章 187: Chapter 187: Mak'gora 3
Lothar calmly walked down the stairs, his metal boots clanking against the marble steps. "I don't feel good about being written as a hero. Maybe I haven't killed enough orcs on the battlefield?"
Lothar mocked himself as he walked. "You'll have the opportunity to hold Blackhand's head and mock the orcs later," Duke confidently replied. He had orchestrated the situation where Blackhand and Lothar would cross swords, and his confidence showed.
In the original 'history,' Blackhand had died in a pathetic manner. After Orgrim had used torture to extract the location of the Shadow Council, he challenged Blackhand to a Mak'gora, in front of thousands of orcs. During the fight, Blackhand had the upper hand with his massive rocky hand that completely ignored Orgrim's hammer strikes, easily beating Orgrim. But sly Orgrim had a trick up his sleeve.
He suddenly looked behind Blackhand during the fight, as if he had seen Gul'dan, and his mouth seemed to be saying 'Gul'dan.' Foolish Blackhand fell for it and was immediately smashed in the head by Orgrim's hammer, distracted for that one moment. Heh. While Blackhand may have been a true warrior, if Lothar, a brain-dead child, couldn't beat him, Lothar's name should be spelled backward as Salo* Induan.
It had nothing to do with Duke, an honest, just, and heroic ape-man. "Ah ah ah!" The orc guards charged forward, and once they started running, their massive bodies were like rampaging rhinoceroses. The terrifying oppression they exuded could scare the piss out of anyone.
Closer! Closer! Even closer! A massive double-bladed axe suddenly chopped down, and under the moonlight, a cold arc of light was revealed. It was a terrifying violence that could chop an adult man, along with his shield, in half from head to toe. However, Lothar used a 'Marseilles Spin.' Duke apologized for using a soccer term to describe Lothar's move.
But the handsome Lothar, after seeing through the enemy's simple and crude attack route, instantly turned with a graceful spin. This move reminded Duke of Zidane's elegance and filled with an artistic sense of beauty.
Lothar used his left foot as a pivot, casually avoiding the axe swing that was like thunder. Then, he held the sword in reverse, gently pushing it like playing with a sword flower. The sharp Sword of Kings pierced the gap between the helmet and armor of the orc guard's slightly turned head.
Blood splattered. The sword penetrated the orc guard's jaw and penetrated straight through his brain. At that last moment, the orc's eyes were still full of confusion and horror.
Meanwhile, Lothar's flowing long hair, fluttering due to his quick movement, now lay meekly over his shoulder under gravity. He killed his enemy easily, and with excellent style. Awesome!
Awesome to the max! And a one-hit kill! Lothar casually withdrew his sword and allowed the orc guard's massive body to collapse, splashing blood behind him. He then walked slowly towards Blackhand. Step by step.
With each step, his unparalleled dominance grew stronger. "Hiss!" The orcs gasped in unison. They all thought the same thing: this guy really deserved to be the number one human warrior. "Hahaha!" Blackhand burst into hearty laughter.
He wasn't angry at all about the death of his guards; rather, the elegant dance-like steps of Lothar caught his eye. With a wave of his hands, he pushed aside the guards blocking his path and confidently approached Lothar.
"Hahaha! Not bad, not bad at all! You truly have the qualifications to challenge me."
Duke, the translator, said, "Anduin, this arrogant guy agrees to fight you."
Lothar stood ten meters away from Blackhand and grinned. "Duke, tell this guy to laugh while he can. I don't want to cut off his head and leave that ugly smile on his face."
Duke translated his words.
Blackhand didn't care about the taunts before the fight. It was just part of the show: "Tell this human warrior that I'll preserve the head of any worthy opponent."
Duke didn't have time to translate before Lothar muttered, "Let him talk tough. I don't want to insult him and end up with him thinking I want to kiss his shoes."
"Orcs don't wear shoes," Duke shrugged.
Lothar rolled his eyes at Duke, who sighed and said, "Okay."
"Blackhand! Our civilization is more advanced than yours. Lothar said he's going to cut off your head, freeze it, and keep it fresh."
If any humans knew how Duke translated the words, they would definitely be outraged. "How civilized is that?" they would say.
But the orcs didn't care.
Perhaps, it was precisely because of the strong enemies killed by Grommash Hellscream, that preserving the heads of their foes had value.
At that moment, Orgrim Doomhammer strode forward with the ghostly banner of the Blackrock clan in one hand and handed it to Blackhand.
The warchief casually threw the banner on the ground, looked directly at Lothar, and then turned his gaze to Duke.
Duke nodded in understanding.
"Your Majesty, the Orcs throwing down their banner signifies that they are ready to fight for the honor of their entire clan. If we want to engage in combat, we must do the same," said a member of the King's council.
King Llane nodded, and behind him, a flag bearer stood tall, chest puffed out, and stepped forward to hand the blue and gold Lion banner to Lothar, who sheathed his sword and accepted it.
Lothar took the banner and threw it out, hitting it against the Blackrock Clan's banner.
Of course, the Orcs were unaware of Lothar's intentions.
"Mak'gora!" Orgrim shouted, his voice booming like thunder.
Orgrim's call was answered by thousands of Orcs who raised their voices in unison, shouting "Mak'gora!" in a deafening roar.
"Hoo! Hoo! Hoo! Hoo!" Each Orc roared like a savage, without spitting or dropping their weapons, making a primitive and heroic sound.
The Kingdom of Stormwind would not be outdone. King Llane rose to his feet, his left hand holding his shield, and his right hand wielding the Royal Sword, pounding it against his shield.
"Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!" Thousands of Royal Guards mimicked his movements.
The lion emblazoned on their shields shone with an icy light, as if a fierce and ferocious lion was roaring. In this way, the soldiers of the Kingdom of Stormwind created an imposing aura that was in no way inferior to the Horde.
The air was filled with the clash of countless swords and axes, creating invisible flashes and shadows that filled the night sky.
"Come!" Lothar drew his sword again, and in the fierce night wind, his hair flew up, looking like a lion's mane.
"Ha!" The Warchief took heavy, earth-shattering steps as he charged towards Lothar. (To be continued...)
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