Chapter 468: For the Horde

On the frontlines, the battles raged on.

After holding back the Alliance at the Wall of Thoradin, the Horde urgently needed an outlet to vent their internal anger and frustration.

Of course, Orgrim Doomhammer found it—naturally, it was Gul'dan's betrayal.

Orgrim directly summoned the Blackhand brothers, Rend and Maim, to lead a force of fifty thousand to hunt down Gul'dan's rebellious clans, the Twilight's Hammer and the Stormreaver. In addition, there were a considerable number of dragonriders.

The Warchief was right, 'To quell the exterior, one must first pacify the interior.'

Orgrim fulfilled this sentiment in the most comical way possible.

He wished to swiftly deal with Gul'dan, then endure the winter, wait for the Dark Portal to bring more orcs, and regroup in the spring to attack the Eastern Kingdoms again.

After all, with Arathi Highlands as a bridgehead, there would be no need for those disgusting naval and landing battles. If the situation really got bad, they could just carve a path through the high-altitude mountain range between Arathi Highlands and Hinterlands to reach the Hinterlands, and see how the Alliance would defend such a long battle line.

Unfortunately, he hadn't achieved his grand scheme when he was dealt another heavy blow.

Think about it, Orgrim Doomhammer knew that he could only retreat to the southern mainland through the Hinterlands, wouldn't Duke have prepared a trap?

And it seemed that the heavens were not interested in blessing these alien butchers from the Horde. Just half an hour after Orgrim's fleet set sail, they encountered a storm.

In this era, any experienced sailor would observe the sky before setting out.

Unfortunately, Orgrim's men were muscleheads who thought they could conquer the sea by sheer force of paddling.

They struggled on, and then they were punished.

The gale whipped up terrifying triangular waves ten meters high, easily capsizing all the smaller, newly built transport ships. Only the well-made, robust transport ships that were built earlier survived the storm.

However, just as the storm subsided and before Orgrim had a chance to count the losses, they were ambushed by the naga and murloc armies.

"Ha ha ha! In the name of our master, Duke Marcus, kill all these green-skins!" Vara, the Wrathscale naga priestess, laughed heartily.

"Gurgle gurgle gurgle (kill all the orcs)!" Mogul, the murloc prophet, chattered excitedly.

Countless murlocs burst from ten meters under the sea, quickly surfacing. The storm barely affected the sea bottom, and the murlocs had easily drowned the orcs who were drowned or struggling at the sea surface during the storm, decapitated them and prepared to offer their heads to the designated location as proof of their service.

Now, countless murlocs, armed with crude weapons, surged to the surface and climbed onto the orc transport ships with low freeboards, taking advantage of the orcs who had been battling the storm for several hours and had exhausted their strength.

They rocked the orc transport ships, which were not too wide, causing the orcs to lose their footing. On the violently rocking ship, the orcs' prided heavy weapons became a burden.

One after another, transport ships were taken over by the murlocs.

"No—" Orgrim screamed in agony.

Yet all he could do was watch this scene from his flagship, powerless to stop it.

The Warchief never imagined that the elite Blackrock orcs would perish here. These were the last experienced and robust Blackrock orcs who had gone through the Draenei wars. They were considered elite among the elite.

They had won against the light-wielding Draenei. They were the vanguard of the Azeroth expedition. They had killed over 100,000 humans in Elwynn Forest, then defeated the high elves, destroyed Alterac, and battled under the walls of Lordaeron and assaulted the northern camp of the Alliance.

They never surrendered to any enemy, but were to perish here because they were not good swimmers?

"Warchief, we must leave!" Torgus of the Dragonmaw clan commanded his dragon to dive quickly, allowing the dragon to hover in the air. The dragon twisted its serpentine neck and let out a threatening roar at the distant murlocs.

Unfortunately, a dragon is only one, and it was brought to protect the Warchief. Regular red dragons didn't have the stamina to hover in the air for so long. Only dragons over a thousand years old could cast a kind of anti-gravity magic on themselves, allowing their massive bodies to hover in the air with little effort.

"Warchief, you must go. Those damned murlocs have started drilling the bottom of the ship," said Hammock, Orgrim's guard captain.

Dragons are the lords of the sky, but not the kings of the seabed. No matter how strong the dragon breath is, it can't evaporate the Endless Sea. For the murlocs drilling the bottom of the ship under the command of Mogul, the dragon was helpless.

"No, I cannot abandon you," Orgrim's eyes reddened as he looked at these good brothers who had been with him for more than a decade.

"No, you must abandon us, for the Horde!" The orc warriors stared at Orgrim. Those sparse twenty-odd gazes seemed not to be looking at their Warchief, but at the last flicker of hope in the desert of despair and destruction.

For the Horde!

This sentence pierced Orgrim's heart deeply.

These brothers of the Blackrock clan, they knew how bad the situation was, and they knew who had led their world to ruin and destruction, yet they silently raised their weapons and continued to fight.

They did so for only one reason—for the Horde.

Yes, they were wrong! They trusted Gul'dan! And they started a wrong war.

But for the continuation of the race, they could only make one mistake after another.

Yet, no one regretted it, also for the same reason—

For the Horde!