The open space behind the temple of Carabo was originally a great place for Draenei men and women to enjoy the sea, but because of the war, tombstones with names engraved on them were erected.

In the face of the full pressure of the orcs, the Draenei has basically ended up in defeat recently, and there is almost no possibility of recovering the remains of the victims.

In order to commemorate the compatriots who died in the war, they can only bring comfort and prayer to the deceased in this way.

Standing in front of a brand-new tombstone, Irel took off his armor, his slender fingertips sliding over the familiar names. She could name every name on it, from the unsmiling captain of the garrison, to her companions who assisted her as a recruit on patrol missions, to the villagers who had died in the fire.

Of course, what really made her tremble was the name she could make out by touch alone under her paused fingertips.

"You know what?" caressing the new notch over and over again, Iriel's fragile whisper slowly spread out at the touch of a touch.

Behind him, Lanlos put his hands in his pockets and retracted his gaze in the direction of the sea.

"The last thing she said to me, Keelah se'lai, was a blessing, and we all agreed that the best translation would be, 'May we return home together in the coming days.'" Ariel lowered his head, his fingers getting harder and harder, as if trying to pull the name off the tombstone.

"But, why, why did she lie to me......"

Listening to the tearful cry in his ears, Lanlos did not step forward to comfort him, he carefully looked at the name through the gap between the other party's fingers.

What was the last thing she said to me? and when?

It's strange, it's only been so many days, why don't I remember?

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Arriving at the Temple of Carapo does not mean safety, and the orc forces that are larger than the siege of the village of Ampoli are eyeing the temple from afar. Their group was so large that the Draenei spotted them early.

Of course, they don't want to hide it.

Tens of thousands of orcs, across the entire Shadowmoon Valley, they are not here to sneak in and carry out raids, but to be dignified and completely destroy the Draenei's largest stronghold in the Shadowmoon Valley.

"Sarufar's operation failed. Inside the tent, the black hand pushed the letter on the table in front of Guldan.

Looking at its contents, anger flashed in the orc warlock's eyes. The Temple of Carabo is not only the place of faith for the Draenei, but more importantly, Viren is also among them. Whether it was to capture or kill the Prophet, there was no doubt that Kil'Gardan would be happy.

But now, without the portal, the odds of storming this fortress are much lower.

"Waste. Gritting his teeth, Gul'dan still couldn't hold back his anger.

The black hand frowned, and glared at the other party with blazing eyes: "Sarufar has built a large gathering place for the tribe, and you are not qualified to insult his honor." ”

"Honor? Gul'dan's shrill laugh was full of sarcasm, "What we have to do is to please the Lord, otherwise it will be just a joke for you and me, or even the whole tribe." ”

The Black Hand didn't like Gul'dan's tone, but he had witnessed the glory of the supreme god with his own eyes, and he paused, and his deep voice was very convincing: "Now that the tribe is united, they will definitely be able to take this temple, you can reassure him." ”

"We want more than just a simple victory. ”

"The entire Draenei of Shadowmoon Valley is gradually gathering here. Of course, the Black Hand knew what the other party was trying to express, and his finger drew a circle on the map of Shadowmoon Valley, and his hideous face looked extremely intimidating, "Just break through the gate before they move again, and the orcs will bathe in the blood of the Draenei." ”

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The next day, the dawn was unusually dim under the cover of the Dark Star.

On the astrological platform, Viren, who was sitting in the center, ended his prayer and set his eyes on the crystal ball in front of him, and the blurred view became clearer as the magic surged.

Early in the morning, the atmosphere of the temple became extremely serious, and the walls were crowded with rangers and battle priests, who were ready and meticulous. Paladins and warriors, who had been trained early, lined up in the square in front of the closed gates, ready to meet the enemy at any time.

"Prophet. "The Horde is only two kilometers away from us, and it is still approaching at a very fast marching pace, and in less than twenty minutes the enemy army will be in the city. ”

"How's the relocation of the refugees?" didn't ask for news from the enemy, Viren was a benevolent leader who always put his own people first.

"There are still a few relatively remote villages in the Shadowmoon Valley that have no news. ”

"Then we need time. ”

"But if we don't open the portal to Shattrath in time, we're afraid we won't be able to evacuate all of our staff. ”

"Unfolding the long-distance portal will affect the other passages, and we will have to wait a little longer. Viren's gaze was immersed in the crystal ball, not knowing what he was thinking.

Nelly bit her lip hard, she didn't know how to refute the other party. Yes, there are less than half of the draenei scattered in Shadowmoon Valley, and it stands to reason that the safest way now is to take the more people in the temple with them while there is still time.

However, this means that the Delaney has completely abandoned Shadowmoon Valley and the two percent of the people......

This, how can she say it?

Just when the two were silent, outside the door, a pitch-black figure moved from the corner, and with a soft sigh, gradually disappeared.

Viren turned his head and looked at the dark corridor, a glimmer of hope in his bright eyes that shone with a faint light.

"Prophet, where are you going?"

"The city walls. ”

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Listening to the noisy chatter and incessant exhortations behind him, Lanlos turned a deaf ear, and stood alone in front of the closed gate, sticking Stomka in the ground in front of him, his dark robes and cloak facing the wind, constantly hunting, and standing straight with a rudimentary banner in his hand.

No, it's not so much a flag as a hide without any markings.

Ahead, a wave of tens of thousands of orcs slowly surged in, and the black clouds overwhelmed the city, and the draenei, who had been constantly persuading Lanlos to return to the temple, stopped talking and looked at this mighty army with solemn and nervous faces.

At a distance of nearly a hundred meters, the black hand stopped, and the entire army stopped as the wolf under his crotch let out a loud roar.

"Who's that?"

"It doesn't look like a delaney. ”

Durotan, who was following closely behind and bowed his head in contemplation, heard a low roar of joy from the night, and he slowly raised his gaze.

What is that High Elf who claims to be from another world, what is he doing?

It's not like you're trying to stop the whole tribe on your own, is it so stupid?

"Durontan, do you know him?" the Black Hand clearly captured the change in the chief's demeanor.

After a moment's hesitation, the latter nodded: "He once helped my people relieve the symptoms of fever, until the Great Chief taught the shaman new knowledge, and the child survived." ”

That's why Drektar and the Frostwolf Shamans turned Warlocks, and while the power is unknown and chaotic, it heals the Red Scourge that has ravaged the orc community in the past. It was precisely because of this that the Black Hand became the undisputed great chief of the tribe.

"Looks like we should be thankful for him. The Black Hand smiled, and he was very happy whenever he mentioned the things that had contributed to his position.

Without the help of spells, the thick neck of the black hand was like a natural megaphone, spreading the loud words far away: "Stranger, you have saved the lives of the orcs, get out of the way, the tribe can let you go." ”

The laughter spread like a plague through the orc troops, and the raging taunts and disdain were deeply annoyed even by the draenei on the walls. Orcs worship strength, while Lanlos is thin and short, so he deserves to be despised, what kind of fallacy is this?

Lanlos, on the other hand, didn't mean to go to his heart at all, just smiled lightly, held up what could barely be called a banner in his hand, and plunged deeply into the ground next to him: "So, you don't know what this is?"

Because of their contempt for this emaciated creature, the Black Hand and the orc didn't pay any attention to him and what was in his hand at first, until the other party uttered an orc voice full of power and impact, and everyone put away their expressions.

A look of disbelief and surprise slowly crept up their faces.

Mak'gora, the sacred and ancient dueling tradition of the orcs, in the past, was usually used to settle irreconcilable contradictions between clans until death, and the winner was king.

But......

"!" The Bloodring Clan can be said to have reached its pinnacle because of tradition, and Kilrog will never allow anyone to tarnish the sacred past of the orcs, "You are not a noble orc, and you are not qualified to initiate Mak'gora!"

"What?" Lanlos smiled, as contemptuous as the tens of thousands of troops ahead, but the ants, "Are you afraid?"

With a scolding of rage, Kilrog was about to rush forward with a bone knife, but was stopped by Durontan, who suddenly stopped in front of him.

Looking at the High Elves who were alone and facing the tribe, Durontan's eyes shone with bright colors: "Look, that's the power of the elements!"

As Lanloth's palm rested on the hilt of the monstrous greatsword, a visible white hurricane immediately swirled on the blade.

"Leave this person to me. Durotan grabbed the axe at his waist and tugged at the reins with a little excitement. During this time, he has been distraught by this war, but he is an orc, and he must respect the will of the ancestral spirits.

Faith and reason clashed, contradictions forced him to collapse, and he desperately wanted to die honorably in a battle full of honor, so that at least he didn't have to worry about it anymore.

And now, it's the perfect opportunity.

"No!" a loud voice struck him like a heavy punch, and in front of him was a warrior with tied hair armed with a tomahawk.

"In this situation, it is not the turn of a young man like you to represent the tribe. Grom's hideous smile looked so intimidating that he forced Eye Night to stop moving forward, "He's mine." ”

As soon as he finished speaking, Grom jumped off the wolf and walked forward with a determined step.

Listening to the howl of the wind coming from the other party's movements, Lanloth's gaze couldn't help but stay on the battle axe called the blood roar, and through the unique shape, he judged the identity of the came.

"You're a good opponent!"

"Stranger, since you have the blessings of the elements, then you are enough to be respected by the tribe. The orcs roared blood, and their powerful voices raised a chorus of cheers among the orc army, "I, Grom Hell Roar, swear by the holy Mak'gora!"

"Lanloth. Responding in a respectful tone, the elf slowly drew his greatsword and tore through his robes. The well-defined muscles don't appear to be very strong, but they are strong and powerful. What's more, the green lines all over the front chest and back have a full visual impact.

He had forgotten when it began, and he was afraid that his predetermined fate would be deflected for his own reasons. However, what he still remembers is the longing and hope at that moment when he was just reborn in the Broken Abyss.

Indeed, history writes the final victory of Azeroth, and doing nothing is the most correct aid to the victory over the Burning Legion.

But now......

his fate!

"Come on, have a good time!"

Raising his right foot and stomping on the ground, a chaotic storm roared up, and the emerald green flames reflected in the eyes of the orcs and draenei, setting their souls on fire as they set their souls on fire.

The pitch-black demon spread its wings as hard as it stood, its flaming green eyes projecting at Grom with its thick horns pointing upwards into the sky.

The next moment, a deafening roar brought a storm that shook everyone's hearts like thunder.

In the face of the other party's daring roar, Grom did not hold his head like his past enemies. On the contrary, boiling blood piled up beneath his strong body, and with a roar that was not lost to the other party, he picked up the blood roar and charged forward in a shrill and terrifying howl.

The pitch-black greatsword and the scarlet battle axe intersected in the expectant gaze of everyone, and time seemed to stand still in this moment, and a brief dead silence and a deafening roar pierced the sky......