Juggernaut .......

How many years, how many years......

Spartacus can't remember the exact number anymore......

The last time I learned martial arts with the Sword Master, it was the wind and moon in my hometown that accompanied me with glory and pride.

Now the cool breeze is still there, the moon of Draenor is gone, and the only thing that accompanies him is the snow of Alterac.

Ogrim, I don't hate you for sending me to die, I hate your incompetence, I have suffered for my past sins, repented, and am willing to atone for my life, but I don't regret fighting for the Horde, and I don't regret giving everything for the glory of the Orcs.

And you, trampled on it, you shouldn't be alive, you shouldn't be in front of the orcs again, your life, your name, your dignity, your past has long since dissipated with the defeat of the tribe.

Spartacus didn't understand why there were tears in the corners of his eyes, but it must not be because of the joy of reunion.

"I ......"

Orgrim wanted to say something, but didn't know what to say.

"Don't make excuses, let's fight like orcs."

Spartacus took a closer look and saw that Orgrim was not wearing his legendary black armor, and the Hammer of Doom was not with him.

So he also silently unbuttoned his cloak, took off his breastplate, and drew his two knives to put on a posture.

"If that's what you want, then so be it."

Orgrim gathered the surprise from his face, suppressed the excitement of his words, examined the small leather shield on his arm, and loosened the rope that hung from his back to bind the spear.

Then give your full attention and get ready for the baptism of the storm.

The orc Juggernaut has never been a profession, but an honor, a title.

During Draenor's most miserable years, ogres, ravens, tigermen, gorons, too many superior races regarded orcs as slaves and rations.

But the orcs did not give in.

The body is devastated by enslavement, but the mind is still free.

During the long years of resistance, countless orcs roamed the wilderness, but they never gave up.

Finally, the dawn dawned, and the invincible ogres fell into a state of division and decline, and the commanders and thousand-captains who slashed orcs as casually as chopping melons and vegetables died in large numbers at the hands of the ogres themselves, and the Raven people stopped expanding after the disappearance of Tyroc.

In such an environment, the orc clans that were struggling to survive had a chance to breathe and develop.

When Neozu first called on all clans to gather in the Elemental Highlands of Nagrand, the orcs scattered across Draenor realized that we were so powerful.

It was also because of that gathering that the orcs first established the glorious title of Juggernaut.

Only those orc warriors who are proficient in martial arts, skilled in using various combat tools, with the most tenacious will and the toughest body, can prove themselves with their actions and obtain the title of Sword Master, carrying this heavy honor.

From the very beginning, the Juggernaut was a promotion for orcs out of practical need.

Draenor has little anything, that is, there are many demons and monsters, too many powerful creatures that can treat ordinary orcs as small biscuits one by one threaten the fragile habitat of orcs, and it is the unshirkable mission of every orc swordmaster to kill these lifeforms that threaten the race.

Later, the tribe was founded, Gul'dan opened the dark door, and the Juggernauts believed the warlocks' claims and believed the lies of Draenor's imminent destruction, and chose to go to the perilous Azeroth for the future of the orcs, and fight for a new world for the tribesmen.

Humans are not soft persimmons, and even a sword master with high martial arts skills cannot guarantee victory.

From the Dark Swamp all the way to Hilbrad, and even to the Lordaeron King's City, the Juggernauts did not miss a single battle.

They are the most trusted sword of the Great Chief, the most reliable shield of the Orcs, and the highest force of the tribe in the four directions.

However, the fierce battle caused almost all the Juggernauts who knew almost all their companions to be killed and wounded.

The sound of the dark gate, in order to cover the withdrawal of the large army, the last sword saints of the tribe all died in that rainy night.

"So Ogrim, why don't you die!"

It was a martial art that was different from the ordinary orc style of opening and closing, Spartacus had never given up self-training during the years of wearing a black iron helmet and serving as an Alalterac Paladin martial arts instructor, the former assassin has now long been beyond the shackles of the race, and he wanted to kill Orgrim not because of hatred, but to wash away the shame of the Great Chieftain, in order to bury the dark past of the orcs.

Shoot, regardless of life and death, leaving no room for error.

This battle is unforgiving.

But Spartacus is facing Orgrim, the wielder of the Hammer of Destruction, the former Great Chief of the Horde, the strongest of the former Orcs, and another Juggernaut.

Orgrim struck his knee with a backhand shield and swept the lower end of the spear, cracking Spartacus' desperate double knives with a not-so-graceful but unusually powerful move, and leaping back to widen the distance.

"Because I can't die yet."

A warrior's instincts are worth a thousand words, and from Spartacus's twin blades, Orgrim felt his mixed feelings.

Words are so pale and powerless, only iron and blood can vent resentment and depression.

Hate me?

You have such qualifications.

Let's fight!

Spartacus saw that Orgrim was distancing, but did not attack, and took advantage of the moonlight and the dappled shadows of the trees, and disappeared with a dodge.

"Wind walk, if I can't practice at home, I won't be ugly."

Orgrim suddenly gave a look of remembrance, then raised the spear flat in a spear-throwing position, and then closed his eyes.

Stealth is not invincible, no matter how fast the wind is, it will also drive the sound of leaves rubbing, when the naked eye can't believe it, just use your heart to sense it.

Spartacus, your killing intent is so strong that the wind can't blow it away, what's the point of hiding your body?

Ping-pong, ping-pong, ping-pong, ping-pong......

In just a few breaths, the sound of dense blade collision was like restless drumming.

"I'm surprised that you didn't quench the poison on the blade?"

Orgrim touched the wound on his shoulder and neck, brought the blood to his nose and sniffed it.

"You should be glad I didn't come to kill you, otherwise I wouldn't mind using the most vicious poison."

Spartacus was half-kneeling and struggling to breathe, his abdomen firm enough to be hit by Orgrim's blow.

For martial artists like Orgrim and Spartacus, who are familiar with each other, small tricks do not have much effect, and the competition between the sword masters is all about basic skills and physical strength.

However, one fact that cannot be concealed is that they are all old.

When the dark door opened, they were in the prime of life, fighting for hope and a future.

Now, twenty years later, even if they are unwilling, they still can't hide this fact, their bodies have aged.

Although Spartacus seems to be in better shape than O'Grim, he is also three years older than O'Grim.

Two orc swordmasters who survived in the shadow of the times, in a grove without a name, fought a life-and-death battle between elderly players.

Orgrim wrapped the wound roughly, Spartacus was also trying his best to calm his breath, temptation and holding each other were redundant, and next, life and death were to be seen.

At this moment, there was the sound of footsteps.

"Orgrim? Ogrim? ”

It's Sal's voice!

Orgrim unconsciously turned his head to eat and drink Sal not to get closer, but immediately realized that his movements were almost fatal, and immediately faced Spartacus with a short-term war spear.

However, there was still a trace of his former friend in Orgrim's sight.

Close your eyes again and feel with your heart and eyes, and the surroundings are already calm.

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