It was close to dawn, the darkest hour of the day. But due to the reflection of the magma, the burning plains still have a dull light, and the sky that looked like blood during the day is now dim and yellow, like dead leaves waiting to rot in the autumn rain.

In the brazier resting on the wooden fork, the dark red charcoal embers were about to be extinguished. But in reality, these braziers seemed a little redundant, and compared to the red light emitted by the magma of the Blackstone Mountains in the distance, they seemed so inconspicuous, like fireflies in the dim night.

There was silence in the camp. After a busy day, the orcs gradually fell asleep. Occasionally, a few orc soldiers on duty patrolled the camp with wolves, but they weren't very vigilant. In fact, orcs are far from a very industrious race, especially those who have drunk demonic blood. After the effects of the evil energy subsided, they became lazy and lethargic, as if nothing could attract their attention.

Although in the new tribe, with the help of many experienced shamans, Thrall eventually succeeded in re-energizing his people and establishing a new spiritual belief for the orcs. But for the old tribal clans such as the Blackstone Clan, the after-effects of drinking demonic blood are still spreading and becoming more and more severe.

This makes Masrae Bearskin's infiltration much easier. He spun around the cluttered camp, jumping from the shadows of one building to the other, as if he were in a no-man's land.

He eventually stopped in front of the largest building in the camp. The two-storey building has a red roof and a tower-shaped upper floor, all made of wood and stone, giving it a rugged tribal feel.

This is the most important building in the entire camp, with the lower floor being the conference hall and the upper floor being the quarters of the commanders.

The door to the first floor was not closed - in fact, it was not necessary at all. In this hot and dry place, the grumpy orcs would not even like to dig a few holes in the wall, let alone close the door.

The hall was spacious, with a recessed circular field in the middle, which was used to settle disputes at meetings. Grumpy orcs usually come to a conclusion by fighting in the field when they disagree. In the tribe, there is a saying that has the most common adherents: the truth is typed, not argued.

It was a miracle that a few snoring orc guards lay crookedly by the wall, their huge purrs comparable to those of Kodo beasts that didn't interfere with each other's sleep.

Masrae scrept cautiously into the hall. Although the door was open, there was still a fishy smell of feet and sweat that nearly knocked the Night Elves unconscious.

He cautiously walked past the guards, then tiptoed up the spiraling staircase. The wooden staircase didn't creak under his weight - and it reflected one thing, the orc architecture might not be beautiful, but it was definitely sturdy.

He stopped at the very end of the stairs and poked his head out to look.

He saw a gray-green-skinned orc snoring on the floor, with a dirty wolf skin underneath him. There were several pieces of dark red armor scattered around the floor of the room, and a halberd rested beside him, within reach. It must be said that class differences are always objective, regardless of race or camp - even among the orcs who are still in a clan society. This room has a lot of windows, and because of the high ground and easy ventilation, it is much cooler than the first floor - which is especially rare in this area.

So this orc officer slept very hard. Even Masrae turned him over and searched for the horn on him, but he did not wake him up.

After a dozen seconds, the Night Elf stood up. The orc probably didn't expect to be robbed one day, so the horn was casually tied to his belt, and Masrae found it very easily.

He proudly flicked the horn in his hand, changed back into his cheetah form, and returned to the back and forth.

……

"Why haven't you come out yet? Did you miss it? On a small hill outside the camp, Wendthor said in a suppressed voice.

"No, your Excellency, don't worry," said Diego confidently, crouching on the ground, the crosshair of his rifle moving from one patrolling orc soldier to another, "this guy is impulsive, but he is still very good at stealing chickens and dogs." ”

"Call me Reginald, or Reggie, and don't use honorifics, I thought we were friends." The marshal said with some dissatisfaction, this true nobleman has never lacked gratitude, and he sincerely hopes to be friends with these two strange adventurers, although sometimes these two guys seem a little unreliable.

At this moment, Guan Haifa, who had been silent, snorted, and then reluctantly moved to the side. The next moment, another leopard jumped out of the shadows next to it. Then he jumped up from the ground and changed back into human form.

"How? Have you got it? Wendthor walked up and asked eagerly.

"Of course, it's all in hand." The Night Elf said with a smug face, he plucked the horn from his waist and held it in his hand, his face full of "praise me, praise me fiercely" expression.

Diego didn't disappoint him either, praising him fiercely, piling up almost all the beautiful words he could think of on his head, and this simple guy couldn't keep his mouth shut.

"I'm as ......good as you say," the Night Elf said with some trepidation, but his expression was not like what he said, on the contrary, the young man with seven emotions clearly wrote on his face: You are so right, you have finally discovered my strengths, yes, I am that kind of person!

In the end, even Windsor couldn't stand it anymore. "That's right, right?" He couldn't help but interrupt.

"That's it, that's right." Before Masrae got angry, Diego hurriedly confirmed.

"I'm sure it's the only horn in the whole camp," Masrae said dissatisfied, but he looked a little depressed and regretful, "I've had an interview in it, but it's strange that I can't blow it." ”

"It's a good thing you didn't blow it, otherwise it would have been trouble." Diego said to himself, it was hard for him to imagine the Night Elves blowing their horns in the camp and having to face a horde of blackstone orcs who were full of wake-up gas.

He reached out and took the horn from Masrae's hand.

It is a very elaborate horn that appears to have been made from the front horn of a whole Kodomon. The thick end is as thick as an arm, the edges are covered in gold to prevent cracks and breakage, and a gold chain passes through the piping to allow the horn to be hung around the waist. Because of the long time of rubbing, this horn is smooth and shiny, exuding a warm luster like ivory.

Diego put the horn to his lips and blew hard. At first, the horn was heavy, not in terms of its weight, but in its ......, a word that is difficult to describe, as if it were very solid, as if it were solid inside, and Diego used almost all his strength to blow the air into, in fact, push it into its cavity.

Then he felt the air suddenly flow smoothly, as if it were the air flowing through the horn. Immediately after, he heard a loud horn burst out of the Kodomon's horn. The voice was so loud and so powerful that Diego was sure that the entire camp of orcs would be awakened in an instant, no matter how deep they slept or whether they had drunk the blood of demons or not.

The adventurers looked expectantly at the camp. Ten seconds later, the drums rang out, and with a loud thud of wood being broken, the behemoth appeared in their sight.

It was Kodomon, the brown beast that had finally followed the sound of the trumpet.

"Hey, big guy, over here." Masrae shouted as he jumped to his feet, and he raised his hand and kept greeting the Kodomon.

But to his surprise, the beast came running with a clattering footsteps, and ran to Diego's side, without even looking at him. It circled back and forth around Diego, looking like a cheerful, large dog, its huge tongue licking at the hunter's face, making him drool. What kind of rhythm is this? Do you have to be a hunter to get this treatment? Diego was blindfolded all of a sudden.

"I'm glad it didn't bother me." The originally stupid Night Elf gloated and laughed.

"Alright, it's time for us to go." Diego pushed away the enthusiastic Kodo beast with difficulty, and said helplessly. He grabbed the reins of the Kodomon and climbed up.

They were quickly ready to go. A grassy-looking Diego rode at the front, with Masrae and Wendthor sitting behind him in turn. The strength of the Kodomon is indeed not blown, and even with three people on its back, this beast still runs briskly and easily.

"Shuharu!" Diego shouted like a true minotaur, a name that has been passed down from time immemorial by the minotaurs, who usually shouted as they set out on their journey.

The Kodomon, apparently once the mount of a minotaur, strode merrily down the road at the sound of a friendly and familiar shout.

The orcs in the camp finally understood what was happening. Some disheveled, bare-handed orcs rushed onto the road in an attempt to stop the galloping Kodomon. But in front of this behemoth, there was nothing they could do at all, if it wasn't for the fast flash, they would even be crushed to the ground by this beast and trampled into meatloaf.

The stubborn donkey followed closely. The rammer knew that now was not the time to lose his temper, and if he didn't want to be made into a donkey's blood sausage, he had better keep up with it.

Guan Haifa jumped up and down behind it, watching the orcs warily, and if the green-skinned monster got too close and tried to take the donkey away, it would jump out and scratch its paws. For the unkempt orcs, its attacks are sharp and ferocious, completely impossible to resist.

In this way they crossed the entire camp as if they were in a no-man's land. Diego didn't even shoot - adventurers weren't soldiers, and they rarely killed needlessly if they didn't have to. Sometimes, slaughtering the defenseless and weak is not the best way to show courage.

By the time the armed orc soldiers burst out of the barracks, they couldn't even see the back of the Kodomon.

In reality, however, the adventurers did not go far, but in the darkness of the night, they seemed to have disappeared beyond the horizon.

They walked along the road for a long time, and it really looked like they were traveling. A few miles east of the orc camp, they saw a statue of the legendary great man, Sir Anduin Lothar.

By the morning light of the burning plains, they gazed with reverence at the tall statue. Although more than a decade had passed since the Second Orc War was won, the statue had begun to grow rough due to the heat of the Burning Plains and the erosion of the sand, but the hero still looked up to the north with his resolute eyes, and watched vigilantly at the Blackstone Tower, where his lifelong enemies still rooked, the remnants of the Draenor Orcs. The statue holds the famous royal sword in its right hand, holds a shield in its right hand, and still wears the battle-hardened armor on his body, as if he is still watching over this calamitous human kingdom, waiting for the kingdom's call at any time.

No one dared to get too close, as if the statue still had power, an admirable power. Diego suddenly felt a shudder, and he couldn't help but bow his head and salute the great hero.

It is said that the statue was erected shortly after the victory in that war. The Alliance generals of the time agreed that this outstanding hero was unique and irreplaceable, so they erected this statue alone not far from the hero's fall (Blackstone Tower) (and not in Stormwind, along with the others), as if they were not worthy to stand side by side with this hero even in their own eyes.

Although the Blackstone Orcs established the Blacktooth Camp not far from the statue after the Orc War ended and the Seven Nations Alliance fell apart, even from the orc's point of view, this wise commander and valiant warrior still deserves respect. They didn't even touch the sand and stone around the statue as a sign of admiration for the hero - these orcs were savage, but they didn't fight by insulting their opponents.

Reginald stood under the statue for a long time, sighing, a sad place for a veteran who had survived the war. Here he witnessed the victory of the Alliance, but also the fall of Sir Lothar. Especially when he thought of the current chaos and ** in Stormwind City, his heart was even more like a knife, and he burst into tears.

"Reginald, we have to leave. The orcs could catch up at any moment. Diego coughed next to the marshal and said, "We still have important things to do. ”

"You're right, young man." Windsol wiped away a tear and agreed, but he also defended his loss of control, "I just think of the days when we fought together, those difficult years full of blood and dreams. ”

"At that time we lacked weapons, we lacked armor, we lacked food and supplies, in short, we lacked everything, but the determination to defend the kingdom and the belief in defeating the orcs never left us, just because we had his leadership, in front of us, he never flinched, he never discouraged, he infected us with his outstanding commanderial temperament and perfect personality, and led us forward......" Wendthor had a hard time closing his chatterbox, but he suddenly became choked up and could not continue to speak.

The middle-aged man choked up like a child. The chaos of the situation, the incomprehension of his comrades-in-arms, the depravity of the nobles, and the betrayal of the spies all made the commander exhausted and physically and mentally exhausted. But just then, a determined voice rang in his ears.

“…… We are brave and never sacrificial, I am proud to protect this country and give my life for it, if this battle is as I wish, please tell Sù Varian that the victory of the war is not the end, Stormwind will be rebuilt, and the true king has always ruled the country with wisdom and strength, but the real power is the hope that inspires the people......"

Diego looked at the statue of the great man and read it aloud. These words were spoken by Sir Anduin Lothar to his lieutenant Tulayan before his last battle. The hero had a premonition that he might die for his country in this battle, so he left these last words. But even though he had a premonition of foreboding, the venerable man still fought bravely and did not flinch.

Diego recited in a sonorous voice, looking more like he was taking an oath. In fact, he is also strengthening his will to drive away the darkness in his heart. He vaguely felt that he had been targeted by some powerful evil being, but he would never give in to that being. Not in the past, not now, and not in the future, he didn't come to Azeroth to become a scum like Gul'dan and leave a stench for thousands of years.

From the wetlands to the Lokmodan, from the barren land to the scorching canyon, from the black stone abyss to the burning plains, the battles and killings, grinding and baptism experienced in this long journey, just like the burning of lava, the tempering of frost, and the forging of iron hammers, have completely refined this selfish, hesitant and cowardly otaku into a steel warrior who is as resolute as black iron and shines like holy light, who has the courage to take risks, dares to sacrifice, is strong-willed, and longs for glory. At this moment, Diego is like a freshly sharpened blade, longing for blood, longing for light, longing for his own light in the battle to protect Azeroth.

Windsor raised his head in surprise and looked at the young hunter, but his heart was full of turmoil. You know, only a limited number of people present knew about this passage at the time, and even though it was later relayed to Prince Varian, it was not spread. How did this young man know? He was even speculating whether this young man was a descendant of a comrade-in-arms who was there back then.

But at this moment, under his gaze, a miraculous scene happened. Just as the sky was filled with gray clouds, a rising ray of sunlight shone down on the statue, and as the sun rose, the dazzling circular pillar of light slowly moved, and finally moved to the hunter, as if some kind of power was transferred from the statue to him. After a few seconds of this, the gray cloud covered the gap. The sunlight is gone.

At this moment, everyone lost interest in talking, including Diego. Although he had believed in materialism for nearly thirty years in his previous life, he preferred to believe that it was a coincidence, just an accidental physical phenomenon, but at that moment he was also trembling all over his body and his hair stood on end. Because only he knew, at that very moment, some magical power rose from the statue and then poured into his body with the sunlight. He swears it wasn't because of the warmth of the sun. Those were two completely different sensations, not related to temperature, but more like spiritual power, as if some kind of heart-warming energy had been injected into his body, cleansing the darkness and uncleanliness in his body. He could even feel his own resonance with the statue in that moment.

“the－chosen－one!” Beside him, Windthor muttered, he was speaking in the ancient elven language, there was no such word in human language, and if it had to be translated, it probably meant-

The Chosen One.

In a trance, hope rose from the bottom of his heart again. He suddenly felt that Yiqiē was not as bad as it looked, and as long as he defeated the black dragon, Yiqiē would be fine.

Stormwind never despairs!

……

Note: Remember the voiceover of the opening CG of WLK? I really cried when I watched it.