Clais Ostraz flew through the air, holding back from looking at the chaos beneath him. He made up his mind to fly directly over the Palatine Bay, without the slightest delay. It was the most important thing he had to do, and the dragon did not dare to involve himself in this endless struggle against the Scourge Legion. The war has to be left to the other defenders. He must not be caught up in it

However, the huge red dragon struggled again and again in his heart. Clais Ostraz cannot watch innocents suffer, nor can she allow the evil spirits of the undead to go unpunished after committing numerous crimes. After he had witnessed this bloody day, would he still be able to let these hundreds of cruel and crazy servants of the Lich King do whatever they wanted?

When he first saw this army, this army of rotting stumps, scraps of flesh and thousands of fresh souls, began to march.

Rusty and dented armor covered the bare skeleton, and hollow eye sockets under the helmet stared ahead. Next to some of the undead buildings, the dragon saw that the Scourge didn't care whether the owner of the corpse was male or female, old or young, and that any fallen corpse could become a warrior for their evil master.

What these corpses in front of him used to be meant little to the enraged dragon. He vented his anger at the ghouls beneath him. A torrent of flames pierced and wreaked havoc on the unclean army. The dry bones gave the red dragon's flames an unexpected effect, and the leaping flames spread rapidly among the undead.

Claiostraz knew very well that the destination of this scourge army could not be anywhere other than the heavily defended Dalaran that he had flown not long ago. The Sorcerers are the eternal enemies of Arthas and the Lich King. The dragon had anticipated such an attack not long ago, but the Scourge was swifter than he had ever imagined.

Therefore, they asked the Red Dragon to carry out a bold idea of Kenrito's comrades before he flew away from Lordaeron.

The skeleton warriors shot countless bows and arrows at him, but they all fell before they hit the dragon. They had never attacked such a behemoth before. Claiostraz flew north, attacking the troops along the way. Spit fire at any Scourge Warriors still standing on the ground.

He finally sensed the attack of magic from the ground and fought back as soon as possible. The young dragon may fall under the Lich King's curse, but Clais Ostraz is battle-hardened. He immediately realized where the enemy was, and immediately gathered all his strength.

The ground cracked, and weeds, magnified a thousandfold, covered the ground like a forest. Entangled the forces of the Scourge. Those who were once noble wizards have fallen under the temptation of the dark power of the Lich King. Massive vines grabbed their prey, tearing the undead to shreds before they could complete their evil spells.

Life triumphs over death!" thought Clyostraz grimly. As a servant of life, he hated using his abilities like this. However. Natural disasters forced him to make a choice. The Scourge is on his side and threatens all living beings in Azeroth.

Suddenly, there was a sharp pain in his chest, and the giant beast fell rapidly. Claostraz let out a roar of rage, annoyed that he was as upset as a young dragon. He almost fell to the Scourge. But at the last moment he climbed up. After flying into the clouds with all its might, the beast looked at its chest.

An arrow as long as his claw stuck in the scales of his abdomen. The arrow is not made of metal, but a crystal that stretches rhythmically. It succeeded in influencing Clyostraz, and burrowed deep into the wound.

The wound was clearly not an accident. New pain came upon him. Despite his preparations this time, the dragon could barely keep himself from falling. Pushing to her limits, Clyostraz flew higher, and the scourge on the ground looked as small as an ant. Satisfied that he had escaped more magical attacks, the beast began to concentrate its strength on the dangerous shaft of the arrow in its chest.

A crimson aura enveloped Clyostraz, and the dragon focused all its attention on the exposed arrows.

The black shaft shattered. Before Claostraz could celebrate his victory, however, a sting pain struck him. It wasn't as bad as it was before, but it was enough to make him miserable. He examined the wound. Looking for the reason.

Three crystal shards were still stuck in the flesh. This is an arrow created by witchcraft to deal with him specifically, and only this can explain why this arrow is so powerful that even a small fragment can make him miserable.

The Lich King's minions are becoming more and more cunning.

With another effort, Clyostraz removed the fragments from his body. The previous effort had exhausted him, but anger had once again filled him with strength. The roaring red dragon lowered its altitude again and rushed down like a sharp arrow. The guy who hurt him is down there.

This time Clyostraz covered all the areas beneath him with flames, and nothing escaped his wrath. He wants to let the scourge know that the dragon's dignity cannot be provoked!

The undead were engulfed in flames that surrounded them from all sides. At the center of his attack, the flames destroyed all the undead, leaving only ashes.

Clae Ostraz looked at the scene in front of him with satisfaction. He taught the Scourge a hard lesson. This gave Dalaran and the rest of the defenders a great advantage.

Taking a deep breath, Clyostraz flapped her wings and flew high into the air, flying towards the distant Grimbaatar.

On the east bank of the central Karimdo. A tall, hooded figure silently walks into Ratchet City, a settlement pioneered by smugglers long ago. Now it is inhabited not only by their own kind, but also by many other deported groups. A cape with a wide hood covered the faces and clothes of outsiders. The long cloak was even dragged to the ground to cover the legs and feet. While this is immediately noticeable in many places, it's all too common in Ratchet City.

But that doesn't mean that the goblins, humans, or other creatures around them are blind to this, they're just secretly observing. In these crumbling buildings and shacks made of broken wooden strips made of collected rubble. They assess the value that each newcomer may have or the potential threats they may have. A lot of scruffy and dirty guys are here because someone wants them dead, so they're happy to kill any potential assassin. Even if an innocent person may be killed, that's a point that each of them agrees on.

The sheer number of buildings scrambled together Ratchet City, and the hooded guy looked around, finally his eyes falling on a hanging weathered wooden sign, thinking about the beginning. Once upon a time, it was a fairly prestigious inn. The faded letters still struggled to reveal the name that had no hope, the Broken Ship.

The stranger walked slowly towards the small hotel. A lanky man in leather boots and sailor's suit, scarred with a scar, leaned against the tattered door across the wall.

He looked at the oncoming stranger and walked away silently. The hooded man turned slightly, watched him go, and continued towards the hotel.

Even though the loose sleeves stretched to the fingers, those who approached could notice that they had never been so nervous.

The door dangled sharply. At the inn, the goblin shopkeeper and three old patrons stared at the seven-foot-tall intruder, who was a palm taller than the tallest of them.

The outfit of one of the guys beside them and the scimitar he carried told the intruder of his identity: the Blood Sail Pirate. However, the intruder was uninterested in their interest in him, and there was only one thing that mattered to him.

"I want a transport to cross the sea," the four of them were surprised for the first time, and the voice sounded neither like a man nor a woman. The small, big-bellied green-skinned goblin shopkeeper was the first to come to his senses, showing his big yellow teeth, and he walked straight back to the bar, jumping onto a bench that could not be seen from the outside, despite his waist size, so that he could see a little farther, and his reaction was full of mockery.

"You want a boat? There's not much left here, but food and beer might be there, hehe!" As he spoke, his stomach swelled, almost pulling open his blond-green top, his metal belt barely holding his green shorts.

"Really, boys?"

He received a flurry of approvals and nods of approval, the last of which came from the sharpest of the three customers. He didn't stare at the tightly wrapped newcomer like the others, but instead made an expression that was neither doubt nor anything else.

"That's right, this guy is a stranger," he replied, then repeated in an indiscernible voice. "But a place that provides both food and shelter is often also a place where knowledge about transport can be obtained. ”

"Have you got the money for the 'transport' you want, wrapped friend?"

The hooded man nodded, and he lifted one of his sleeves and pushed the door open, revealing not a hand, but a small brown leather bag that was attached to the two ropes that led to the sleeves, and shook and jingled. "You can pay under it. ”

"The interest in the bag is obvious, but the newcomers don't seem to be impressed. The goblin shopkeeper touched his pointed chin and muttered, "Uh-huh, old Dizweig, he's a dockmaster, maybe crazy enough to take you there, at least he has a boat." ”

"Where can I find him?"

"Of course it's the cursed docks, old Dizweig lives there, go out through the door on the left, and go around this house, and a few steps further into the harbor, you won't go over! There's water all around, hehe. ”

The hooded man bowed deeply, "Thank you below." ”

"Willy's best wishes to you," muttered the shopkeeper, "smooth sailing" (to be continued.) )