Chapter 550: We Are the Orcs
Magni was no fool, and he knew well why Duke was willing to help the Bronzebeard dwarves; Duke would want something in return.
But Magni was very willing to trust Duke.
Simply, Duke was too reliable.
Beyond the inescapable demands for troops, over the past year, Ironforge had provided whatever was asked for.
Medicine, food, daily necessities, unsmelted iron ore... Almost anything Magni asked for, Duke could obtain. If not, Duke would send a letter explaining the difficulty, but most of the time, the goods arrived in full, never lacking in quality or quantity.
Moreover, during Ironforge's resistance, Duke's reputation as a god of war spread across the entire continent.
He always won against the odds, never defeated.
If it was Duke, coming up with some groundbreaking ideas would not be surprising.
Lately, Duke seemed to be having some trouble. Rumor had it that because Duke was too outstanding and his merits too great, it put Lordaeron in a bad light. As a result, Terenas secretly formed the Alliance of Kings, indirectly excluding Duke from the final battle.
In the southwest of Searing Gorge, Stormwind was indeed fighting to reclaim the kingdom, sending Duke's thirty thousand private soldiers back to Elwynn Forest, beyond reproach.
However, without making any headway at Redridge Mountains, summoning Duke, the Alliance's deputy commander, to the main battlefield and not letting him control any army, what was that about?
Dwarves are usually straightforward, and Magni disliked such political scheming, especially the Lordaeron attitude of 'I'm your leader, come worship me.'
In reality, everyone saw the situation clearly; the orcs would kneel sooner or later. To have enough say in the Alliance after the war, an impressive performance in the final battle was needed.
Now, Duke wanted to use the dwarves to teach Lordaeron how to fight properly, and why would the dwarves not be happy about that?
Magni quickly understood the crux of the matter and decisively agreed!
"You say, we do!" he declared.
The gnome chief engineer beside him nodded.
"Yes, let's call Kurdran Wildhammer first. We have to tell the Horde what ground-to-air coordination, and infantry-artillery cooperation is all about."
Soon after hearing such fresh terms, Kurdran joined immediately.
November 6th, the day of the decisive battle.
"The humans are here!"
Orgrim Doomhammer snapped out of his thoughts, the fear in Zuluhed's voice making him angry. When had his successor become so cowardly?
"It is us who called them for battle!" the Warchief roared, standing on the terrace of Blackrock Spire, overseeing everything.
The terrace was on a protruding rock on the northern peak of Blackrock Mountain, overlooking the whole Searing Gorge. From here, he could see the remaining Horde soldiers and newly arrived warriors gathered below.
He remembered the last time he looked from here; his warriors filled the entire Searing Gorge and Burning Steppes, leaving no gaps.
But now, between the black rocks, there were only patches of green and a small amount of brown. Orgrim could even recognize the few remaining veterans of the front-line clans, while the newcomers from the second and third-line clans seemed more spirited.
When had his Horde become so weak?
Everything he feared had become reality!
Everything was slipping towards his worst-case scenario!
"What's the big deal about a decisive battle? Can we win? They have a large number of mages, even that damned red dragon!" Zuluhed asked behind him, "We don't have enough manpower; this is the last batch of reinforcements, and the clans outside the gate are watching. There won't be any more in the short term."
Orgrim glared at his deputy, his intense fury making every orc who met his gaze recoil.
Indeed, their numbers were now very small, compared to the once-overwhelming army of over half a million. The orcs no longer had those numbers to sweep the world.
And the quality was even worse.
But so what?
"In the name of the ancestors! We are orcs! You ask what we should do?" he roared at everyone, drawing the famous [Doomhammer] from behind, "Of course, we fight! Before you rode dragons, you could kill twenty human soldiers without breaking a sweat. Have you forgotten what battle is, now that you're off the dragons?"
Turning to the orc recruits, Orgrim continued, "Your predecessors could kill ten human soldiers each. What about you? Do you think you're the offspring of oozes, all soft and stupid? What your forebears could do, you can do too. They want to destroy us? Fine, let them pay with two and a half million lives!"
Leaving behind Zuluhed and the recruits, now trembling with excitement, Orgrim strode onto the terrace, "Warriors of the Horde! Hear me!"
He shouted, raising the warhammer high. Most of the new orcs turned to look at him, while the veterans did not. This once again ignited his anger, and he smashed the edge of the terrace with the Doomhammer.
There was a vertical flow of molten lava there, and the strike of the [Doomhammer] caused a massive wave of heat and a resounding echo. Every orc below turned to look at him, their eyes fixed on their Warchief.
"Listen to me!" he called again, "I know—we've suffered defeat and retreat. I know our numbers are not what they were! I know how heavy the loss from Gul'dan's betrayal is! But don't forget, we are orcs! In our world, for billions of years, nothing has stopped us! We've killed the fiercest gronn, fought blood wars with ogres for centuries. We've failed, and we've retreated. But now? We still rule our world."
At this point, the orcs' eyes began to shine.
"Our world is dying, and we have no way out! So, I want every one of you to remember—" Here, Orgrim took a deep breath and roared with all his might, "We are orcs—we are still the Horde—our footsteps will shake this world!"
The soldiers below let out an invigorating cry, albeit somewhat disorganized and thin, but it did not dampen the rising morale!
"The humans chase us here. They think we've been beaten! They think we fear their power like dogs fear strong creatures? No—they're wrong!"