Hunters from various clans, bringing their prey, were waiting to decide the final champion. However, when he and Durotan walked in, they immediately became the center of attention.

"Oh my God, what a monster is that!"

"A Magolon is the descendant of Gorgrond." A young hunter from the Thunder King clan said with envy.

"The champions of this hunting competition are Orgrim of the Blackstone Clan and Durotan of the Frostwolf Clan!"

"Well done Orgrim, you are worthy of being my son. Take it. This Doomhammer is inherited from your ancestors. Our family's name comes from it. Now it is yours. I hope you don't want it."

This is a disgrace to this magical weapon."

Hammer of Doom! Hammer of Doom! Orgrim looked at the divine weapon in his hand. The head of the hammer was made of cooled lava and contained powerful elemental power. The handle of the hammer was forged with black iron and eternal gold. The outside

Wrapped in a layer of fur from a clefthoof beast, it feels unusually thick and easy to hold.

His ancestors named the family after the weapon, and now it was his.

Orgrim held the Doomhammer and felt an unprecedented sense of satisfaction.

Bang! The dull sound of impact woke Orgrim from his memories. He looked up and saw that Alliance soldiers were beginning to impact the gate of Storm Fortress.

There was no Doomhammer in his hand, only the cold hilt of the Lionheart Sword.

He looked at the orcs around him. They were not the elite hunters at the hunting conference, but a group of defeated orcs covered in blood.

Seeing Orgrim walking in, these orcs immediately gave them strange looks.

There is expectation, hatred, ridicule, and resentment.

It was Orgrim who brought them into this desperate situation, and it was Orgrim who left them to guard this city that was destined to fall.

All the promises were in vain, but the others had already left, leaving them here waiting to die.

This is probably the so-called abandonment.

If Orgrim himself hadn't stayed, these desperate orcs would have fallen into madness.

Orgrim looked at these remaining orc warriors. He could see their despair and fear. For a moment, he felt a little guilty in his heart. It was he who had brought them to this situation.

But this trace of guilt was fleeting. Kill or be killed. This was the fate of the orcs. In the future he witnessed with his own eyes, the tribe sank in endless killing.

What difference does it make if you die early or die late?

At least dying like this now can leave a glimmer of hope for the future of the tribe.

Orgrim suddenly pulled out his sword and stood on the high platform of the hall and shouted loudly.

"I understand that we have suffered defeats and setbacks, that our numbers are dwindling dramatically, and that the Alliance's onslaught has taken a heavy toll on us.

But we are still orcs, still a Horde, and our steps will still make the world tremble."

There was a burst of response from the orcs, but it was a bit sparse and weak.

"Stormwind Keep is our last fortress, and we come back here because we can attack again, engulf them again, and make them tremble in our name once again.

We will not wait for those humans to attack, we will not stay here and wait for death.

No, we are orcs, we are a tribe, we have to take the initiative, crush them, and make the enemy regret coming here."

Orgrim's firm voice raised hope in the hearts of the orcs, and the eyes of the orc warriors once again ignited the look of courage.

It made a howling sound.

Momentum was brewing, and the thousands of remaining soldiers in the hall seemed to have become invincible elites in an instant.

Orgrim nodded with satisfaction, and his eyes swept over the murderous faces. Suddenly he was slightly startled. It was a face that seemed slightly familiar to him.

"Omar? It's you. I didn't expect you to be alive."

Omar of the Thunder King clan was a young hunter at the hunting conference.
To be continued...