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The day has finally arrived.

Throughout the night, the warlocks stood in a circle to prevent curious onlookers from seeing the dark ritual, and several stonemasons had been diligently carving the last few heraldic stones of the portal's pedestal. Once they're done with their work, they'll be killed when they turn around and smile at each other while wiping the sweat from their faces. The blood of the englyph will make the glyph complete and stimulated, and the Medi proclamation sù Gul'dan at this point. Gul'dan had no reason to doubt the wisdom of his new ally. But those unfortunate stonemasons won't be the last to die here.

The dawn was like fire, interspersed with crimson and orange, and the air was solemn and filled with an oppressive atmosphere. In the last few days of the portal's completion, other tasks were also completed. The siege equipment that had been destroyed a few months ago was now back in use, repaired, oiled, and adjusted. The neglected armor was polished again, and the sword was sharpened.

The great orc army that once destroyed Miè Delaney is regrouping.

Some clans were asked to stay. Gul'dan did everything in his power to convince the chiefs of Shatterhand, Shadowmoon, Thunderking, Bloodcave, and the Mocking Skull Clan that they were needed. Grom and the Warsong Clan were especially difficult to convince, and when Grom lost his temper with Gul'dan, for a moment Gul'dan thought about whether it was right to let Hell Roar and drink the blood of demons, and he seemed to have no control over his feelings at all, completely ignoring Gul'dan's flattery, no matter how much he said that Grom was to him, how much he needed Grom, it was Grom's wisdom and unlimited ability that made Gul'dan want to keep him. He must not risk giving Grom any crazy thoughts and openly defying orders. Medivan didn't want that, he never wanted that.

Blackhan demanded that the entire tribe be concentrated in the Hellfire Fortress. Over the past few days, a number of clans that have returned to their ancestral homeland - including frostwolves - have gradually returned and set up tents. They were armed for battle as ordered, though few of them knew what was going to happen.

They gathered, clan after clan. Each clan wears their traditional colors in the form of a sash or sash on this hot but windy day. Their flags crackled triumphantly.

Gul'dan and Naozu watched as they assembled. Gul'dan turned to his former mentor. "You and your clan are going to stay. He said.

Naozu nodded almost submissively. "I guessed it," he said. He doesn't talk much these days, just like Guldan. He had some suspicions that the old orc would take advantage of Kil'Gardan's departure to try to break free from his control. But apparently Naozu was too cowardly and incompetent to do so. Gur'dan remembered that not long ago he had worshipped Naozu as an idol, and his heart was full of disdain and contempt. How stupid he was then. Now he's grown. Learned a lot, and even learned from that bitter deception. Sometimes he felt a slight glint in Naozu's eyes, like now. He stared sharply at the old orc in front of him, and finally decided that it was just a trick of the lights. He turned his attention back to the various clans that had been assembled, and smiled.

Although his plan was much more than a simple slaughter, he couldn't help but be thrilled when he saw what he saw. They are glorious! The blazing sun shines on their armor, their banners flutter in the wind, their green faces full of longing. If all of them are as Medivin assures. It will be a turning point on the road to greatness. The drums sounded, deep and primitive, trembling along the Great Earthquake, through the rocks, and through the marrow of the tribe. As they began to march, many of them raised their heads and roared, and naturally walked in order, and the orcs were once again a united people.

Gul'dan was in no hurry to get over. Once they are all assembled in front of the portal, he will be teleported there by another warlock with magic. He was to watch his army march down the wide paved avenues.

Standing in front of the portal is a Draenei child.

Where did they find him? Durotan hadn't seen the Draenei much in months, and neither did anyone else. They must have thought it was a lot of luck to find a Delaney. Not to mention finding a small child.

The portal has been completed and looks both beautiful and terrifying. Two cloaked statues stood guard on either side of the portal, standing in front of the crowd. Right next to the Thunder King Clan and the Dragonthroat Clan, their eyes glowing red with magic or advanced technology. A sinuous creature statue hovered at the top of the door, its jaw wide open to barre fangs and sharp, lizard-like claws that bulged from its neck to its torso. Durotan had never seen anything like it, and wondered slightly how the stonemason could have thought of such an image, perhaps a nightmare?, he smiled wryly as his face twisted. It's a horrible statue. But he only noticed the carving of the statue. His gaze rested on which Delaney kid again. The child looked so weak in front of the huge arch beside it—weak. Thin, with bruises. He stared blankly at the sea of orcs. The ocean roaring towards him was much more than horror. So that some numbness and sluggishness.

"What are they going to do to him?" Draka voiced her doubts.

Durotan shook his head. "I'm sad for the worst," he said.

She stared at him. "I've seen children killed in battle," she said. "They're bloodthirsty - I can't understand that, but I understand how it happened, and I'm sure they won't sacrifice children for ceremonial sacrifices!"

"I hope you're right," Durotan said, but he couldn't see any other possible reason for this tiny body to appear here. If the truth is as he thinks, then he can't stand idly by. He didn't want his clan to risk it, so he prayed that he was wrong.

The Warlocks were now chanting something, and to Durotan's surprise, Gul'dan appeared before them. The whole tribe whispered, and Gul'dan smiled kindly at everyone.

"Today is a glorious day for the orcs!" He shouted. "You've all witnessed the construction of this portal, praising the craftsmanship of the craftsmen and watching how it stands as a symbol of tribal glory. Now, I'm going to show you what I've ever seen. He pointed to the arch. "Far, far away, on a continent called Azeroth, I have an ally. He mentions yì us to his continent. It is green and verdant, full of clean water and fat prey. And most importantly, we will continue the glory and ecstasy of our killing. A race called 'Humans', enemies of our allies, will try to prevent us from taking their lands. We're going to destroy them. Their crimson blood will flow freely on our blades. Just as we have ruined Miè Delaney, now we will also ruin Miè humanity!"

A cheer rang out. Draka shook his head in disbelief. "Why do they still think that? Don't they see that if we continue to do this, this new continent will suffer the same fate as our land?"

Durotan nodded in agreement. "But even then, we don't have a choice. We needed food and water. We must pass through this portal. Draka sighed, she could understand it, but she didn't like it.

"Even now, our allies are trying to keep the portal on his side. And now, let's get started. He gestured to the little Draenei captive. "Blood as the purest gift is given to those who give us great strength. And the blood of children is even more pure. As the lives of our enemies pass, we will open portals and step into a glorious new world—a new page in the history of the Horde!"

He approached the tied child, who looked at him with vacant eyes. Gul'dan held up a dagger encrusted with gems, which glittered in the sun.

"No!"

The word rushed out of his mouth. Everyone turned to stare at Durotan. He squeezed forward, and if this new journey started with the blood of an innocent child, it would not end well. He hadn't taken a few steps before he tripped and fell heavily on the sun-scorched ground. In an instant, he heard Drakar's shouts, and the clanging of metal as she ran over. The scene descended into chaos. He struggled to his feet and stared at the curled up child. Blue blood gushed from his slitted throat.

"Gul'dan, what have you done to us!" Durotan screamed, but his questioning was drowned out by the roar of the enraged orcs. The frostwolf orcs quickly prepared to protect their chieftain, and the battle roar was deafening. The attackers of Durotan - he could not tell which clan it was - kept attacking, and Durotan's breath seemed to be knocked out of his lungs. In defense, Durotan raised his axe and swung it. And the other party dodged, more agile than Durotan had imagined. (To be continued)