It was late at night, but the damn rain was getting heavier and heavier. Sergeant Coloran tightened his fishskin cloak tightened, trying to keep himself as dry as he could. Even though it's been two years since he was transferred from Ironforge to this haunted place, the dwarven sergeant still struggles to adapt to the vagaries of the Cursed Lands.

With the destruction of the Lordaeron Kingdom, the Seven Nations Alliance, which once supplied it with a steady stream, has long since collapsed, and if it weren't for the occasional help from Stormwind, the defenders of the Watchtower would have already become starving. In order to hold on, Commander Waynes arranged from time to time for the baggage team to go fishing in the Sad Swamp to the north to solve the food ration problem. The fishskin cloak on his body was made of the skin of a large fish, and although it always exuded a fishy smell of dead fish and rotten shrimp, the waterproof effect was not ordinarily good.

"Guys, keep your eyes open, and when it's time tonight, I'll invite you to Mommy Moulton's for a drink!" The sergeant poked his head out and glanced under the city walls, but through the thick curtain of rain, it was dark and dark below, and he couldn't see anything clearly.

"Wow, Sergeant, we love you to death!" Behind the dwarf, his squad let out a suppressed cheer. Truth be told, on this damn day, it couldn't have been more perfect to have a glass of Fort Overwatch after the next shift.

Speaking of which, Fort Watch spirits are not really a local specialty of Fort Watch, but a difficult choice of last resort. Its appearance is related to the strange geography of the Cursed Lands. This arid and barren barren land was once a living swamp, called the Dark Swamp, rich in abundant crops and aquatic plants, like the sad swamp to the north. When the Dark Gate was opened and the Orcs invaded Azeroth from here, in order to power the Dark Gate and keep the giant portal running, the Orc Warlocks used evil magic to squeeze every inch of life out of the land, leaving only the dry, red sandy land, just like they did on the other side of the Dark Gate, on the Hellfire Peninsula of Draenor.

While the Alliance destroyed the Dark Gate and stopped the spread of pollution after the Orc War victory, the cursed land could never be restored. Since then, the desert has been cursed, all food and alcohol cannot be stored for a long time, even the salty dried fish will rot after half a month, and the strongest spirits of high purity will eventually turn sour. For the defenders who were defending in such a desperate place, the lack of food was a big deal to starve, but it was impossible to relax without spirits, so some of the most alcoholic guys came up with a way to mix the changed liquor, whether it was from Ironforge or Stormwind, whether it was wine or liquor, all mixed together, re-steamed, perhaps mixed with the evil smell of the air and the land here, and a different kind of liquor was born.

The only type of liquor that can be stored in the Cursed Lands for a long time, the Fort Watch's Spirits are so hot that they almost swallow coals of fire when drunk, but what could be more popular for the defenders here than this cheap but strong enough new spirit? Later, the people here didn't wait for the freshly arrived liquor to spoil and blended it all into Fort Watch. Later, as some of the Dwarven soldiers who had completed their warn missions returned home with some of the Watchfort spirits, the name of the spirit spread far and wide, and it became one of the top spirits in Azeroth.

Amid the commotion, Sergeant Collolan's deputy, Corporal Nociby, glanced west and leaned over.

"Something isn't right, Cororan, I hear something going on in the mine!"

"It may be that the new criminals from the Western Wilderness are making trouble again, it's okay, it's honest with a whip!" The sergeant said disapprehantly. Still, he turned his head and looked in the direction of the mine.

Built after the Orc War to monitor the Dark Gate's movements, the Watchtower was originally staffed by a full mixed legion, as well as auxiliary soldiers for baggage and hundreds of craftsmen who served them. For a long time, the nobles of the major human kingdoms also regarded it as an honor to go to defend the watchtower. But with the outbreak of the Scourge War and the destruction of the Kingdom of Lordaeron, the initiator of the former Alliance, there are fewer and fewer humans who have come here voluntarily. In order to maintain the necessary defenses, countries began to exile all kinds of criminals – robbers, embezzlers, rapists, crooks, thieves. However, no one dared to put these villains and scum into the main army, and in order to prevent a rat from spoiling the pot of soup, Commander Waynes stuffed them all into the mines and the nearby smelter to serve as coolies.

"It's not like the coolies are making trouble, they don't have the ability to make such a big move." The sergeant muttered as he peered through his brass glasses. The mine was so far away from this side that it was raining so hard that he could vaguely see that there seemed to be a fire on that side, and there seemed to be a shout coming from that side in the wind and rain.

"Do you want to tell the patrol team in the city gate area to go over there and take a look?" Nociby asked, hesitantly.

"Forget it, their captain is the old guy of the Wine Hammer, and if I let him run for nothing, he will have to drink my next month's salary!" Sergeant Coloran unceremoniously scolded his fellow dwarves, intending to wait and see.

He glanced back at Sergeant Nociby's typical dwarf stature, who was a head shorter than himself, sighed, and climbed up to a nearby turret with dwarven cannons, trying to stand taller and see farther.

After about a few minutes, the soldiers of the patrol suddenly heard their captain take a sharp breath, and the next moment, a sharp shout burst out of his throat!

"Enemy attack—"

As if stabbing a hornet's nest, the patrol suddenly went into chaos.

"What's going on? What's going on? ”

"Damn it, trumpet, blow the trumpet!" Sergeant Noxby pulled the trumpeter beside him and groped around him.

However, there was no need for them to blow their trumpets to warn, for with a deafening explosion, the walls beneath their feet jerked upwards and threw several men into the air. Seconds later, the wall crashed to the ground, but before it could hit the ground, it had already crumbled into a pile of broken masonry.

Thrown into the air, Sergeant Colloran suddenly understood what the enemy was doing in the mine—they were digging a tunnel, a tunnel that led to the castle where it could be blasted. After years of mining, the deepest part of the cavern was not even more than a hundred yards closest to the walls, a short distance that would not even take an hour for the Morgar demons, who were proficient in digging and blasting.

"Damn it! When did these Morgars get in? Before losing consciousness, the dwarf sergeant cursed in confusion.