Capítulo 272: Chapter 272: The Injured Gul'dan
Orgrim was very frustrated.
The failure of the assault on Southshore across the sea had already become a stain on his record as Warchief. Although everyone knew that this was just a large-scale exploratory attack by Orgrim, as only around 25,000 Warsong warriors were deployed, with the rest of the soldiers coming from smaller clans.
But failure is failure, and the simple and brutal orcs didn't have any concept of a feint attack.
Most of them believed that Stormwind was conquered by Warchief Blackhand, and Orgrim merely picked up an empty city afterward. As for Ironforge, which should have been part of Orgrim's achievements, it was still not completely conquered.
It wasn't because Kilrogg Deadeye's Bleeding Hollow clan didn't put in enough effort, but because when they attacked near the gates of Ironforge, the Bleeding Hollow warriors were stuck. No orc could withstand that kind of multi-dimensional, all-directional barrage.
Many times, a sudden hole would appear on the mountain wall, and lethal shots, or even worse, cannon fire would spray out from it.
The greatest achievement was pushing into the entrance and almost entering the core area of the dwarves, but the warriors who made it inside encountered a pocket formation made of steam tanks and various types of cannons by the dwarves.
Those orc warriors were simply wiped out.
This had nothing to do with courage; it was purely a matter of fighting philosophy.
Just recently, news came of yet another failure for Orgrim.
The news from the scout ships returning from the Swamp of Sorrows was that the ocean-going fleet he painstakingly built had almost been completely wiped out, with hardly a single ship making it back.
"A supermassive whirlpool spanning the entire sea from the shore to the deepest part?" Orgrim wondered if the orcs' luck had run out, even though he never really believed in it.
Before, he might have muttered about the protection of the ancestral spirits, but after almost all orc shamans abandoned their traditions and became warlocks, no warlock had ever claimed to sense the call of the Earth Mother.
Orgrim had to face the fact that winter was coming. Before the end of this winter, he might not be able to organize a decent ocean-crossing operation.
The Wetlands, as the name implies, were an area formed by a large number of marshes and shallow puddles. Wintering here was a nightmare. Although orcs were hardy and enduring, no one would willingly choose to spend winter in such a wet and cold place under normal circumstances.
Not long after Orgrim became Warchief, the drawbacks of his insufficient prestige began to show.
He didn't have enough confidence to suppress the impulsive chieftains. And their demands seemed so reasonable.
"We are willing to fight to the death for the Horde. But at least give us a peaceful winter. Unless it's an extinction-level disaster, no clan would choose to wage war in winter."
"We've already conquered a whole continent; the warriors of the Horde are tired. And winter is the season to produce the next generation of Horde warriors; I cannot oppose this tradition."
What do orcs do in winter? As long as there is enough food, they all sit by the fire, eat stored food, and produce little orcs with their females.
This has been the orc tradition for thousands, if not millions, of years.
Orgrim reluctantly agreed to have the army retreat southward, to the more comfortable region of Loch Modan. To appease his own Blackrock clan, he even relocated most of the Blackrock orcs back to Elwynn Forest.
Of course, the Blackrock orcs were happy to travel for over half a month to return to the territory they had won at the cost of over a hundred thousand of their brethren. After all, it was warmer there, and the forest that Duke had burned down was not completely destroyed. There were still plenty of trees to be used as charcoal for warmth in the winter.
Orgrim's only consolation was the news brought to him by his new second-in-command, the Dragonmaw chieftain and shaman Zuluhed, as well as his biggest worry—Gul'dan had been injured.
He had visited Gul'dan the day before:
The former puppet master of the Horde was in bad shape.
"I'm sorry, Warchief. The humans had a very powerful mage. Though I managed to seriously injure him, it's clear that I won't be able to serve the Horde for quite some time," Gul'dan said, barely able to catch his breath, his shoulder completely encased in a massive block of ice.
It was as if half his body had been embedded in the ice.
Orgrim squinted his eyes. He had seen human mages cast frost magic before, but this was the first time he had seen something so terrifying. An ice spike had pierced Gul'dan's shoulder, and at the center of the wound, a horrifying cold energy gathered without dissipating.
Orgrim crudely shattered nearly half of the ice block with his Doomhammer, but it was no use. The ice seemed to regenerate like an infinitely growing shape-shifter, returning to its original state in just a few seconds.
Orgrim furrowed his brow.
"This is a mysterious energy called Arcane Circuit used by humans. That powerful mage has infused part of his power into my body, creating an independent loop. My wounds cannot heal until this power is destroyed."
Orgrim nodded, "Rest and recover."
After saying this, Orgrim left, not even requesting more death knights from Gul'dan for the Horde.
Little did he know that as soon as he left, Gul'dan let out a cold laugh. In front of his confidant, the two-headed ogre mage Gogal, the ice on his shoulder shattered, and the seemingly powerful and cold ice spike was reduced to the size of a chopstick embedded in his shoulder.
"Orgrim, you fool who knows nothing of true power. Very well, return to your war. I have other matters to attend to, and with your peace of mind, I'll have more freedom to focus on them. I will continue to play the part of a loyal, wounded mage for the Horde. But I swear... this won't last forever. Soon, I will obtain what I seek, and then you and this Horde will vanish before me. I will establish a new force to replace you, one loyal only to me, and then I will reshape this world according to my plans! Hahaha!"
Gul'dan laughed maniacally, his laughter greatly inspiring the few remaining warlocks of the Shadow Council...
After leaving, Orgrim headed straight for the Dragonmaw clan's encampment.
Beside the chieftain's tent, Orgrim saw a thin, wrinkled old orc. However, beneath his gray, tattered braids were a pair of sharp, reddish-brown eyes.
"Zuluhed!" Orgrim called out.
The old orc shaman looked towards the sound, saw the Warchief calling his name, and immediately stood up, pushing away the wine cup and large plate in front of him.
"Zuluhed!" Orgrim called out again.
Upon realizing it was the Warchief addressing him, Zuluhed hurriedly approached Orgrim, his eyes filled with both respect and determination.
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