Chapter 26: Son of the Frost Wolf

After speaking with the old man for a while, Arthas and Jaina stepped away from the monastery. Jaina felt deeply sympathetic toward the old man’s plight.

"I never imagined the lives of ordinary citizens were this difficult. That man said those few silver coins were his entire family's savings; without hunting, they simply couldn't make ends meet."

"The Kingdom of Stormwind has only just been rebuilt. Varian has already spent a vast amount of capital and manpower restoring Stormwind City and Elwynn Forest. It is only natural that the nation’s economy is struggling," Arthas remarked, though he too felt a sense of regret.

The old man was fortunate to have encountered them; had his son, McBride—the sole provider in his prime—fallen to the claws of a wolf pack, his already impoverished family would have been pushed into total ruin.

Jaina could only sigh. Compared to Lordaeron, which had only suffered a temporary shock, or Kul Tiras, which remained unscathed due to its distance from the mainland, the Kingdom of Stormwind had borne the brunt of the Orcish war with far heavier consequences.

They had been the first line of defense when the orcs poured forth from the Dark Portal, and the least prepared. Even so, the valiant humans had managed to repel the orcish offensive during the early stages of the war.

After this small encounter, Jaina’s perspective on the orcish problem deepened. "My previous thoughts were truly naive. The Eastern Kingdoms no longer have the space to house such a massive entity as the orcs, unless they are willing to abandon the fertile lands and flee into the mountains."

"That is, of course, impossible. Orcs are not all saints. Right now, they are confined in internment camps with basic food and shelter, but once released, any sentient being would naturally aspire to a better life."

Jaina looked at Arthas intently. "And that implies new conflict."

"Exactly. They destroyed their own homelands; are we to let them wreak havoc on ours?" Arthas shifted his tone. "However, they are not entirely without hope."

"Are you referring to the continent across the Endless Sea that you often mention?" Jaina was quite curious about the Kalimdor Arthas spoke of. While the Kul Tiran fleet dominated the seas and their shipbuilding industry was highly advanced, very little news of that land ever reached their shores. Many believed Kalimdor was merely a legend.

"Yes. I have already dispatched men to find a suitable foothold. Perhaps in a few years, we will be able to truly establish an outpost city in Kalimdor."

"But will King Terenas and my father truly allow you to move the orcs to that land?"

"The internment camps have actually become a tremendous burden on Lordaeron. Keeping the orcs penned up indefinitely serves no purpose. My father believes this humanitarian measure is a complete and utter folly."

Jaina was confused; she recalled that it was King Terenas, Arthas’s father, who had spearheaded the initiative.

Arthas offered a bitter smile. Although his father had championed the proposal, under pressure from the other human kingdoms, Terenas eventually realized that the political maneuver he had used to outplay others had been turned against him.

The old king was no fool. Building and maintaining these camps within Lordaeron's borders was a drain on resources, and spending huge sums annually to feed these orcs—who lacked any economic productivity—was a waste. These weakened orcs provided less labor and value than a simple farmer!

In the end, this situation became a pretext for other human kingdoms to counter Lordaeron’s tax levies associated with the camps, further weakening Lordaeron’s influence. To preserve the kingdom's status and reputation within the Alliance, the old king, having realized his own scheme had backfired, was forced to swallow his pride in silence.

He was now desperate for Arthas to find a place to banish the orcs. Terenas had long since grown to loathe these greenskins: they could not be slaughtered, yet he did not know where to drive them, and they were simply draining his kingdom dry. The old king had told Arthas long ago that as long as it did not threaten the safety of Lordaeron, he could dump the orcs anywhere he pleased.

It could only be said that when it came to the machinations and power games of the Alliance, no one was cleaner than the next.

In truth, the number of orcs had diminished significantly since the initial invasion. Firstly, before the Dark Portal was sealed, many defeated orcs retreated back through it. Secondly, the mental and physical state of the orcs in the camps was poor, with frequent deaths due to weakness and illness.

"But how are we to get the orcs to cross the ocean and reach another continent?"

Jaina pondered for a moment, feeling that no matter what was done, to completely rid themselves of the orcish problem, Lordaeron would still have to pay a massive price for the aftermath.

"Do you remember the former Warchief of the Horde who escaped from the internment camp some years ago, Orgrim Doomhammer?"

Arthas wore a mysterious smile, deepening Jaina's confusion. "I remember. Hasn't this dangerous orc still not been captured?"

"I was the one who intentionally had him released."

"What?!"

Not every orc had their will completely eroded by failure and the curse; some still harbored a desire for the revival of their race.

Orgrim was an excellent leader. He knew that with their current state, the orcs were no match for the human kingdoms. Therefore, his primary goal would be to find a way to sustain his people.

Once given a new hope and purpose, would Orgrim continue to clash with humans using his remaining elderly and sick, or would he lead his kin across the ocean?

At that point, Arthas would only need to play the role of a shepherd, opening a path for Orgrim, and the orc himself would lead his kind out of the Eastern Kingdoms. The effort would be on the orcs' part; Arthas wouldn't even have to worry about how they built ships to reach Kalimdor!

...

Far away in the snow-capped Alterac Mountains.

"Orgrim, here is your portion."

The old shaman, Drek'Thar, pushed open the tent flap and entered, carrying a large wooden platter topped with a thick, roasted venison leg.

"Thank you, Drek'Thar." Orgrim grabbed the leg and tore off a large piece of meat with his sharp tusks.

Drek'Thar found a seat, his tone filled with concern. "Orgrim, our hunters encountered ogres today—they are hunting as well. We lost two of our young ones."

Orgrim paused his chewing, swallowed, and said, "They occupy the ruins of Alterac City. Why would they come up to the snowy peaks to compete with us for prey?"

"The elements tell me the number of game in this mountain range is dwindling. We must migrate to a new place." The old shaman touched the black cloth wrapped around his eyes. He was blind, yet the spirits of nature allowed him to see much more.

Orgrim’s rugged brow furrowed. He set down the half-eaten leg. "Winter is coming, and the weather on the mountain will only grow worse. Is it truly wise to migrate at a time like this?"

The old shaman's voice seemed to carry the howling wind and snow. "I know, but before winter sets in, the ogres will surely move in force to stockpile food. Our current home is no longer safe."

"Home—?" Orgrim exhaled a sharp breath, his voice tightening. "This is not our home, Drek'Thar. Our home was destroyed! By that traitor, Gul'dan!"

The old shaman could not see Orgrim’s expression, but he could feel the rage in his chest. However, Drek'Thar was long accustomed to it. "Yet this is our home now, at least for the Frostwolf Clan. Draenor is gone, Orgrim, and you are no longer Warchief."

Orgrim’s raised voice suddenly ceased. He sat rigidly on the fur rug, staring at the remainder of the venison. After a long while, he said softly, "I have failed the Horde... I have failed Durotan... I have failed every orc."

"That is not your fault, Orgrim. At least we are alive, and we have food to eat," the old shaman said, shaking his head. He had no intention of scolding Orgrim. "But we do have a chance, Orgrim."

Orgrim shook his head. He carried the failure of the Horde, a heavy burden that had made it difficult for him to breathe over these past few years. He even had nightmares every night, dreaming of being grabbed by blood-stained orcs who demanded, "Is this the victory you promised?!"

He didn't even know how he had summoned the spirit and strength to escape human custody in the first place.

"Do you remember Go'el?"

The old shaman’s question made Orgrim’s expression even more mournful. This was the son of his late friend, Durotan.

The former chieftain of the Frostwolf Clan, Durotan, had openly opposed the Horde’s use of fel magic, leading the Shadow Council’s warlock leader, Gul'dan, to send assassins to silence him. After Durotan was assassinated, his newborn son had gone missing. Over a decade had passed, and everyone assumed the son of the Frostwolf chieftain had joined his parents in the realm of the ancestors.

"I have heard the call of the elements. Go'el lives. He is at the foot of the Alterac mountains, raised by a human."

"What?!" Orgrim gripped the old shaman’s shoulders, a spark of life returning to his weary eyes. "Do you know what you are saying! Go'el is alive?!"

"The elements do not deceive me, just as they warned the orcs back on Draenor."

Orgrim sighed. If only someone had listened to the warnings of the ancestors and the elements back then, the orcs would not have ended up in this state. But those were things of the past. He now had a new hope: to find his friend's son.

The old shaman remained silent. He had spoken the truth, but he knew better than anyone that finding Durotan’s son would not be easy. Yet, having a new goal would allow Orgrim, who wandered daily between despondency and clarity, to find his strength again.

Though the Frostwolf Clan seemed to have settled in the Alterac Valley, Drek'Thar, who currently led the clan, knew clearly that the harsh climate of Alterac and their proximity to human territory made the fragile Frostwolf Clan precarious. They had to find a new sanctuary.

Before leaving, Drek'Thar said to Orgrim, "Go'el carries the blood of the Frostwolves. I believe you can find him, and he can bring us change."

This was the first time Orgrim had ever truly believed in a shaman's prophecy. Because this was not just a prophecy—it was his hope.