Chapter 199: Bagra'sh

Even Duke had no idea that by ruthlessly screwing over Orgrim, he would bring about a ritual never before seen in any 'history'—Bagra'sh.

This was a ceremony for orcs suspected of being traitors to prove their honor.

The ritual was simple, violent, and bloody.

Under the witness of at least a hundred orc warriors, seven recognized champions would insert seven daggers into the ritual participant. The daggers could not inflict fatal wounds, damage tendons or bones, or pierce internal organs.

Then, with the seven daggers still embedded in their body, the participant would duel a recognized champion—usually a chieftain—to the death.

Only by winning the duel would the participant be deemed innocent and have their honor restored.

No one knew why Kilrogg would suggest Orgrim participate in Bagra'sh. If one had to assign a reason to Kilrogg, it would be his 'dead eye,' which could no longer see anything.

Kilrogg was born into the Bleeding Hollow clan on Draenor. As his people faced the threat of annihilation by the Arakkoa, Kilrogg refused to bow down. Under the arrangement of his injured father, he followed the ancient clan tradition: finding the hidden chamber named after his clan, and undergoing a dreadful ritual, sacrificing his left eye for the ability to see the future.

In the ritual, Kilrogg foresaw that his own death was far away, so he knew he would survive this crisis. Inspired by fate, he seized control of the clan and led the Bleeding Hollow to crush the Arakkoa threat, achieving victory in countless battles.

In the following years, he ruthlessly executed any dissenters, even his closest kin, eagerly awaiting the fulfillment of his destiny.

Though brutal, orcs were mostly superstitious, and in the absence of shamans in the Horde camp, Kilrogg's 'dead eye' had become quite persuasive.

Without hesitation, esteemed warriors like Grommash Hellscream and Samuro agreed with Kilrogg.

"Orgrim Doomhammer! Will you accept Bagra'sh to prove your innocence?" Kilrogg's voice was cold and oppressive, carrying the terrifying aura only a fierce warrior who had been through countless battles could possess.

He had aged, but no one could deny that he was still one of the strongest warriors in the Horde.

"I accept!" Orgrim stood amidst the suspicious gazes of countless orcs. "Not only do I accept, I also request that Mak'gora be initiated during Bagra'sh!"

The orcs gasped in surprise.

This meant that Orgrim would accept the challenge of at least seven chieftain-level warriors while having seven daggers in his body, only stopping when no one else challenged him.

Of course, if Orgrim succeeded, he would become the second Great Chieftain of the Horde after Blackhand!

Every orc's broad face displayed unconcealable astonishment.

Either Orgrim was the most ridiculous madman, or he would become the sharpest warrior in Horde history, bar none!

"Come!" Orgrim roared as he slammed his chest, creating a thunderous sound.

Kilrogg said nothing, drawing a long curved bone blade. In a flash, the thirty-centimeter-long dagger pierced Orgrim's left collarbone, traversing his thick, wall-like muscles and emerging from the left scapula.

Blood splattered in a gruesome display.

"Whew—" Orgrim didn't even grunt in pain, merely clenching his fists.

Grommash Hellscream stepped forward, expressionless, and drove a dagger straight through Orgrim's right arm, narrowly avoiding tendon and bone.

"Ugh..." Orgrim let out a low groan.

Samuro, the Blademaster of the Burning Blade clan, followed suit, stabbing a dagger through Orgrim's right thigh.

Then the fourth, fifth... seventh warrior stepped up.

Each one left a dagger embedded in Orgrim's body.

At this moment, Orgrim had become a porcupine, a blood-soaked porcupine.

"Who!? Who is willing to stake their valor on Orgrim Doomhammer's life? Who wants to earn this Doomhammer honorably!?"

Orgrim's booming roar echoed across the land.

Not many orcs would want to kill a fellow orc suspected of dishonor, unless they could gain a real benefit from it. Fortunately, Orgrim had something to offer.

Not many orcs could resist the allure of the Doomhammer! Especially after Orgrim had slain no fewer than 500 warriors of various races with it.

Ogres, giant lizards, Dire Trolls, and human legion commanders; Orgrim's illustrious battle record indirectly proved the power of his hammer.

Suddenly, a flag was thrown into the center of the arena.

"I—Galar of the Shattered Sands clan—bet my honor on this battle with you!"

Seeing his opponent, who stood more than a head taller than himself, Orgrim felt a bit disappointed. He was the chieftain of a small clan with only a few hundred members, but as a suspect of treason, he could not ask for more.

Above, the sky churned with clouds.

Below, the horns sounded.

Whether it was Mak'gora or Bagra'sh, nothing attracted the attention of the orcs more than a savage, bloody, and passionate duel.

Only those who dared face death head-on would be acknowledged by the warlike orcs. And only this most primitive, unadorned battle could truly clear Orgrim's name.

"Come!" Orgrim roared, and the small chieftain Galar charged at him.

"Boom! Boom! Boom!" The solid ground shook with Galar's heavy footsteps.

Galar's momentum seemed as if a mountain was collapsing.

"Die—" Galar bared his teeth, swinging his massive cleaver.

The force was enough to cut Orgrim in half. But a flicker of disappointment flashed through Orgrim's sharp eyes.

Weak!

Too weak!

Be it strength, speed, or skill, all left Orgrim immensely disappointed.

For some reason, he thought of Anduin Lothar, the human who had killed Blackhand that day. Despite being at a disadvantage in speed and strength, Lothar had managed to hold his own against the great chieftain using his impeccable ability to absorb force and his extraordinary footwork.

Facing such an opponent, Orgrim didn't even want to wait another second.

To the onlookers, it seemed as if he had accidentally dropped the heavy Doomhammer. Only those in the know could see that he hadn't taken Galar seriously.

Just as the cleaver was about to land, Orgrim suddenly pushed off with his intact left leg, taking a quick step to close the distance with Galar. He landed an uppercut right on the wrist of Galar's blade-wielding hand, and in the next second, clapped his hands together.

Galar's head, trapped between Orgrim's palms, was instantly crushed. It was like a watermelon smashed by a hammer...

Orgrim let out a triumphant howl: "Next!"