Light's Dawn of Azeroth

Chapter 52 7. Yes! Yes! Everything is in accordance with Holy Light's plan! [Updated 10/50]

(Additional update for the "Frostfang Claw" brothers [10/10])
Shadowmoon Bastion, or the Bastion of Pain.

This is a typical orc-style building complex. The ancestors of the Shadowmoon Clan manipulated the power of elements to build a huge stone temple here to house the remains of the dead. The huge stones engraved with elemental runes carry a heavy sense of history.

This is the "cultural heritage" that the orcs are proud of.

The terrain here is an undulating hilly area. Because the Shadowmoon Clan is good at stargazing, they also built a tall and spacious observatory on the hillside here, specifically for observing changes in the stars.

In fact, it's part of orc tradition.

During their clan period, the concepts of "wedding" and "engagement" did not exist. Young orc men and women would often express their true feelings to each other when the stars changed, letting the sea of stars witness their love. Once this ceremony was completed, the couple would be very loyal to each other.

Even the wild legendary chieftain Grom Hellscream, after mocking his partner's weakness and leaving poor Gorka to die, did not cause any more trouble with those female orc fans who admired his strength so much. This proves that "being faithful to one person" has always been a virtue of the orcs.

It’s quite romantic.

But unfortunately, after Gul'dan came to power, this simple and beautiful tradition was thrown into the trash.

The tombs that once housed the remains of the dead and buried them are now used as simple ziggurat to summon undead warriors, and the observatory that was once used for stargazing and witnessing love has now become a filthy place where orc warlocks make dirty contracts with the void.

When Dick led the garrisons into the Fortress of Pain, even the most compassionate garrison officer was stunned by what he saw.

Skulls were everywhere, discarded and trampled upon!

Those are not the remains of the Draenei, but the skull of the orc ancestor. It should have been the most respected and protected thing by the Shadowmoon Clan, but now it has been discarded so casually.

What was even more terrifying was that everywhere you looked, there were warlock apprentices calling out to the cold void near the ritual platform covered with sacrificial blood and bones. They were crying and screaming like a group of insane lunatics, allowing the cold and ominous deep purple power to merge into their bodies to enhance their spellcasting ability.

Those warlocks who have joined the Shadow Council are even more arrogant and can summon void elements at will. They also abuse and beat their fellow orcs who are chained high up in the sky, using their dripping blood to please the void.

Right at the feet of those warlocks, resurrected undead warriors kept emerging from more than a dozen large tombs in the fortress.

Some of them were even newly buried dead, still wearing traditional orc clothes but with bone weapons stuffed into their bodies. They were gathered together in a mess by the psychics.

How could this be the Shadowmoon Clan they remembered, the one who was knowledgeable, keen on observing the stars, respectful of tradition and dedicated to guiding their people?
This is clearly a void devil's cave!

"Follow me!"

Dick rushed to the high ground without slowing down.

He pulled the reins of the sacred warhorse, turned a corner, and charged straight at the orc warlocks who were executing the summons. He turned a blind eye to everything in front of him. After all, when this version was launched, he had experienced the horrific scene here countless times.

He knows better than anyone in Draenor, even better than the Shadowmoon orcs themselves, what is happening deep in this damn place!
He also knew what Gul'dan was planning to do by instigating the Shadowmoon warlocks to embrace the void. He only hoped that he could act quickly enough to reverse the situation before the disaster that destroyed the Temple of Karabor occurred.

The sacred war steed is galloping.

Its huge, scorching holy light hooves knocked away a group of orc warlocks who were caught off guard during the stampede. The void elementals they summoned screamed and burned in the scorching sun light released by the Herald of the Sun, and then turned into a wisp of powerless cold smoke and dissipated.

Just like no matter how dark the darkness is, it only needs a ray of light to illuminate it.

The draenei garrison officers faithfully fulfilled their duties. They followed the charge of their invincible and fearless saints, trampling over the warlocks who were knocked away along the way, leaving only blood and bones on the ground.

The terrain of Shadowmoon Fortress is a very strange corridor-like structure, which was designed to facilitate the orcs of various clans to come to the great tomb to worship their ancestors. Each corridor has two to three tomb temples, and the center of the fortress leads to the holy place of the Shadowmoon clan, an underground area they call the "Shadowmoon Cemetery".

That is where the orc chiefs and heroes are buried, and it is also the core area of the Shadowmoon Clan.

Therefore, in theory, as long as the right path is found, Dick can lead the garrison officers to charge around these stone temples in the middle and outer parts of the fortress without slowing down at all, and then return to the original place.

The problem now is that only the Shadowmoon Orcs who have lived here for a long time can understand the connecting roads between these complex temples.

But none of this was a secret from Dick.

He was so familiar with this place as if it were his own home. He knew how to find the winding path even with his eyes closed. After breaking through the stupid warlocks gathered on the upper level, Dick, as the charging arrow of the holy light array, took the lead and rushed into the corridor connecting the platform and the corridor.

The speed of the Draenei garrison officers behind him had already increased, and it was impossible to slow down at this time.

This was a group charge of more than a hundred people. Even if the people in the middle wanted to stop, they would be squeezed by the people behind to continue moving forward. The orcs' corridors built with rocks were wide enough to accommodate four or five Talbuk sheep cavalrymen passing side by side.

The moment they entered the corridor, what caught the eyes of the garrison officers was a large group of undead warriors being driven out of the tomb. The necromancer who controlled them reacted quickly and immediately waved his bone staff to let these undead souls come forward to block them.

But with Dick's roar, the Holy Light Judge fell again.

In the flash of light, these fragile bones that had not yet been eroded and strengthened by the power of the void fell down one after another as if they had died a second time, and in the instant of being burned by the holy flame, they turned into burning ashes that flew everywhere.

Beating up the undead is the Paladin’s specialty, and this wave is completely a professional match.

When rushing through the corridor tomb, Dick did not forget to grab a crystal-forged hammer and smash it in. When the thing was wrapped in a holy nova and landed on the ground, it splashed out a halo of scorching holy light that spread outward like a waterfall, killing the psychic inside and purifying his sins at the same time.

Without the psychic's control, these undead who had just been resurrected fell down again in unison.

With the help of the "kind-hearted" Draenei, they were finally freed from the clutches of their unworthy descendants and gained peace. Well, this has to be said to be a black humor.

"Oh, it's hot."

After dashing through the corridors, burning at least a thousand fragile undead to death, Yrel behind Dick let out a stifled groan. The movement made the saint, immersed in "holy purification," look back and see that Yrel's armor was already showing signs of melting.

She was too close to him!

The constant scorching light of the Sun Herald was "heating" her armor.

It wasn't just her. Other garrison officers also encountered similar situations. They were all gritting their teeth and holding on.

"too weak"

Dick sighed inwardly.

But he knew it wasn't these brave kids' problem, it was his problem!
The huge accumulation of holy power over the past twenty thousand years has made it impossible for him to control his holy power well.

"You stay here and continue charging!"

Dick tightened the reins and gave the order:
"Tennum! Nobundo! Minara, each take thirty men to cleanse the outer tombs. You've seen how fragile these undead are. They can't withstand the illumination and purification of the Holy Light. After clearing this place, return to the upper levels and attack the remaining warlocks!

Shantuk!
You and Yrel take the defenders to rescue our people, and don't forget to bring out the imprisoned orcs as well."

"What about you?"

Nobundo, the captain of the garrison, shouted:
"We can't let the Saint act alone!"

"Well, boys, I admire your devotion to duty, but I think you'd better obey orders now! This is a war, and your superiors actually taught you to bargain at the command level?"

Dick responded with a teasing tone that left the young Botonbo unsure of how to respond.

But before they could react, the Holy War Horse, under Dick's control, accelerated and rushed into the corridor in front where a large amount of void power was entrenched. Then, holy light like a heavy artillery explosion burst out in the form of a halo.

Mixed in were the horrified screams of the orc warlocks.

When Nobundo and his lieutenants arrived, the corridor, which should have been chillingly cold due to the power of the void, was filled with only piles of hot ashes and broken skeletons that had not yet been completely burned.

It was warm here, as if it had been "caressed" by the sun, and it emitted a sickening smell of burnt barbecue.

But the Vigilant Saint has disappeared.

"Has this been the way his saints have always fought? Were the ancient Eredar so violent?"

The adjutant was frightened and stammered:

"I used to think that the horrific records of the Battle of Argus were just exaggerations used by historians to praise our ancestors. But now it seems that if the warriors of the Hand of Argus all fought in the same posture as the Vigilants, then the demons' disastrous defeat would be just as..."

"Well, regarding this, I remember an interesting story Captain Maraad told me."

Nobundo looked at the pile of ashes at his feet, which were still emitting residual heat. He sighed and said:

"Do you know what nickname the demons gave Brigadier General Diakum when our ancestors evacuated Argus?"

"Huh? Demons give us nicknames? What do they call saints? I bet it's a very shameful and derogatory term."

"No, quite the opposite."

Nobundo mounted his war ram, drew his warhammer and waved it in his hand. He said to his lieutenant:
"The frightened demons called him the 'Holy Light Butcher' in awe. Alas, let us mourn for the Shadowmoon orcs."

------

"What's going on out there? Why does it sound so chaotic?"

An orc female shaman imprisoned in a cage grabbed the railings and listened attentively to the chaos and some strange screams coming from outside. It sounded like an unlucky person accidentally angered those brutal warlocks and was hung up and whipped again.

With shamanic markings on her face, she turned to look at the cage behind her.

This not-so-big place held more than thirty orcs, and the environment was extremely harsh.

Those shamans who were tortured repeatedly only had one breath left, and their bodies were covered with tragic whip marks. When they were tortured to the point of dying, these poor people would be sent to the sacrificial altar and offered as sacrifices to the void.

Even this female shaman was covered in scars, but from her angry eyes, it was clear that she had no intention of surrendering to those orc warlocks who betrayed their traditions.

But what was surprising was that among this group of orcs, there was a Draenei girl half-kneeling there. Like a priest, she kept calling on the Holy Light to heal the weak orc shamans around her.

But this girl is not a priest.

She can only use the "blessing" bestowed by the Naaru on the Draenei to release mediocre healing effects.

Although this blessing of the Naaru is also a healing spell, because she is not a priest and cannot truly call upon the Holy Light, the girl, who is already weak, needs to expend her own energy to maintain the healing effect.

She has been doing this silently since she was locked up here last night, and even brought two weak old shamans back to the world from the brink of death.

"Samara, you need to rest."

The orc shaman sighed.

She stepped forward and half-knelt beside the Draenei girl, supporting her and persuading her:
"You've done enough for us. Don't insist. I know you've been in poor health since you were a child."

"Rekar, my friend, it was the Holy Light that allowed me to meet you again when I was in despair. This was clearly the enlightenment of the Holy Light. Without your protection, I would have been bullied by those brutal warlocks last night.

I just want to do what I can for you now.”

Samara, who was captured as a prisoner last night, smiled at the female shaman beside her.

Judging from the fact that they could speak each other's names affectionately, it was obvious that they were already friends before.

Yrel had complained about how Samara would always sneak out at night to stargaze with her orc friends, but such friendships between individuals had not been uncommon over the past two hundred years.

Although the Draenei pursue a strategy of isolation and closure, they cannot avoid dealing with the orcs. Some simple and kind orcs can easily win the favor of the Draenei. However, due to their lifespan, many friendships will eventually end with the death of the orcs.

Another ridiculous issue is the question of the mixed-race children of orcs and draenei.
Well, the unique group of "Havrosen" should not only be born out of the humiliation after the orcs launched the war. There are always some unconventional Draenei or orcs who occasionally want to try "other flavors".

Of course, in this era, this phenomenon is a minority among the very few.

"cough cough"

Samara coughed a few times, looking at the old orc still in pain at her feet. Finally, she gritted her teeth and called for the Naaru's blessing again, letting the warm golden light cover her hands and touch the arms of the frail shaman. This scene made the eyes of the surrounding orc prisoners show gratitude and guilt.

They knew that Samara and the other Draenei villagers were captured slaves by their compatriots, who had become evil and violent under Gul'dan's leadership, and they were soon sent to the altar to be sacrificed to the Void.

But these orcs are now in a difficult situation themselves, and they really have no way to rescue these kind-hearted Draenei.

"I've heard that Chieftain Ner'zhul is a wise orc leader. Why would he allow the warlocks of his own clan to torture you like this? You are clearly our compatriots."

Samara finished the treatment. She leaned against the arms of her alien friend and weakly asked her doubtful questions. In response to the question, the orc shaman Rekar Bloodfire gritted her teeth and then lamented:

"In fact, Chief Ner'zhul's condition has been unsettled since Lady Rulkan passed away.

He is indeed very wise but also very infatuated. Many old shamans have seen the chief stay alone in the observatory and cry all night long. He has traveled to our sacred place, Oshu Valley, in Nagrand several times to talk with the spirit of Lady Rulkan. He dreams of his partner coming back to him.

That's when the evil Gul'dan joined us!

He disguised himself as an exile who had lost his clan, and was valued by the chief because of his talent and sweet talk. Then somehow, the chief slowly changed and began to isolate himself in the deepest part of the Shadowmoon Sanctuary.

Some said the chief was talking to someone in there, but he was the only one in there.

The affairs of the clan were handed over to the evil Gul'dan, who began to persuade the shamans to teach them the ways of warlocks. Someone asked to see the chief to tell him about this problem, but the chief turned a blind eye.

He was like being bewitched by some evil force!

He only believes Gul'dan's words now!
You can see that those of us who still adhere to the elemental ways and ancient traditions have become thorns in his side. The corruption of the Shadowmoon clan is all Gul'dan's fault! But Ner'zhul, that foolish old bastard, should also take responsibility!

"That's enough! Rekar."

A shaman in the corner shouted:

"You can't so casually judge a shaman leader of such renown. Ner'zhul dedicated his life to our civilization. He's just... well, he's just old. Even the wisest will become weak with age."

"Why can't I?"

The young female orc retorted angrily:
"Gul'dan manipulated him into corrupting our clan, but that's not all he did!
You were present at the last clan meeting in Oshu Valley, Master Turogg. You heard firsthand how Ner'zhul persuaded the chieftains to turn their wrath against the draenei.

Gul'dan said that they were the ones who desecrated the spirits of their ancestors, but open your eyes and look, who is now desecrating the dead souls with their own hands!
The Draenei were wronged, and you and I both know that!
But now that Ner'zhul has formed the Clan Union, he has stopped caring about the situation and allowed Gul'dan to lead the orcs of other clans to prepare for war."

"Injustice?"

The old shaman sneered and said:

"The blueskins are not innocent. Who was responsible for the tragic genocide of the Bladewind clan? The Draenei veterans of Telmor themselves failed to cover up their crimes! That brutal hunter general slaughtered our compatriots and piled their heads in the ruins of the village as a show of force!

If the other chiefs had no similar plans, they would not unite no matter how Ner'zhul and Gul'dan tempted them!

Ultimately, the Draenei's expansion into our world over the years has sown the seeds of disaster.

but."

The old shaman looked at Samara who was still treating the tribesmen, and he sighed and said:
"But I believe the Draenei were framed in that incident. Their battle with the Bladewind Clan might have been deliberately provoked by someone with ulterior motives. A pair of dark hands were stirring up the nerves of both clans. Those shady individuals hoped to see the orcs and the Draenei engage in a life-and-death war.

Unfortunately, it’s too late to say this now.”

"It's not too late. As long as there are rational people in both tribes who want to stop the war, it will never be too late."

Samara continued the treatment, coughing and saying:

"I'm only worried about the orcs' desecration of the Vigilante's Holy Coffin. Holy Light, please don't let them complete that deed, or everything will be irreversible."

"what!"

Just as Samara finished saying this, a scream suddenly sounded outside the cage.

All the orcs who could still move stood up and, led by Rekar Bloodfire, protected the Draenei girl who helped them behind them, but then they saw dazzling holy light burst out in front of them, and with a powerful impact, the door of the cage was pushed open.

Yrel rushed in with a team of fully armed garrison officers. The warlocks in the cage immediately fought back, but were then targeted one by one by the huntress Shantuk with a jewel shotgun.

When a warlock is attacked in such a narrow environment and has no time to cast spells, he is almost a sitting duck for the high-level ranger.

"Samara!"

Irel, panting and holding her sword, saw her sisters "surrounded" by orcs in the cage. She was furious and was about to kill them with her sword, but was stopped in time by Samara.

"No, don't be impulsive, Yrel! They are protecting me, and they are also protecting our villagers. They even shared their only food with us last night. This is Rekal, don't you remember her?

We used to stargaze together when we were little.”

Samara was helped to stand up by her orc friend. She weakly said to her good sister across the cage:

"Why are you here? And your Holy Light? You became a garrison commander? How did it happen so quickly?"

"It was the Sentinel who led me onto the path of Holy Light, and it was the Saint who brought his compatriots to save you."

Yrel chopped at the chains and said:

"The Saint is outside right now! Our garrison commander is also here, come out with me! We need to get you out of here first. Those warlocks are fighting back, but they are no match for the great Saint."

"Who are you talking about?"

Samara was stunned at this moment.

She suspected that Yrel might also be stupid, but there was no time to explain so much now.

Yrel carried her frail sister on her back and looked at the hesitant orcs. She spoke to them in her unremarkable orcish tongue:
"You come too! The Saint has asked us to take you 'moderates' away. He said he would escort you to the Temple of Karabor and let you explain everything that happened to the Shadowmoon Clan to our Grand Archon in person.

The saints said that if you truly still desire peace, then at this critical moment, don’t just talk about it, take concrete action!

"what?"

Rekar Bloodfire was stunned.

She looked at Irel in confusion, then at the other compatriots in the cage. The scarred old shaman Turog was willing to take risks at this moment.

With the help of two young orcs, he stood up and said in a deep voice:
"Follow them, go! This is your only chance if you don't want to be sacrificed by Gul'dan's mad dogs. Like it or not, we are the Shadowmoon clan's last hope, children.

Take with you all your fellow countrymen who can still walk and carry the wounded on your backs.

Follow these Draenei!

Here
This is not our home anymore.”

The respected old shaman spoke, and the hesitant orcs immediately took action. They picked up the weapons on the ground, unlocked other cages, and followed the Draenei civilians to escape from their corrupted hometown.

There are quite a few imprisoned Shadowmoon orcs, with hundreds of them in this place alone. I heard that the Shadowmoon Clan has also imprisoned some of their unwilling to surrender members in other places.

These damn mad dog warlocks are so cruel to their own people!

When they rushed to the heights of the Fortress of Pain, all they saw were garrisons fighting in teams of three or five against the Shadow Council's counterattack. However, due to the previous swift and aggressive raid, the Shadowmoon Necromancers suffered heavy losses and were unable to call upon the Void-enhanced undead to join the battle.

Under the attack of the fierce garrison officer, the warlocks retreated step by step, and the passage leading out of the fortress was guarded by the old garrison officer Tenum himself. When he saw the villagers coming, his frown finally relaxed.

But at this moment, an orc warlock who rushed up with the bones of the dead noticed the prisoners being transferred.

He roared and threw a ball of filthy power over here, which hit Yrel right in front of her. The cold power hit the ground, causing a dark explosion. The flying and screaming void coldness knocked Yrel and Samara behind her away.

Iriel was fine, after all, he was a strong child since he was young.

But not Samara.

The child was born with a weak body, and he had previously used too much energy to treat the orcs with the blessing of the Naaru. After falling and being hit by the power of the void, he vomited blood.

Seeing the warlock grinning and casting some kind of evil spell at Samara, turning the cold energy into ghost claws that pinched Samara's neck and lifted her up from the ground, intending to sacrifice her to the void, Irel's eyes turned red.

She roared and swung her greatsword, but the warlock used a demon sacrifice to resist the attack.

Samara was rolling her eyes now.

In her near-death vision, she even vaguely saw a strange "blue birdman" with its white wings spread out in front of her, reaching out to her as if to take the child's miserable soul to another world.

The fluorescent fingers had touched Samara's forehead, making her painful spirit feel relaxed at this moment.

She knew her end was near, and could only look at Irel who was rushing towards her with regret.

Good sisters.
You don't need to carry me around as a burden anymore. Good luck to you.

"How dare you! Let her go!"

Just as Samara's soul was about to leave her body, a roar suddenly woke her up.

Then she felt a burning but warm light bursting out around her, with a burst of "life infusion" that instantly healed her from near death to "full health". Then the holy light burst out again, shattering the sacrifice of the void and saving the girl.

As the warm healing light of holy light continued to flow in, Samara reopened her eyes like a fish out of water.

She fell to the ground, gasping for breath. She raised her head under the protection of "Power Word: Shield" and could vaguely see the strange blue birdman reaching out to her, as if determined to lead this soul to her destined end.

But the next moment, a hand shining with holy light was placed on Samara's shoulder.

Behind her, the sentinel who looked like a giant of light was holding an axe. He raised his head. Although he could not see the "birdman", he seemed to know what had happened.

He loudly declared:

"In the name of the Hand of Fate, I declare that this child belongs to the Holy Light! You will never be able to take her away!"

The two sides seem to be in a standoff.

As Samara watched in bewilderment, the blue "angel" was furious, but ultimately, under the increasingly scorching holy light, she chose to flap her wings and dissipate into the air. In Samara's remaining "dying vision," she could see hundreds of blue angels patrolling the battlefield.

They carried the souls of orcs one after another to high places and disappeared into the clouds.

"You're safe, child."

Dick breathed a sigh of relief. He lowered his head and looked at Samara, the child he had brought back to the human world from a desperate situation, and looked at his sister Iriel who rushed over and hugged her tightly. The saint finally smiled.

Yes!

This is also a small part of the big plan to fight against fate.

Now, the timeline of "Yrel, the Light Tyrant", which is quite outrageous in every sense, should not happen, right?
Heck, all the orcs in Draenor should give him a knockout right this second.

With this thought in mind, Dick happily carried the shining legacy battle axe and strode towards the orc warlock who was overwhelmed by the holy light and was at a loss.

He said gently:

"I'll give you a chance. Open the gates of Shadowmoon Burial Grounds! In the name of the Holy Light, I will grant you a quick death. I know Ner'zhul is hiding within, and I need to speak with him."

(End of this chapter)