It was late at night, and everything was quiet in the Giant Hammer Fortress, only the snoring sounds of the soldiers who had been tired for more than half a month came and went, and even the sentries guarding the gate were sleeping soundly, but in the darkness outside the fortress, shadows were moving silently.

Without anyone noticing, the gates of the fortress were slowly pushed open. The shadows passed through the doors and crept into room to slaughter mercilessly. When they walked out of the room again, each of them had daggers stained with blood.

Masrae slept deeply, his whole body relaxed, lying limply on the ground, completely unaware of the two dark shadows ascending the stairs to the watchtower. The two shadows crept closer to the bear, then raised their daggers to its eyes.

In the faint moonlight, two dark shadows revealed their true faces. They were two goat-like monsters, with the same torso as the Night Elves, but they had many beastly features, long goat-like horns, anti-jointed legs and hooves, and a long lion-like tail, their fingernails as sharp as claws, and their fluffy purple hair obscured most of the skinny face, revealing only a sinister and evil face.

It was Sartre, the Burning Legion's best known demon for stealth assassination. In reality, they are not the original demon race, but have been corrupted and transformed by the fallen Night Elves, who have been lurking in the remote corners of Azeroth, secretly serving their demon masters.

The two Sartre glanced at each other, and then stabbed down together, but the moment they stabbed hard, a deafening thunderclap exploded in the air.

Awakened by the thunder, Masrae opened his eyes suddenly, only to see two sharp daggers stabbing towards him, he instinctively wanted to turn his head sideways to avoid this insidious attack, but he had just woken up and could not control his stiff body at all, and watched the daggers pierce his eyes. With a sharp pain to the bone, the red blood covered his vision like a giant curtain, and he could no longer see!

……

Masrae let out a frightened scream, jolting out of her deep nightmare. He sat up from the ground and looked around in horror. But he didn't see anything, there was no sneak attack, the gates of the fortress were still closed, and the heavy snoring of the soldiers still echoed inside the fortress.

Just a nightmare! Realizing this, he let out a long breath, only to find that his fur was soaked with sweat, and it was extremely uncomfortable. He stood up, shaking his body vigorously, and the beads of sweat flew everywhere. But at this moment, the thunder sounded again.

Wait, thunder? He turned his head in confusion and looked in the direction where the thunder was coming from. He was astonished to see that a fierce battle was going on in the wilderness just a few miles to the east!

It was the three-way road to the swamp of sorrow and the watchtower, where thousands of people were fighting to the death, the cries of humans and the roars of demons, the clashing of weapons and the firing of muskets, and the occasional blazing fireballs streaked across the night sky, exploding in the crowd and lighting a dozen human-shaped candles.

"Hell! What's going on? Masrae was taken aback, he craned his neck and looked that way, but after a few seconds, he jumped to his feet. For he saw a bright bullet scar tear through the night, almost through the entire battlefield, into the body of a dreaddemon.

It's all too familiar! Whether it was the glow of the bullet or the low whistling of the musket as it fired, there was no semicolon in all of Azeroth except for Diego's death gaze!

He quickly transformed into a cheetah form and ran quickly towards the fortress.

"Get up, get up!" He shouted as he ran.

But the soldiers were so tired that they slept so hard that no one woke up, and at last he rushed into the room where Christopher was sleeping, and slapped his paw on the latter's face.

"Get up, the devil has come in!" He yelled loudly in his ear.

"Where? Where are they? The captain of the sleeping guard got up from the ground, picked up the long sword he was carrying and waved it a few times in front of him. He struggled to open his eyes, trying to see who was in front of him.

Even though he had taken a few steps back, Masrae was almost slashed by him. The big cat sat down and waited quietly for a few seconds before Christopher was awake before he spoke again.

"Just a few miles away, fighting our men."

"Fighting? Who led the team out? Why didn't you call me? Christopher glanced around and saw that the people in the room were still there, snoring loudly. The two of them had been arguing for so long and hadn't woken them up.

"It's not the Storm Whip, it's Diego, your lord is back with reinforcements!" Masrae said excitedly.

"Are you sure?" The captain of the guard was stunned for a moment, and it took him a few seconds before he realized what it meant.

"It's true!"

Christopher didn't speak, he shook his clenched fist vigorously, walked over to the sleeping others, kicked and screamed loudly.

"Get up, damn it, get up!"

There was a flurry of chickens and dogs, and in a few minutes, the entire Storm Whip appeared in the square in front of the fortress gates. Although they all looked sleepy and sluggish, they were still quite tidy last night, and most of them fell asleep without even taking off their armor, and now it seems that they have saved a lot of effort.

"Guys, Lord Lord has returned with reinforcements and is engaged with the demon cubs just a few miles away," Christopher announced loudly, standing at the front of the queue. There was a cheer in the queue, but Christopher raised his hand to signal them to be quiet, "What should we do?" ”

"Needless to say, of course it's with them!"

"Kick them in the ass!"

"I also need a demon horn as an heirloom!"

The soldiers shouted in a rambling voice. Looking at these red-faced soldiers with excitement, Masrae suddenly realized that Diego was the spiritual pillar of this army, from the Plaguelands to the Wild West to the Cursed Lands, and the only thing that supported them all the way, and even those who were willing to die for him, was the fanaticism and loyalty to this saint, which could not be replaced by whoever commanded him.

After a short mobilization, the Storm Whip set off quickly. In order to ensure the suddenness of the attack, they did not light the torches, and in order to save horsepower, they kept leading the horses on foot. Instead, the dragoons in heavy armor were slowly marching on pack horses all the way, anyway, when they arrived at the battlefield, they had to dismount and fight on foot, and what they needed to accumulate was the warrior, not the physical strength of the war horse.

It is worth mentioning that even in the days when the food was cut off, no one proposed to kill the horses for meat, and now the benefits of this practice are fully manifested, and all the warriors of the Storm Whip have no shortage of mounts, even the three chaplains of the army ride a few tame cold-blooded horses.

They walked in the dark for more than half an hour and finally arrived at the battlefield. 2k reading web