Chapter 551: Let's Go

Orgrim Doomhammer once again raised his mighty Doomhammer, its surface still speckled with magma. Under the rising sun, it looked both menacing and brilliant.

"We stand here, for this is our stronghold! The might of our entire Horde is gathered here! We are here because once more we can burst forth, trampling this continent beneath our feet! Planting the flag of the Horde on every inch of this world. We have returned to crush them once again, making them tremble at the mention of our name!"

The cheers grew so loud that the entire Blasted Lands seemed to quake. Orgrim raised his arms, embracing the passionate roar. He saw Horde warriors rise, brandishing their new, finely crafted weapons.

The Warchief was pleased to see the rekindled fighting spirit in his soldiers.

"We are the finest hunters, we can wait for the right moment, but we shall never wait for death!" He declared, "We are the Orcs! We are the Horde! We will strike them with a fatal blow! Making them regret ever pursuing us here! Once we shatter their lines, we will walk over their corpses, ruling their lands once more!"

As Orgrim swung his hammer above his head again, Zuluhed subtly gave a signal.

A deep horn sounded, its somber notes echoing as if from ancient times, resonating through history.

Every orc felt as if the eyes of their ancestors were upon them.

In that moment, the roars reaching to the heavens made even the towering Blackrock Mountain tremble.

A surge of emotion hit Orgrim, nearly bringing him to tears. This was the Horde that stood defiantly at the pinnacle of the world. This was the Horde for which he would willingly give his life and soul.

He felt a warm breeze brush past his cheek, uncertain if it was from the heat of the Blasted Lands or the warmth of the orcs' cheers.

It didn't matter.

These were his beloved people, the orcish warriors he knew.

They wouldn't weep in defeat.

They wouldn't kneel and beg when at a disadvantage.

Even in death, they would fall charging forward, hands stained with the blood of their foes.

Descending from the terrace, Zuluhed approached, addressing him unusually formally, "A grand speech, Warchief."

Suddenly, a voice chimed in, "I hope those whelps who've never seen a Gronn won't wet themselves at the sight of dragons in the sky."

The speaker was Kilrogg Deadeye. Having faced the wrath of the Red Dragonflight in war, he clearly harbored deep resentment.

Orgrim glanced at Kilrogg and chuckled, "Dragons are not the sole rulers of this world. I swear upon the banner of the Horde, this final battle isn't about the dragons."

"Hmm?" Kilrogg's one eye narrowed suspiciously.

Orgrim turned to Saurfang, who had narrowly escaped death on the frontlines, "Prepare our warriors. I will lead the charge with my elite, the rest will follow."

He glimpsed the grand hall within the terrace, shadowy figures waiting in anticipation. As Orgrim's gaze passed over them, each stood tall and nodded in acknowledgment. This was his elite guard, the twin-headed ogres of the Stormwind Altar, numbering only three hundred but each having undergone rigorous trials.

Orgrim, a noble orc, once held a deep disdain for ogres. However, these were different. They were smarter and were warriors, not warlocks.

Most importantly, they were loyal to Orgrim alone, not necessarily to the Horde.

He recognized their admiration for his courage and strength. In fact, they saw him as a smaller version of an ogre and promised to follow his command.

Similarly, he respected their might and knew they would die for him, just as he would for the Horde.

Now, 250,000 orcs were ready to stake their lives for the Horde's victory.

Only one final matter remained...

An orc messenger approached, whispering in Orgrim's ear, "Gul'dan has been located and, as you instructed, handed over to another slave master. But is this right?"

Orgrim sighed, "According to the prophecy from the seer in Nagrand, we must keep him close to the humans... It's destiny!"

Destiny? Such a mysterious concept.

Nearby, Kilrogg Deadeye, who seemed reluctant to join the battle, suddenly lifted his Bonecleaver axe, forged from the fangs of fierce beasts, and stood beside Orgrim.

"Regardless of victory or defeat, the Horde shouldn't perish here."

Hearing Kilrogg's words, Orgrim smiled.

"Let's move!"

Atop a hill three kilometers from the main battlefield, Anduin Lothar, the most trusted commander and supreme leader of the Alliance, stood tall on his horseback.

Beside Anduin were not only knights but also the full force of the Order of the Silver Hand. His hand rested on his sword hilt, and due to consecutive sleepless nights, his eyes were deeply set, yet they constantly scanned the horizon with hawk-like precision.

The distant cheers of the orcs echoed through the land, unsettling Anduin.

Clearly, Warchief Orgrim had boosted the Horde's morale. In contrast, Anduin felt exasperated with the Alliance's internal politics.

King Terenas of Lordaeron, seeking more recognition, had demanded the formation center around his troops based on the sheer number they contributed. If Lordaeron's forces were as elite as those directly under Mograine, Anduin would have acquiesced.

But what did Terenas send? An amassed force of nobles' private armies, totaling 150,000. This left the more combat-ready forces of Gilneas and Alterac to handle logistics, with Terenas constantly threatening to withdraw.

Now, the frontline and center consisted of Lordaeron's forces. The left wing was made up of the well-equipped but slightly less motivated Kirin Tor mages of Dalaran and the cavalry of Stromgarde. The right wing was formed of the Bronzebeard and Wildhammer dwarves, along with gnomes. The rear consisted of the mages of Quel'Thalas and Dalaran, and ranger squads.

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