Chapter 256: Grommash Enters the Scene

"The Warsong Clan from the Horde is approaching, and they are not to be underestimated. They are formidable fighters, especially their chieftain, Grommash Hellscream. He is a force to be reckoned with, particularly for you, Marshal Lothar. I know you are a skilled warrior as well, but with so many Marshals present, shouldn't you, as the supreme commander of the Alliance, refrain from stealing their glory?"

Upon hearing Duke's praise for Grommash, Lothar initially felt eager to face him. But after Duke's words, Lothar raised his hands in surrender, signaling that he would not go to the frontlines.

With Lothar staying behind, an unspoken commotion arose among the other Marshals. They all cast their eager gazes at Duke, hoping he would call upon their name or their legion to fight.

The current situation seemed to promise victory. The only difference would be the price to be paid. But from what they could see, this would be a great triumph.

Everyone thirsted for victory, especially the kings with their own agendas. They desired their legions to shine in this battle, as this would affect their say in the Alliance.

Worthless people have no say.

This was not an empty claim.

More and more transport ships reached the shore. The Horde's vessels were so numerous that the long coastline was barely enough to accommodate them.

The valiant Warsong Clan warriors pushed the battle lines up the hill. They faced a rain of fist-sized stones and crossbow bolts that could easily pierce their bodies. Whenever one fell, another immediately took their place. They eroded the human defense line with their flesh and blood.

The agile movements, exaggerated leaps, and ferocious strength of the Warsong warriors were difficult for the soldiers of Lordaeron to handle.

In just ten minutes, Mograine had already deployed his reserve forces three times. Despite having ample reserves, the sight of such casualties in a meat-grinder battle pained him.

These were the elites of Lordaeron!

At that moment, two red flares were launched from the direction of the command post. In the faint light of dawn, they appeared particularly glaring.

To the east, the long-awaited Fourth Fleet of Kul Tiras raised its sails, reaching the battlefield in fifteen minutes. They then bombarded the dense Horde-occupied coastline from a distance.

Grapeshot, after today, this brutal weapon would likely be listed as one of the most hated by the Horde.

Each massive cannon barrel could fit hundreds of thumb-sized, round iron pellets. Due to the short range, the Kul Tiran commander ordered the cannons to be loaded with 20% less gunpowder and 30% more grapeshot.

"Boom! Boom! Boom!" With the thunderous roar of cannons, the not-so-wide coastline was suddenly engulfed in a storm of blood and gore.

The new armor the orcs had obtained from their dwarven slaves could not withstand the impact of these firearms. Even a slight hit would cause a massive, head-sized bloody hole, with limbs being severed at the very least.

Large chunks of shattered limbs flew into the air, along with cracked skulls, scattered intestines, and shattered weapons. Within moments, the entire coastline had become a slaughterhouse for the orcs. The sea water, driven by the tide, was dyed red with their blood. .

The gruesome crimson spread across the sea for hundreds of meters, all of it the blood of the orcs.

The Horde's commander ordered the transport ships to charge towards the Kul Tiran warships, but alas, it didn't work this time.

An orc peon rowing with great effort suddenly couldn't help but cry out in alarm: "There's something below, so many of them!"

The peon pointed to the oar port, and as soon as he finished speaking, he was dragged underwater along with the oar. Blood surfaced, and it was clear he was dead.

At this time, a considerable number of slightly plump shadows appeared on the sea surface, their colorful triangular dorsal fins breaking the water and leaving white trails of foam.

Those familiar with them knew they were murlocs.

The Horde had dealt with murlocs before, and they knew that the humans of Stormwind had the ability to tame murlocs, just as orcs had the ability to tame wolves. It was quite common.

However, this alone did not alert the Horde.

Not until they realized that the number of murlocs was absurdly exaggerated.

The exact number was impossible to count, but it was definitely over ten thousand.

Not only were the orcs stunned, but even the human guards on the hill were dumbstruck.

At first, Duke didn't deploy the murlocs because he thought they wouldn't be effective in intercepting the transport ships speeding towards the coast.

Now things were different, as most of the coast had been filled with ships. The Horde had to either ram their own ships' rear ends to disembark in deeper waters or continue westward to find a place to land.

Continuing westward was the right choice, but the appearance of the Kul Tiran fleet deterred the Horde commanders. Worse, the transport ships attempting to attack the Alliance fleet had stopped.

If the Horde's ships were wind-powered, murlocs wouldn't have been able to effectively cut off their power, but with oars, murlocs could easily deal with the wooden oars in minutes.

Under the command of murloc oracle Morgl, the murlocs became smarter, working hard to destroy each Horde transport ship. They broke the peons' oars and bored holes in the bottom of the transport ships.

Losing even a single transport ship crammed with hundreds of orcs like a sardine can would be a significant loss for the Horde.

Watching the battle, the five kings in the command center were overjoyed.

"Hey, Horde, make your move. I don't know who your commander is, but if you don't do something soon, I'll happily take the lives of a hundred thousand orcs."

At that moment, a loud explosion suddenly erupted from one of the large battleships in the Kul Tiran fleet. The next second, the massive mast collapsed, tilting the entire ship at a 6-degree angle to the water.

If the first hit could be chalked up to an accident, the second one was witnessed by Duke himself.

The left side of the battleship's bow was sliced open by some shadowy figure wielding a weapon like a fisherman, leaving a huge crack about half a meter wide and seven or eight meters long.

The entire battleship's hull screamed in agony before its massive bow broke apart, and the ship tilted, letting in a torrent of seawater.

Duke clearly saw many human sailors jumping into the sea to escape.

Damn it! Who is it? This is impossible!

In his astonished mind, Duke caught a glimpse of the assailant's weapon the next instant – a crimson axe shaped like a hook. It was the signature weapon of a certain Warchief – Gorehowl!

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