Chapter 519: Convergence of 2800 Years

The blood battle before the massive iron gate had reached its most brutal point.

Roars, curses, and the clashing of heavy weapons composed the loudest notes of this battlefield.

The aftermath of the fierce fighting had destroyed many torch bases, gradually dimming the light in the tunnel. The fallen torches emitted their last warmth just before extinguishing.

How long had this bloody battle endured?

How many of these ferocious green-skinned monsters remained?

Where did they come from?

What was their strength?

Would Duke succeed in breaching the iron gate?

If success was achieved, how many of those who had defended this place would survive?

Everything had become unclear, as those guarding the iron door were now mentally numb. Instinctively, they swung their weapons, inhaling the blood-scented air with every breath, and letting out their loudest roars with every exhale.

The chaotic wind in the tunnel swept Uther's shoulder-length hair, the brown strands brushing his cheeks. Unlike other warriors whose eyes were bloodshot from intense fighting, Uther's devout faith gave him a tranquility far beyond others.

Uther shouted the most valiant battle cries, but his upright ears made him feel as if he were standing, listening to a human epic recited by a bard.

A grand tale, vast and majestic.

Like a long wind crossing the gap of time, bringing the ideals of distant ancestors and their will to this place.

Uther, in his trance, saw countless ethereal knights appear beside him, fighting shoulder to shoulder.

Their faces were vague, but it was clear they were human.

He suddenly realized who they were.

Ancestors, kings, and all the heroic spirits who had fought for humanity.

Behind Uther, the mage called Ronin, wielding the Morning Star, unleashed a barrage of arcane magic, supported by nearly unlimited magical crystals.

Any orc chieftain or lesser struck by his magic was instantly slain.

Sadly, the number of orcs was overwhelming.

For some reason, Uther recalled the distant past, 2800 years ago, when humanity had just acquired magical power.

A man stood before the knights, sword raised, proclaiming:

"I swear by this sword, humanity shall bear the grace of the high elves, forge an eternal alliance, sweep away all evil beings, and bring light of civilization and hope to the true races of wisdom! My people, my descendants, will carry on my oath until the end of the world—"

2800 years ago, the banner of the Arathor Empire rose on the battlefield of Arathi Highlands. Bathed in the dawn's light, humans and high elves fought together against the green trolls.

2800 years later, history seemed to converge, as humans and elves joined hands once more, but this time against green-skinned orcs instead of trolls.

"2800 years ago, we had Emperor Thoradin. Where is our new 'Emperor Thoradin' today?" Uther muttered to himself as the battle reached its peak.

Before the vast iron gate, the remaining human warriors could be counted on two hands.

Nameless knights had all perished.

Yet still, a dark mass of elite orcs loomed.

Suddenly, a sensation that shook the entire fortress enveloped everyone.

"Roar—"

From the depths of Grim Batol Fortress came a resonant roar.

The roar of a dragon!

The roar of the Life-Giver—Red Dragon Queen Alexstrasza!

Her roar was filled with complex emotions: sadness, grief, annoyance, complaint, hatred, but mostly joy!

Joy for freedom!

Excitement for breaking free from her cage!

And... rage towards her enemies!

A feeling of impending doom spread among the orcs.

"No! Could it be..." Orgrim didn't finish his thought when the massive iron gate burst open, and magical brilliance like daylight flashed from the dark depths.

"Sorry, it's exactly what you feared! Alexstrasza has been freed by me! Orcs—your doom has come!" Along with a voice the Horde knew and despised, countless magical glows erupted from within, cascading over the heads of the human knights like a waterfall from the heavens, crashing into the orcish ranks.

"Boom, boom, boom!" After a series of explosions, not a single living orc remained, save for the chieftains.

Even Orgrim, with his astonishing resistance to magic, was sent flying by the ferocious magical power.

This magical strength...

"Duke!?" Every knight turned in delighted surprise.

Without disappointing anyone, Duke's not-so-imposing figure appeared at the center of the gate, followed by a somewhat shy Vereesa.

Nodding to everyone, Duke looked up and shouted, "It's time! Muradin!"

This voice, infused with magic, penetrated the rock walls and spread far and wide.

The orcs, still reeling from the explosion, suddenly found the tunnel walls bursting open with countless holes. Innumerable dwarves wielding axes and hammers emerged, attacking without hesitation.

Muradin Bronzebeard led the charge, raising his hammer: "Bronzebeard brothers—for victory! For the future! For tomorrow! For our descendants, so they no longer live under the shadow of these green-skins. Attack!"

"Attack!" The already exhausted paladins unleashed their strongest cries since the battle began, their holy light shining brighter, like individual suns, rolling over the Horde.

"No—impossible! It shouldn't be like this!!" Orgrim's tusks remained sharp, his Doomhammer still potent, sweeping aside or killing more than ten dwarf warriors with a single blow.

But all around him were orcs struggling in despair.

Every orc lived up to the word 'fierce.'

But what of it?

They had lost!

This time, truly and utterly defeated.

Rexxar couldn't save the Horde.

Nor could Orgrim.

Even the Red Dragonflight, so relied upon to regain momentum, would surely rebel the moment their queen was freed.

One could imagine countless red dragons twisting their necks, biting the Dragonmaw orcs who had ridden them and abused them for so long...

"No! Duke! Only you! Duke, you must pay the price for this!" Orgrim, with all his might, leaped high and hurled his Doomhammer at Duke!