Light's Dawn of Azeroth

Chapter 370, Section 60: The Wolves' Hunt - It said, "Let's go!" - Bonus chapter for "Huo Zheng Ting Hao" [25]

Garrosh gripped Gorehowl.

The battle axe, which only the Warsong Chieftain and the strongest of the Warsong Clan were qualified to wield, was not tamed in his hands. The scorching fire of Sulfuras turned into malevolent flames that burned his flesh and blood, while Manonos's fighting spirit, emanating from the axe, coldly scrutinized the young orc.

Even though the Destroyer was already dead, he would not allow his undying fighting spirit to be entrusted to a weakling.

As the "spirit" of Bloodhowl, it's not easy to gain the special attention of this madman.

But Xiaohou didn't care.

He used his rage to envelop his arms and shield them from the searing heat that penetrated deep into his flesh. The primordial fire of Azeroth was not so easily resisted; Garrosh could feel his lightforged flesh being ignited.

This meant he had to act quickly and defeat the incredibly evil "orc" before he was burned alive.

Crimson skin, a demonic battle cry, hideous bone spurs, and eyes illuminated by fel energy.

The opponent also held an axe, and his anger was burning and swirling around that battle axe. It was the power of a strong life bursting forth with fighting spirit. Although it was not a physical object, it had a burning intensity like flames.

The Destruction Axe was starting to give out.

Therefore, Grommash Hellscream had to act quickly and finish the "war legacy" of the Grommash family before the weapon he had picked up was "melted".

The two began their charge almost simultaneously.

They've been looking forward to this battle for a long time.

The two battle axes clashed together, and the orcs fought each other like wrestlers.

"That last axe strike was perfect."

Old Roar roared:
“I have nothing more to teach you. If I am wrong, then you must be right. You have to kill me, and you have to give me peace.”

Xiaohou remained silent, only launching attacks.

His emotions were very complex, but his offensive did not weaken as a result.

Every punch was brimming with power, every axe blow was filled with killing intent.

The best way to pay tribute to a warrior is to kill him with all your might, to let him fall in the heat of battle, to let him die amidst the explosions of clashing swords.

They don't even need the infusion or enhancement of the Force; they fight to the death using the most traditional methods of warriors.

Let the blades dance, let the combat skills shine.

The battle between father and son was almost instantaneous; as blood and wounds splattered, the fight to the death quickly escalated to a fever pitch. Around the site where Cenarius had fallen, as Diakum removed the ball of anima left behind by Cenarius, enveloped in holy light, the greenskins and Mag'har orcs charged in from two directions.

"Grom!"

When Orgrim saw Grom Hellscream transformed into a blood-red fel orc, he knew the terrible price Grom Hellscream had paid to defeat Cenarius.

The High Chieftain closed his eyes in anguish and clenched his fists. All the Greenskin chieftains and overlords around him roared in homage to Grom Hellscream, the man who had sacrificed his future to sever the shame of their past and allow all Greenskin warriors to embark on their quest for the stars without burden.

Kargath, the ruthless butcher, even shed a few tears.

He had never been so weak in his entire life, but at this moment, Kargath felt his cold heart, which had been so ruthless in its struggle for freedom in the cage that it had cut off its own wrists, was once again touched.

He was convinced.

He believed that he certainly couldn't make the same sacrifices and act as decisively as Grom in his position.

This guy is the strongest orc, bar none.

But the howling of wolves around them was getting closer and closer.

Azuka Blade turned around, leaning on her elven sword. The swordswoman's eyesight allowed her to see a pack of wolves galloping across the mountains.

Goldling's hunting party has arrived.

Not only were there ancient Scytheclaw Druids, but also Worgen from Gilneas. Goldrinn led them across the Emerald Dream to Mount Hyjal, where the blood-stained Gilnean banner was raised high, and Genn Greymane, clad in armor, roared through the mountains.

Beneath the silver moon of Kalimdor, the hunting parties of the Black Wolf God and the White Wolf God will engage in a final battle.

Orgrim.

Durotan's voice rang out from the other side, causing the Warchief to turn around and look at his sworn brother riding a dire wolf toward him. Orgrim pushed aside Malkorok, who was guarding him, and rode forward alone on his own dire wolf.

The two no longer shared the same eagerness they once had, embracing each other upon meeting. Now belonging to opposing camps, they were as if an invisible line completely separated them.

"I won't hold back later!"

Durotan said:

"I don't care where you and your greenskins go, but until you escape, the entire Mag'har tribe will not let you go! Right here, in this land recently ravaged by demons, under this otherworldly silver moon."

“Not only you, but also humans, Anduin Lothar is already sharpening his knives there.”

Orgrim laughed and said:

"In the Arathi Highlands, he spared us because we attacked the Great Demon, but he said he wouldn't hold back when it came to settling scores, and today is the day! The Mag'har and the humans will unite to annihilate the War Horde."

The Black Wolf God's hunting party and the White Wolf God's hunting party will also engage in a life-or-death war here.

We most likely won't win, but we won't stop fighting!

The high chieftain pointed to the remnants of Abyssal Soulsteel scattered in the center of the battlefield, then to the Manonos Fangs Armor he wore, and shouted:

"We have repaid all that we owed Draenor, all that we owed you, and all that we owed the world!"
From this day forward, the Greenskins will reclaim the name 'Orcs,' and the Black Soldiers will tell our story of Azeroth to the World Tree of Draenor. We have done everything we could.

Whether our hometown will forgive us or not, we no longer care.

Durotan, my brother.

My war tribe and I will leave this place. We will travel to the Star Sea, hunting with the Black Wolf God's pack, through world after world, on journey after journey, just like the Eredar's millennia-long exile.

But their rebellion was to preserve the flame, while ours was to survive.

I don't know how long the War Horde can hold out. Perhaps the last Orskin will soon fall in the chaos of interstellar conflict, but we have shed all our shackles, and nothing can stop us from moving forward.

Nobody can!

Orgrim paused.

He took off his Doomhammer, held it in his hand and stroked it with emotion. Finally, he closed his eyes and threw the thunder-encased warhammer over.

It wasn't given to Durotan, but rather to a completely bewildered Gayara.

"The Doomhammer is an artifact forged by the elemental power of Draenor; it is part of our homeland. I, a sinner, have no right to take it away."

Orgrim turned around, riding his dire wolf, and waved his hand, saying:

"It is said that on the day the Doomhammer was forged, there was a legend that this warhammer would eventually fall into the hands of an orc who did not belong to the Blackrock clan, and that orc would lead his clan to glory."

Perhaps it's you, Gayala, or perhaps it's your brother, Guil.

It is said that all prophecies are self-fulfilling, so I leave this legend to you.

Do not dishonor my weapon! Let me hear new legends about it even in the sea of ​​stars.

So be it. "

He stopped Durotan from saying more, saying:
"Prepare for battle. The moment the Hellscreams have decided their victor, we will clash. Out of respect for each other, show no mercy. This is the final hurdle, and the War Horde must overcome it on their own!"

If we fall on the eve of dawn, it only proves that we are nothing special.

"Ouch!"

The howl of the Black Wolf God echoed through the valley, and with its call, rifts opened up throughout Mount Hyjal, as packs of black wolves from the Star Sea surged into the battlefield like a turbulent torrent.

That was the vast hunting pack that Lecanthos had accumulated over ten thousand years.

Since Draenor, it has required the wolf pack to begin moving in a concentrated manner, and now, this pack of black wolves has finally gathered in its homeland of Azeroth.

Goldrinn recruited everything it could, even releasing the Scytheclaw pack; however, in terms of numbers, the Black Wolf God held an absolute advantage.

It must have had its own confidence to dare to challenge Goldrinn under the silver moon of its homeland.

The War Tribe were the "wolf shepherds" it sought for its hunting packs. These fierce warriors were only one part of the pack, not the whole. If the humans, Maghar, and Goldrinn thought they had victory in the bag today, then Lycanthos would show them what true numerical superiority meant. The humans also arrived.

Lothar was still in a weakened state after the power of the world erupted, but as a paladin, he could heal himself. At this moment, he was riding a giant reindeer given to him by the elves, and the Emperor's Sword in his hand was constantly emitting a piercing sword cry.

"You listen up, you little brat!"

Emperor Thoradin's roar echoed in Lothar's ears as he scolded him with exasperation:

"We're still far from our goal of 999 demons. We can't hold back when we fight the War Tribe! These guys have accomplished something amazing, and only warriors like them are worth challenging!"

"I told you, there will be a time to settle accounts with them, why are you in such a hurry?"

Lothar complained:
"I really don't know how someone with your war-mongering personality managed to unify the empire back then. Did people three thousand years ago really rely on whoever had the biggest fist to become king, as you say?"

"Hmph, that's how we barbarians are. A weakling like you wouldn't even qualify to be a warrior in our time. Maybe you could run off and learn magic from that guy, Merri Winterwind."

Emperor Thoradin sneered:
"But your fiancée is quite nice; she's petite and thin, yet she's awakened the power of a barbarian lord. You should learn from her!"

Lothar glanced helplessly at Daenerys beside him and found that his fiancée was currently engrossed in watching the battle between the two generations of Grom Hellscream.

Her eyes were filled with longing.

That was her obsession with becoming a good warrior. Lady Fina Goldsword beside her also let out a surprised roar. Clearly, the powerful battle between the orc warriors had stirred up the fighting spirit in the high elf paladin as well.

Gavinrad, the leader of the Lightforged Fangs, focused his attention on the orcs opposite him. Bolvar Fordragon, standing beside him, stretched his shoulders. The werewolves in the human camp had already felt Goldrinn's wild call.

They will rejoin the hunting pack and become one of them, engaging in a major showdown with Lecanthos today.

But Bolvar was, after all, a leader; it wasn't just considering the battle. It pulled on Lalosa's reins, drawing his ear close, and reminded him:
"Goldrin spread the Worgen Blessing in Gilneas for this duel. After Lekanth's defeat, Goldrin will disband his pack. You know, he doesn't consider humans his kin. So from today onward, the Worgen of Gilneas will return to their free state."

Perhaps you could find an opportunity to speak with His Majesty Gene.

The problems in Gilneas must be solved, Lothar, or the spread of werewolf disease in the Northlands will make that hellhole even more chaotic.

Many humans survived there, and Khadgar said he had discovered the problem with the Dragonborn, which is also a spreadable 'disease,' making the situation very dangerous.

If the humans of the Northern Frontier want to survive the demons' rampage, they must either become werewolves or dragonborn.

Bolvar glanced at Kael'thas Sunstrider not far away, and shook his head, saying:

"You need to know that werewolf disease can also infect elves! And Quel'Thalas is currently taking in a large number of human refugees from the North Frontier. If this isn't handled properly, you know how terrible the consequences could be."

"Ah."

Lothar frowned and responded. The death of the great demon was an honor, but the pressure on his heart only increased.

"It's time to decide the winner!"

Suddenly, the white soldier riding a giant bear beside Lothar shouted, drawing everyone's attention to the undisturbed battlefield.

Both orcs were bleeding profusely, their battle axes leaving exaggerated wounds on each other's bodies. They were truly giving it their all without holding back. Considering their father-son relationship, it could be said that the Warsong Clan's "Bloodhowl Inheritance Method" was indeed a bit too outrageous.

But the Bloodhowl in Garrosh's hand, which was teetering on the brink of collapse, no longer resisted his swings as before.

This battle axe reveals Garrosh's potential and fighting spirit from the battle between Garrosh the Younger and Garrosh the Older. This is a younger and more promising Garrosh. Most importantly, Garrosh does not have Grom's exaggerated self-destructive tendencies.

He already had a sense of morality in his heart, and he had chosen his own path.

After contributing his strength to the prosperity of the Mag'har Horde, Garrosh will travel to the Starsea to join the Lightforged Chapter and wage an eternal war against the Burning Legion among the stars.

Admittedly, even if an orc were to lightforged, he couldn't possibly live to be a thousand years old. But Garrosh is still young, and he has hundreds of years left to enjoy endless wars. For a weapon like Gorehowl, to be wielded by such a person and participate in those endless battles is arguably the most perfect ending.

Old Roar has become a fel orc.

He himself had lived long enough and hoped to be freed today. Gorehowl should also choose a new master, and among everyone present, besides Black Pawn, who was more suitable than Garrosh Hellscream?

Diakum?

He was a holy light walker, and his anger only burned for justice; such a warrior was not pure enough.

Losa?

Human anger is too frivolous, and Lothar's duties dictate that he could not become a valiant warrior.

Varian, the "White Pawn"?

Hmm, this kid is really something!
But he already possessed the elven sword Salamani, and Bloodhowl had its own dignity; it disdained to compete with another weapon for its master.

There's no one left.

No one else can hold it.

so be it.

Even Mannoroth the Destroyer's fighting spirit acknowledged Garrosh's pure wildness; Gorehowl's every roar began to resonate with Garrosh's battle cry, and even Sulfuras's fire began to heal Garrosh's burns.

The outcome of the "Blood Howl Ritual" is decided.
"puff"

The burning axe blade struck the edge of the Doom Axe, and the shattered elven axe flew away with a mournful cry, causing Kael'thas to cover his eyes in embarrassment and despair.

That Destruction Battle Axe was a weapon he forged in the Sunwell during his magical experiments, but now it was shattered by an orc's weapon, and shattered in front of so many people, almost rubbing the high elf's face into the ground.

If I had known that the Doom Axe would be responsible for this level of combat today, I would have made it more robust in the mana flow of the Sunwell.

Sigh, lax quality control really does harm people!
The moment the weapon left his hand, Grom Hellscream finally revealed a genuine smile of relief. Facing the blood howl slashing down, the crimson orc opened his arms to welcome his fate.

The sharp blade slashed down, and blood splattered everywhere.

The power of Ashbringer erupted, and golden holy flames burned and enveloped him, causing Grom to stagger and fall, only to be caught in his son's arms.

The evil energy hummed, yearning for help.

As long as Grom embraces it, he can instantly join the ranks of the great demons. The Twisting Nether loves this kind of battle-crazed maniac. It has just lost the pure Mannosus and now needs to recruit powerful warriors like Grom Hellscream.

But Laohou rejected it without hesitation.

As he said, he had lived enough.

"Well done, kid."

Grom looked at his son, who was shedding tears, and, despite being burned by the holy flames, he tremblingly reached out and touched Garrosh's cheek.

He whispered:

“I left you in Galadar for so long because I couldn’t face you. And your mother—I was a coward; I couldn’t even bring myself to end her painful life, even when she begged me.”
I was never a good soldier, son.

I spent the first half of my life running away, and the second half seeking death.

Don't follow my example.
Surpass me, become the symbol of Maghar.
Ah, Gorka, you've come to pick me up.

Garrosh raised his burning fingers high, seemingly clasping them with someone he couldn't see clearly. Then, surrounded by holy flames, they turned to ash from his fingertips, just like a completely collapsed stone statue. In Garrosh's arms, they turned into ashes purified by the Ashbringer, leaving Garrosh's arms empty and devoid of his father's weight.

The last person in the world who was related to him by blood has passed away.

He was all alone in the world.

"what!!!"

The little howl of pain echoed in the sunlit land.

He knelt there and roared to the sky, with Bloodhowl quietly keeping him company beside him.

But this war cry, filled with loss and despair, was like the sounding of a war drum, followed by two desolate wolf howls.

As Durotan raised his battle axe, and Orgrim accepted the battle axe handed to him by Nazgrell, the orcs of Mag'har and the orcs of the War Horde drew their weapons at the same time. As the earth and sky changed color and Elune's silver moon shone down, Goldrinn arrived in a dream and fiercely attacked Lykanthos, who emerged from the shadows.

The roar of the behemoth signifies the start of the hunt!
Lothar and the White Pawns began their charge, Kargath and Nazgrare wielded their battleaxes, and Eitrigg also took his battleaxe and mounted his dire wolf.

Azuka Bladefury burst forth from the shadows, and Griselda swung his Dark Hand to meet the attack. Red and Maim led their clans in a charge, but were stopped by Gavinrad's Lightforged Fang.

Right where Grommash Hellscream fell, right where the Great Demon Lord died, under the helpless gaze of the Black Soldier, in the silhouette of Diakum's indifferent turn and departure...
The war of mortals has begun.

(End of this chapter)