Reginald Windsol, this is a legendary name, and behind this name, it represents a legendary version of life. Pen, fun, and www.biquge.info

As a young man, Wendthor was an ordinary soldier in the Stormwind Kingdom, and he would have lived a peaceful life, like his ancestors, dying in his bed with no regrets and no glory.

But in the year he turned 30, the war broke out, the orcs crossed the dark gate to Azeroth, and the human kingdom fought back, but the kingdom of Stormwind was beaten to the brink of destruction in the first onslaught of the orcs, and even King Ryan died in a dastardly assassination.

Windsor had been confused, but he was determined to defend the land he loved, so he fought and eventually became one of the best soldiers under Sir Lothar, General Tulayan's favorite general, and was even drawn into the plan to raid Karazhan.

After following Sir Lothar as the one who killed the instigator Medivan, Windsor had his own adventures in the mage tower where he supposedly saw the future.

In a ray of light, he saw himself who had died under the claws of the black dragon.

Since then, Wendthor has been extremely wary of the black dragon, and the war ended in the 14th year of the Dark Gate, but Sir Lothar also died in the final battle, and General Tulayan took his soldiers through the Dark Gate to protect the world, closing it from the other side.

Windsor returned to Stormwind, to the hometown where he was born and raised, and became a highly decorated old marshal, now 51 years old, with a once strong body and a never-ending spirit.

The old marshal thought that before he died, he would never dream of being killed by the black dragon again, but fate played a big joke on him, just when he was about to retire, he saw the battle report from the Red Ridge Mountain, the frontier of the Storm Kingdom, and a black dragon appeared in the Burning Plains!

That nightmare haunted Wendsor again, but as a veteran of a hundred battles, he did not back down, but chose to rise to the challenge, Wendthor asked King Varian to send elite legions to the Burning Plains, but the king refused, and the Duke of Berval, who had recently become eccentric, even clashed with Wendsol because of this.

In the struggle between the two factions, Wendsol was defeated, after all, he was only a soldier, and finally the old marshal rushed to the Burning Plains with a militia regiment, and he had a premonition that he would usher in his final fate here!

"Meow!"

A weak cat meow disturbed Wendsall's memories, and his godless eyes were bright again, they were a pair of eagle-like eyes, although the eyebrows were pale, but those eyes were still serious, and he indifferently roamed the dimly lit cell for a week, and several black iron dwarves who were locked up with him were excitedly looking for the cat that had broken into the cell, intending to add a meal.

And the old marshal leaned against the damp thatch, and did not intend to pay attention to all this, although he was caught and imprisoned, he did not want to have any connection with these scum, this was his last dignity.

Until he felt the black cat jump from the window onto his shoulder, and felt the kitten's trembling body, there was a hint of softness on the old marshal's cold cheeks.

But the starving and panicked Black Iron Dwarf prisoners managed so much, and driven by hunger, they finally got rid of their fear of Wendthor, who was not easy to mess with at first sight, and pounced on the old marshal with a rough stone dagger.

"Hehe... Rubbish!"

"Bang!"

Although he had also been starved for several days, the fighting experience of Wendsol, who had been starved for several days, was comparable to these black iron gangsters, he stood up like a tiger, rushed forward, staggered, and pulled the fastest black iron gangster back into the corner with a whip leg, picked up the bone dagger that slipped from the air, and stabbed the other guy in the eye with his backhand.

Without looking at the short man who had fallen to the ground and convulsed, Windsor roared and pounced on the last of the panicked fellows, leaning low, his arms wrenched around the neck of the last dark-skinned short, and his hands twitched from side to side.

Click!

The sound of the bones being misaligned seemed so thrilling in the silence of the cell.

The old marshal let go of the body that had collapsed in his arms, wiped the blood in his hand on the clothes of the black iron gangster, he gasped heavily, after all, he was old, this series of actions made him a little tired, but three kills in an instant, the strong warrior breath still made the black cat tremble and lie in the thatched pile and dare not move.

The old marshal didn't clean up the body, staggered back to the corner, leaned over, stretched out his hand to tease the little black cat, the residual smell of blood on his body was still there, and when the old marshal's fingers were about to touch the black cat, the kitten shrank back, this action made Wendsall stunned in place.

After a few seconds, he withdrew his hand, his eyes closed, and the spirit of his whole body seemed to be dispelled, and the whole person curled up like an ordinary old man.

"Meow!"

After a few seconds, Wendsol, with his eyes closed, felt the touch of the little black cat sticking out his tongue and licking his cheek, and he opened his eyes, a smile slowly rising on the corner of his mouth.

"Hey, naughty little one!"

The old marshal picked up the little black cat with both hands, placed it on the edge of the window, patted it on the head,

"Let's go, go back to your master, she must be a good girl who loves you, look at this pendant, how beautiful, how ... Wait, this is..."

The old marshal's eyes narrowed, and when he looked closely, he found that the pendant hanging from the kitten's neck was obviously a little too large, and Wendsol's many years of riding made him immediately alert, he looked left and right, and his fingers inadvertently swept over the back of the emerald pendant, and then touched a small disc attached to the back of the pendant.

The kitten saw that the old marshal had taken the disc, and "meowed" again, licked Wendsol's finger, then turned and jumped out of the window, and disappeared in a puff of smoke.

Wendsol lay on his stomach in the thatched pile as if nothing happened, this prison was very tightly guarded, but very rigid, the guards patrolled for the same time, Wendsol found out the next day, and now there were still 3 hours before the guards patrolled, enough for him to explore the secrets of this disc.

It was a delicate little disc, it looked like an ornament, and the style was like that of the High Elves, and Windthor had also come into contact with the High Elves when he was in exile in Lordaeron when he was young, and he closed his eyes slightly, and stroked the edge of the disc with his fingers, and when he touched those characters, his heart jumped.

“GrazieperilCibo！”

The old marshal read these characters softly, and the next moment, several things wrapped in brown paper jumped into his hand, and the disc also lost its luster and shattered in half, and Wendthor threw the disc into the rat hole in the corner, then picked up the paper bag and sniffed it, and a satisfied smile appeared on the corner of his mouth.

Two packets of beef, two packets of bread, and a packet of dried fruit, and best of all, a palm-sized flask, and a sharp dagger.

The old marshal put the dagger close to his body, put the other packets of food beside him, and tore open the package of beef, his throat moved, he was obviously hungry, but he still ate in small bites, and the frequency remained the same, so that the body could absorb these nutrients as quickly as possible.

He spread out the note that accompanied the food in the palm of his hand, and there was only one sentence on it.

"At 1 o'clock in the morning, take advantage of the chaos to escape, under the No. 24 seat in the third row of the Colosseum, there is what you need!

The old marshal's eyes narrowed, he licked his lips, stuffed the note into the beef in his palm, then put it in his mouth, chewed it and swallowed it.

After eating everything in one go, Windsallt suddenly felt the strength of his whole body return.

However, he didn't have any extra movements, and lay in the thatched pile for another 2 hours, calculating that the time was almost up, he reached out and picked up the bone dagger that was mixed with black iron and fell on the ground, wiped it clean, and gestured on his body, and then adjusted the two parts, and stabbed the dagger into it without changing his face, blood spurted out, and the old marshal's face turned pale.

Five minutes later, Windsor was sent out of his cell, and the Great Slave Owners made a bet on the former human marshal, the guards who would not let Windsor die before entering the Colosseum.

Unfortunately, at 1 o'clock that night, there was a sudden exclamation from the meditation rooms of the Twilight cultists stationed in the cell area, and then the madmen who disgusted the Black Iron Guards really went crazy, screaming wildly, attacking everything around them, and finally setting the house where the guards lived.

They were like possessed by something evil, and they frantically killed each other, and by the time General Angfo, the commander of the Black Iron Defense, arrived with the Black Iron Dragon Knights, the dozen or so Twilight Cultists had been killed by the furious soldiers.

The most terrible thing is that more than a dozen prisoners who were treated here were also burned to death in that house, and the iconic old military uniform of the former Marshal of the Stormwind Kingdom, which was burned in half of it, proved his identity, and the old man who was about to enter the Colosseum to die died in this place.

Although the great slave owners are very angry, there is no way to pursue this kind of thing, and no one in the entire Darkfurnace City knows that those Twilight cultists are the new favorites of Emperor Thorrison, and no one wants to anger those Twilight maniacs in this kind of thing, so this matter is over.

However, the wounded Black Iron soldiers were properly treated, and the soldiers who survived the riots were given extra leave, which was a good or bad thing for the strict Black Iron Dwarves.

Early the next morning, a black iron soldier with a slight wound in the abdomen walked into the black iron bar with a gloomy face, the bar was somewhat empty, the dwarf boss stood on the chair, carefully wiped the precious crystal cup, and then the dwarf sat on the edge of the bar with a big grin, and his eagle-like eyes flashed a strange look, and he whispered to Prager, who was also curious,

"I don't know who planned it all, but I love that guy's crispness!"

"You are?"

"Oh, black dragon, you must die!"

The black iron dwarf drank the large glass of ale wine in front of him in one go, and touched his mouth rudely, "In addition, I like this code very much!"