Masrae Bearskin ran excitedly, he hadn't yet recovered from the killing. While the Night Elves follow the teachings of the moon god Elune and value every life, the druids will not be relentless when necessary. They can sometimes even be very ruthless, such as when the deer pack is too large to reach nature's capacity, and when the wolves are too large to handle, they will do the same to the wolves.

He carefully kept his distance from the Black Iron Dwarven pursuers behind him, both out of range of the dwarven muskets and keeping them from being missed. But even so, the dwarven pursuers were still bitter - they came out in a hurry, and they did not have time to pull the goats out of the pens. Black Iron Dwarves are not known for running, and their short legs have to be tossed several times to catch up with the panther's light leap.

But whenever they were exhausted and about to give up the pursuit, the panther would stop and put on a posture of exhaustion, which often made them pick themselves up immediately. In fact, in the eyes of ordinary dwarven soldiers, it is not the most important thing to catch the murderer and take revenge or something, the most important thing is that in the barren land, a good panther fur can often be exchanged for more than ten dwarven muskets, or the most sophisticated kind. Although the quality of the panther fur may not be as good as that of the local mountain leopard, it is rare and expensive, and even the stupidest black iron dwarf understands this truth.

What made the Black Iron Dwarves even more annoyed, and what made them chase after them was that the big cats would turn around from time to time and throw the Moon Fire Spell on their heads. The spell's damage isn't high, but the damage it deals is continuous, and the creature targeted will be burned by the moonfire, causing less intense pain, but similar to a toothache—no death, but irritation.

"Is this a kite tactic? It's amazing! Masrae Bearskin ran as he thought about what Diego had told him, he didn't know what a "kite" was, but he had heard from the elders of his clan that it was invented by a magical race covered in fur in ancient times to fly in the sky. What's the name of that race? Bear people, or cat people? Or is it called Panda Man? Presumably the name, it may be a sapient creature that looks similar to the bear monster.

Well, the young man is starting to wander again. But the panther's instinct still kept him from falling into the pit. In this kind of running competition, the dwarven pursuers were gradually stretched into a long line, and if it weren't for the lieutenant who led the team to drive them away with kicks, maybe they would have stopped doing it.

After a two-and-a-half-hour chase, a bare, weathered rock forest came into view of the dwarves.

The panther circled a massive rock pillar and disappeared from the dwarves' view.

"This is it, their nest may be in it." The lieutenant shouted, and the exhausted soldiers were overjoyed, for whom a long run was more like torture. They took their muskets off their shoulders and held them in their hands.

"Sleepy bug, you're at the front!" The lieutenant turned his head and looked at Serge Durin ordered, I have to say that the power of hatred is great. It's a miracle that this cowardly has been able to hold on to the present and not fall behind halfway.

Serge Durin's face was ugly, he knew the power of those beasts better than anyone present, and it was definitely a death if he hit it, but looking at the lieutenant's vicious eyes, if he didn't go out, he would probably die now.

He muttered a few grumbling words, and then walked at the front of the line with his musket in hand. The lieutenant didn't complain about him, and honestly, for a soft guy to be able to step up and be a top soldier - even if it wasn't voluntary, what else could you say? Couldn't ask for more.

The Black Iron Dwarf leaned his head out against the pillar of rock tremblingly, and if something went wrong, he would immediately shrink back. But a big foot stopped him from doing so—and he was kicked out.

Serge Durin fell with a "whoops", and he got up from the ground with a roll and tried to run back behind the pillar, but it was too late, and on a pillar of rock standing in the distance, two alarmed orcs were bending their bows and arrows, aiming at this side.

"Sleepy bugs, what's the matter?" The lieutenant sticks to the rock pillar. Behind him, the dwarves of the patrol were also leaning against the rocks, lined up like a row of shrunken quails.

"Yes...... There are two ...... Orc ......" Serge Durin stumbled, to be honest, anyone who is targeted by a sharp arrow will have a trembling heart. He hesitated to pick up the musket, but he didn't, he didn't want to misunderstand.

"Are you sure it's an orc?" The lieutenant asked.

"That's right." Serge Durin affirmed. During the Second Orc War, the orc armies used to communicate from the territory of the dwarves, and although the Black Iron Dwarves did not fight the orcs like the Copperbeard Dwarves and the Hammer Dwarves, they were definitely not strangers to the orcs. What's more, in the base camp of Dark Furnace City, the black iron dwarves there are still competing with the Black Stone Orc clan for the control of the Black Stone Tower.

"Only two?"

"There are only two ......," Serge Doolin reconfirmed. This relieved the lieutenant, there are only two orcs, what are you afraid of, there are more than thirty of us. He coughed and walked out from behind the rock. His subordinates followed him in high spirits. The numerical superiority clearly gave Serge Durin enough courage to pick up his gun and aim at the enemy opposite, as was the case with other musketeers.

“lasvska！” The two orc sentries were startled by the sudden appearance of so many people, and one of them shouted loudly.

"What do you mean?" The lieutenant turned his head and looked at his subordinates, to be honest, there were very few black iron dwarves who could speak orc language, and proud dwarves never bothered to learn such a vulgar language.

"Probably who we are?" A black iron dwarf guessed.

"Oh, understood," said the lieutenant suddenly, although he didn't know if the two beasts were raised by these orcs, but that didn't prevent him from ordering the orcs to hand over the main messengers behind the scenes, he took a few steps forward to the front of the queue, "hand over the two beasts and their masters......"

Before he could finish his sentence, he was interrupted by a deafening gunshot, and a bullet grazed his ear and hit one of the two orcs, who slowly fell clutching his chest.

"That son of a bitch did it!?" The lieutenant cursed in his right ear, and when he turned to see Serge Durin looking at him innocently, the musket in his hand still smoking.

"I didn't do it, someone pushed me just now, and the gun went off." He argued. He turned back and saw that the nearest dwarven soldier was three or four paces away. "Hell yes!" He muttered.

"See your mother's head! What are you doing with all that you have nothing to do? The lieutenant slapped him in the face, in fact, his anger was not for lying to Serge Durin or killing the orc, but because he had almost been hit by the idiot.

"How do I know ......," muttered the sleepy worm, covering his face, tempted to say that he was actually targeting another orc.

"I'm ......" Lieutenant kicked him again, but a loud whistle interrupted his vent, and the arrow hit his helmet with a muffled "tuk". If it weren't for the fact that the helmet was cast with some black iron, I'm afraid it would have been shot through.

The lieutenant shrank in fright, crouched down, and he turned around to see the remaining orc pulling another arrow from his quiver and slicing it on the string.

"Fire!" The revenant patrol leader didn't care about negotiating or anything, and shouted loudly.

The next moment, gunshots rang out throughout the stone forest. The orc staggered and fell, and the out-of-control arrow flew over the dwarves' heads, not knowing where it had gone. But something in the stone forest had clearly been alarmed, and the sound of the arrows fired by the orcs was no more than the sound of the dwarves' gunfire. The dwarves heard a roar and the sound of men and horses running from inside the stone forest.

"Alright, get ready to fight!" The lieutenant knew that some things could not be explained clearly, so he had to order, he turned his head and looked at Serge Dulin with an aggrieved face, "It's all a good thing that you bastard did, I'll definitely peel you when this thing is over, I promise!" “

The orcs in the stone forest didn't make the dwarves wait long, and after a while, the first orc in red armor turned out from behind the rock pillar and appeared in the dwarf's field of vision. Behind him, swarming orc soldiers.

The dwarven soldiers lined up in two columns, loaded with guns, and to be honest, the battle-hardened dwarven musketeers didn't have the slightest nervousness, and a few of the most nervous ones were chatting and farting casually, even though they were about to face more than four dozen enemies.

"First platoon, fire!" As the orcs entered the eighty-meter range, the lieutenant commanded loudly.

With his order, the sound of "bang bang bang" gunfire was incessant, and the dwarf queue was instantly enveloped in a thick smoke of gunpowder. The first musketeers to fire their guns retreated from the gap in the queue to the back row, while pulling out ammunition from their purses and loading them into the chambers, looking well-trained.

This wave of staggering attacks did not achieve much success. The distance was too far, and the orcs' rough but thick enough plate armor provided them with enough protection, except for a few unlucky ones who were shot through the cracks in the armor, most of the orcs were unharmed, and they rushed faster.

"Second platoon, fire!" The lieutenant continued to order. At this time, the orcs had already rushed into a thirty-meter range.

The sound of gunfire resounded on the battlefield again, this time, the power of the musket was completely displayed, with the sound of "clanging" bullets hitting metal, more than a dozen orcs fell, at this distance, even plate armor could not stop the penetration of musket bullets, and the hit could cause damage, even Serge Durin, an unreliable guy, hit one.

“lok－tarogar!” A loud roar rang out among the orcs, and through the smoke of gunpowder, the lieutenant saw that the orc in red armor was raising his arms and roaring. The conspicuous plate armor was clearly a very fine workmanship, and could hold off bullets even at this distance—the lieutenant remembered that he had shot at the orc earlier, and he was very confident in his marksmanship, especially at such a close distance.

"Change weapons!" Lieutenant Black Iron shouted. Hearing the order, the dwarven soldiers took off the warhammer behind their backs, to be honest, whether it is the bronze-whiskered dwarf, the brute hammer dwarf or the black iron dwarf, down to the ordinary dwarven soldiers, up to the leaders of the three clans, Magni Copperbeard, Furstad Brute Hammer and Dagran Thorrison, most of the dwarves like to choose the warhammer as their melee weapon, which may be related to their nature of fond of forging - it is used to strike iron in peacetime, and it is used to fight people in wartime, and it is common for both military and civilians, and they are absolutely familiar with the performance of weapons.

In the next second, the orcs crashed into the dwarven queue like a rushing tide. The battle intensified.

Dwarves have long been thought to be at a disadvantage in battle due to their height, but in reality, years of forging have made this rock-hardened race no less powerful than the others, and their well-forged armor gives them good protection. Especially when the dwarves curled up to attack the enemy's lower plate, the tall orcs had to bend down to attack and defend, which made them uncomfortable. Orc warriors who can use the Whirlwind Slash will even have their axe blades skimming over the dwarves' heads when they activate this skill, not even slicing through the scalps of enemies.

So for a while, the dwarves, who were originally inferior in numbers, were on a par with the orcs.

While the Black Iron Dwarves and the Dragonroar Orcs were fighting, less than a hundred meters from the battlefield, at the top of a huge rock pillar, Diego Aznar was indifferently watching the battlefield at his feet, and the hot wind peculiar to the barren land blew from there, bringing a burst of blood.

He didn't feel the slightest guilt for implicating the Black Iron Dwarves in this unwarranted disaster, this evil race didn't have that that worthy of the word innocent. Whether voluntarily or forced, these Black Iron Dwarves have been twisted and degraded under the enslavement of their Firelord masters, neither as bold and enthusiastic as the Copperbeard Dwarves, nor as free-spirited as the Hammer Dwarves, a race that lives in the Blackstone Abyss all year round and is hostile to any intelligent creature outside of their own race, and in the eyes of these arrogant Black Iron Dwarves, other races are only worthy of being their slaves, even their distant relatives, the Copperbeard Dwarves and the Hammer Dwarves.

The battle on the battlefield didn't last long before it gradually became more relaxed, because both orcs and dwarves were already a little exhausted, but the initial misunderstanding had led to bloodshed, and bloodshed led to more hatred, and now the two gangs couldn't stop even if they wanted to, unless one side was completely dead.

At some point, Diego felt that maybe he could solve the orc's problem without having to do it himself. But to his disappointment, the orcs emerged victorious, and after becoming familiar with the dwarves' combat methods, they finally turned the tide of the battle. In this encounter, the dwarves' best muskets did not come in handy, which may be the reason for their failure.

But the end of the battle was not overwhelming, because despite the victory in this inexplicable battle, there were only a few surviving orcs left, and apart from the red-armored orc, Diego only saw three orc warriors still standing. The survivors were shattered in armor and bruised, their blood drained by the dwarves, but they still stubbornly supported each other and refused to fall.

Just as Goldrick Fury Tooth threw away his tomahawk and was about to rest against the rock, he heard someone talking not far away.

"Hey, buddy!" Diego stood at the top of the pillar and shouted mockingly, though he knew the orc might not understand what he was saying.

"It's you!" The dragon roared orcs in fluent human language. His voice was low and hoarse, and it had been broken by too many battle cries today, but his pronunciation was surprisingly standard. Diego was stunned, his shock fully visible on his face. The orc's hideous face twisted and twitched a few times, and Diego guessed that it was a grin.

"You'll only use conspiracy, despicable human reptiles," the orc snarled disdainfully, his eyes full of contempt, "you'll never understand what a true warrior looks like!" ”

"But you're going to die, aren't you?" Diego said sarcastically, he didn't want to talk to this orc or anything, but since this monster can understand human language, he is a little interested in talking, "No matter how brave you are, you will soon die, and before long you will become a scavenger or some other beast's meal, and after a while, you will become a pile of dung, rotting and maggots in the wilderness, until you turn to dust, and then where is your glory?" ”

"Not even death can deprive me of my glory, man, my glory flows in my blood, and no one can take him away! The souls of the ancestors are with me! Enraged, the orc roared again, "Blood and glory! ”

"Power and thunder!" The three dragon roaring orcs behind him shouted battle horns in response, and even though they were seriously injured and on the verge of death, these orcs were still imposing and fearless.

Diego was silent. Although the power-hungry orc shamans were tempted by Gul'dan to abandon their noble shamanic beliefs and degenerate into demonic magicians, the primitive and simple shamanic teachings were still spontaneously propagated among ordinary orcs. In this case, the very few shamans who still adhered to the ancient traditions of the orcs stepped forward. As the spiritual leaders of clans and tribes, shamans guided their people through these dark times, believing in animism and the spirits of their ancestors, and the traditions of the orcs were passed down with great difficulty under the influence of demons. As far as Diego knew, one of them was the old shaman Drektar of the Frostwolf Clan, and it was this old orc who taught the son of Durotan, the Great Chief Thrall, how to be a true shaman and a competent tribal leader.

Diego didn't know if there were such people in the Dragonthroat Clan, but when he saw Goldcock Furyfang today, he knew that there must be, because even though these Dragonthroat Orcs had lost a qiē, they were still inheriting the noble qualities of the ancient Orc Clan.

Even if their eyes are still full of hatred and madness, even if they still have filthy demonic blood in their veins, there is no denying that these orcs are still the bravest warriors, they never flinch, they are as tenacious as weeds, as tough as steel.

“trk’hsk!” The orc yelled, but he had used this skill too many times today, and the last trace of potential in his life had been drained, and he didn't feel any increase in his strength. But he still rushed towards the sturdy stone pillar, like Don Quixote rushing towards the windmill. Behind him, three dragonthroat orcs roared and followed him, launching a fearless charge.

Diego sighed, then bent his bow and arrow. Truth be told, it wasn't too difficult to shoot the orcs who were leaning over, the armor of the brave orcs was always thick in the front and weak in the back, and Diego didn't even add arcane energy to the arrows to shoot through the armor and the orcs wrapped in it.

Looking at the orcs who fell to the ground one after another, Diego suddenly felt a little uneasy. He felt sorry for these orcs who could not control their own destiny. Driven by demonic enslavement to serve as cannon fodder for the invasion of Azeroth, these orcs never returned to their distant homeland of Draenor until their deaths. Perhaps death is a relief for them.

At that moment, a panther came out from behind a stone pillar and waved its claws at Diego excitedly.

"Hey, man, come and see what I found!"

With that, the big cat turned around and ran towards the stone forest, where the orcs had camped before.