The group that had unified their minds learned the lesson they had just learned, and finally decided that Masrae would touch it first. Because of the few deserters who escaped, the orcs in the Ripper camp must have been prepared, and rushing in was not a good choice.

"Be careful, they're sure they'll have Warlocks, think of the flaming imps on the side of the road when we came," Diego said, holding Masrae, who had transformed into a cheetah, warned, "Then the camp will have the invisible Eye of Kilrog who can see through it!" ”

Masrae nodded cautiously, and headed over to the other side of the valley. After a dozen steps, the figure of the cheetah completely disappeared from their field of vision. Diego pondered for a while, and still sent the Guanhaifa out as a response, just in case.

If you want to say that Diego wants to face the enemy the most, I'm afraid it's really the Arithmetic. Obsessed with dark forces and demonic lore, these spellcasters wander the nightmare of chaos and darkness, greedy, manipulating evil powers, playing with souls, summoning demons and making contracts with demons to strengthen themselves, and seeking evil forces from the warped void.

Maybe their attack power isn't too strong, but their spells are absolutely weird and terrifying. They know how to tap into your deepest fears, even those fears that you yourself were never aware of; They are well-versed in how to use shadow energy to draw your blood and draw your life and magic from it; They know how to inflict the deepest pain on the enemy, even if it is not fatal, it can still make people suffer and lose the power to resist; They can even stealthily parasitize evil spirits or corrosive seeds in the bodies of their enemies, so that they are cursed to death before they can understand what is happening; What's even more terrifying is that for warlocks, death does not mean that they can be liberated, and they have a way to torture the soul of their opponent to the point that death is worse than life; And these demons in human (or orc) skins are very difficult to kill, and even the most powerful warlocks know how to save their souls in order to resurrect them from the dead.

If given the choice, Diego would never want to provoke such a chilling guy. However, the Blackstone Clan has never been known for producing warlocks, and even during the reign of Blackhand, they were only known for their strength and steel. As a result, the underappreciated Blackstone Warlocks often don't have much resources to improve themselves, and most of them are of a low standard, far from being comparable to the Grand Karcists of the Shadow Council. This is especially true of the Warlocks of the Ripper Legion, who are even more miserable, coming and going with only a limited number of spells.

After a while, the two leopards have not returned. Diego lost his breath and tried to touch it to see what was going on, but Windsor stopped him.

"Calm down, young man, patience is a virtue." The old marshal said presence, though he himself glanced at the valley every few minutes.

Time passed in this boring waiting, until half an hour later, before Diego had lost all patience, the two leopards ran back one after the other.

"There weren't many people in that camp, and it was quiet." Masrae drew a map on the ground and charted on it. The map was sloppy and barely a schematic, but Diego and Windsor could read it. The former is due to the fact that in previous lives he was quite familiar with the maps of any place in Azeroth, while the latter had seen more detailed military maps.

Diego looked up, glanced at Wendsol, and couldn't help but laugh.

It must have been a trap, and the orcs had overdone it by their own ingenuity—there was no camp that could have been quiet after the fleeing comrades had returned, and it would be strange if it hadn't blown up.

And in order to lure them into jumping in, the orcs did not even set up sentry posts on the surrounding hillsides, and it must be said that for adventurers with hunters, it was simply death.

"What should I do?" After listening to Masrae's explanation, Diego asked.

"A raid, a straightforward crush, is enough to solve all problems." Windsall said in a well-fashioned way that he had the most say in solving this kind of military trouble.

"Okay, then we'll do it." Diego agreed. It's good to be cautious, but too much caution can turn into timidity, and he doesn't want to overdo it. Besides, this Ripper Legion can only be considered a second-tier army among the Blackstone Orcs, and their best armies are all in the Blackstone Tower, waiting to start a war with the Black Iron Dwarves.

Now that they had made their decision, they began to walk into the valley. They didn't walk together, Diego was walking along the ridgeline with the side of the Ripper camp, Masrae sneaking in the shadows, and Windthor tinkling along the big path.

Diego was the first to arrive at the intended location. Unlike the bare burning plains, which are everywhere, this valley has begun to show vegetation. Although there were few large trees, mostly tall and uneven bushes, they were enough to provide him with sufficient shelter. And instead of fine dust and sand, the surface is a pile of gravel and rock, so you don't have to worry about the dust being raised to expose your target.

He removed the rifle from his back and began to prepare for the battle. The hillside where he was lurking was about two hundred meters from the camp, just within the range of the rifle's maximum power.

The situation is different now than it was in the Scorching Canyon, when it was an ambush to deliberately hit the unintentional, and this time it was almost a storm, and you can never imagine how terrifying it is for a warlock to be prepared.

He picked up his gun, his eyes moving back and forth through the crosshairs around the camp, looking for a target.

This is a **-type orc camp, which is located in a valley surrounded by mountains, with only one canyon exit facing east. There were no wood-and-stone buildings, only a few half-egg-shaped tents of animal skins, which were supported by wooden frames. It seems that the orcs are only planning to use it as a temporary camp, and perhaps they will move out after entering the Red Ridge Mountain area.

He didn't see a single orc soldier in the open space between the tents, and the soldiers of the Ripper Legion were probably hiding in the tents or the large cave behind the camp, waiting for them to step into the trap.

Just then, he saw Windsor, dressed in blue and white armor, approaching the entrance to the camp. He didn't see Masrae or Guan Haifa, but he was sure that the two leopards were already in the camp, perhaps in that corner waiting to attack.

Diego was sure that the orcs must have known about Windthor's arrival, but none of them showed up, probably waiting for all the enemies to jump into the pit. To be honest, Diego was really skeptical, were the orcs drinking the blood of the Abyss Lord, or the paste?

"The Light is with me!" The marshal roared loudly, and then, with his shield raised, he charged swiftly at the nearest tent, and since the rats were hiding inside, let them out.

With a slight bump, the wooden frame of the tent shattered. The collapsed hides covered the ambushed orc's head like a large quilt. They struggled and wriggled inside like marmots, but the skins were strong and tough, and they could not escape from them for a while.

They struggled for a moment, and finally someone remembered the weapon in their hand, and the sound of blades cutting through the leather rang out one after another, but before they could widen the gaps enough for people to drill through, Wendthor's attack came.

The sword in Wendthor was a Stormwind standard one-handed sword, but this seemingly ordinary weapon exploded with unimaginable power in his hands, and in his hands, this one-handed sword was sharp and deadly.

The orcs screamed and cried under his sword, blood splattered and splashed on the tarpaulin, as bright as flowers.

The marshal struck like a hurricane, roaring with every swing of his sword, and roaring like thunder with every jab.

"Die, monster!"

"Filthy greenskin!"

Gradually, the orcs under the fur tarpaulin stopped struggling and became silent, blood flowing like a spring, staining the entire tarpaulin.

Wendthor calmed his breath and wiped the blade of his sword on the tarpaulin, then turned and calmly looked in the direction of the camp.

As he had hoped, more orcs swarmed from other tents, from caverns, from behind rocks, from bushes, and from various other ambush sites. They finally realized that if they couldn't deal with the powerful human in front of them, they wouldn't have to wait for other enemies to appear.

Wendthor looked over, and there was a crush in front of him. But these orcs were unlike anything he had seen before, their hair tied together high and tied together like a bird's crest or a horse's mane. Although they were also huge, with thick arms and strong thighs, they were far less well-equipped than their counterparts in Blackstone Mountain, wearing no armor, only belts, shoulder pads, and tattered shorts, and a pair of straw rope shoes under their feet. Their turquoise skin is covered in tattoos, and most of them wear small pieces of metal or what looks like bones on their ears, noses, lips, foreheads, and even **.

It was a brutal battle, savage against fanaticism, shiny armor against wild tattoos and piercings, orcs strong, rough and crazy, but Windsor had a wealth of experience and well-honed skills, and more than one orc was defeated in the face of his attacks, and it looked like Windsor was alone surrounding dozens of orcs.

Windsor used his shield to deftly unflick an orc-wielding axe, the blade of which slashed across the shield to create a spark, but the marshal's one-handed sword had already sliced through the artery in his neck before the overheaded orc could regain his center of gravity. Windsor took a few steps back, keeping his distance from the orc, gasping for air. He couldn't remember how many orcs had fallen under his sword, but the numerical disadvantage was not compensated for by superior combat skills, and more and more orcs surrounded him.

A wisp of blood trickled from behind his ear and into the lining of his armor, the wound of a crude spear whose owner had already fallen under his sword. He felt as if he had tons of stones on his back, but he still held his shield steadily, tightly guarding his side, and the sword in his hand took an offensive stance.

There was a quiet place around him, and almost all the orcs were attracted to him, but the druid and the hunter showed no signs of activation, but he still had faith in his teammates, and he believed that the two young men would not let him down.

And it turned out to be just as he thought, and just before he could show his defeat, two ferocious beasts attacked the orcs from behind, a yellow leopard and a brown bear. They worked together so well that Masrae attacked like a real beast - clawing and biting with his teeth, charging with his massive body, and Guan Haifa at his side, striking them from the side and back with his sharp fangs and claws.

The orcs turned in panic to face their new foe. But they couldn't resist this fierce attack at all, and almost in the blink of an eye, they were about to collapse. If nothing happens, failure seems inevitable.

It was then that Diego finally saw his long-awaited goal. Not far from the cave, under a large tree, an orc-looking orc came out from behind it.

"It's finally there!" Diego was excited. He hadn't attacked, and this guy was waiting for him. This is a green-skinned orc, the color of his skin is much brighter than that of other orcs, he wears a red robe, and cloth shoes on his feet, and his identity seems to be more important than that of ordinary orcs. No matter where they are or what race they are, the caster is always aloof and withdrawn. Behind him, a smoke-clad imp was restlessly bouncing back and forth. In fact, that's why Diego found this orc warlock - his demonic servants are too hot to see.

Diego moved his rifle slightly, resting the front handguard on a strip of stone to make the shot more stable. Then a stream of arcane energy flowed out of his body and poured into the warhead through the guòbolt.

The orc didn't continue to move, but stood by the tree and looked out at the crowd. But as soon as he made that familiar gesture of bending over the probe, lunges and knees, and hands rocking at his waist, Diego knew immediately what he was going to do.

"In Elune's name!" Diego muttered, then pulled the trigger.

Almost as soon as the gunshots rang out, the orc fell to the ground. Without a spell shield on his body, he was completely unable to withstand the bullet infused with arcane energy, which nearly completely ripped off his skull.

To Diego's surprise, the Warlock's demonic minions did not continue to attack after his death, instead the Flame Imp even canceled the flaming arrows that had been ready to be fired, picking up the skull that was still clinging to his scalp and brain. In the next moment, its body flickered like lightning, and the second bullet fired by Diego even pierced through his phantom and hit the trunk of a nearby tree, knocking out a cloud of sawdust.

Diego stared at this qiē dumbfounded. This clever little imp who can carry a clear shape shì obviously has no affection for the warlock who enslaved him, let alone revenge him, and when he returned to the Twisted Abyss, he raised his own salary - in the legend of demons, the skull and the soul are always inextricably linked, and the soul of this warlock will obviously not end well.

Now, when it was clear that he wasn't thinking about it, Diego came back to his senses and looked at the Blackstone Orcs in the Ripper camp. After relieving the warlock of his threat, he began to reap the harvest with confidence.