Chapter Forty: Prelude to the Turning Tide

"VanCleef... Excellency, may I take the liberty of asking when we shall begin discussions regarding an alliance?"

Hamuul Runetotem had not forgotten his primary objective. Although the Tauren tribes were currently in a difficult position, forging an alliance with an unknown power was not a matter to be taken lightly.

VanCleef replied with great courtesy: "Elder Hamuul, I am merely an interim representative in charge of your reception. The individuals truly responsible for negotiating the alliance will require some time to reach Kalimdor."

They still needed time to reach Kalimdor? Had the Alliance truly mastered the sea routes across the Great Sea?

Hamuul felt a surge of complex emotions. For thousands of years, the continent of Kalimdor had not encountered a power capable of such large-scale intervention; at most, there were only a few goblins who had established trading posts along the coast.

However, the goblins were only interested in profit, which was fundamentally different from the Alliance’s overt intention to intervene directly in Kalimdor. Hamuul could not help but worry whether this was the precursor to a gathering storm.

The elder Tauren pondered for a moment before asking, "Excellency VanCleef, what will the arrival of the Alliance bring to our continent?"

"Elder Hamuul, you need not worry. We seek only to foster friendship with your people. Beyond that, we have no intention of interfering excessively in your lives."

VanCleef recalled the instructions Arthas had given him and continued, "The leader of this alliance is Prince Arthas of Lordaeron. His Highness’s goal is to unite all forces that can be united."

Uniting forces? Why would humans, so far away in the Eastern Kingdoms, suddenly consider such a thing? And did they have no one left to contact in the Eastern Kingdoms that they felt compelled to come all the way to Kalimdor?

"Elder Hamuul, I am only a messenger for His Highness. I can only share the little I know. As for the true reasons, I fear we must wait for the arrival of the Alliance’s envoys." A helpless smile appeared on VanCleef's face; he was telling the truth.

"I understand. Thank you very much for your reply, Excellency," Hamuul said in a deep, gravelly voice. Although he still harbored many doubts, he had no choice but to wait for the arrival of the delegation.

*I hope this is not a bad omen,* Hamuul thought to himself. The Tauren tribes could not withstand any further turmoil.

The Centaur had become increasingly rampant in recent years. Starting from the Desolace in the far west of the continent, they had utilized their superior speed and endurance to spread their scouts and encampments across the entirety of central Kalimdor.

Like the Tauren, they were a nomadic race, but the Centaur were vicious and tyrannical, possessing many barbaric traditions, including the consumption of raw, uncooked meat.

To the Centaur, the Tauren were both targets for plunder and food—it sounded cruel, but among backward and savage races like the Centaur and Quilboar, even cannibalism occurred from time to time.

Hamuul’s clan had suffered under the harassment of the Centaur for several years. Many young tribesmen had died in the resistance, their villages were burned by the Centaur, and these beast-like creatures spared not even the women and children.

The Tauren had reached their limit and were on the verge of an uprising, but their people were scattered across the vast Barrens, making it difficult to gather enough strength to repel the Centaur's onslaught.

***

Therefore, Cairne Bloodhoof had sent Hamuul to test the waters. While neither of them believed that a free lunch would fall from the sky, the Tauren felt that if they could resolve the threat of the Centaur by paying a reasonable price, it might be worth considering.

Unfortunately, the human envoys had not yet arrived, so Hamuul had no choice but to stay in this beautiful stone city for a while longer.

...

"What? You want us to cross that ocean?! You must be joking, boy! That sea is far wider than anything in Draenor!"

A tall Orc with long black hair tied in a ponytail snorted. "Why should we leave here? Those weak humans are no match for the Warsong Clan."

"Grommash, we lost many fine warriors in our last attempt to rescue our kin! Even Orgrim has fallen. Do you still think those humans are as weak as they were ten years ago?"

Upon mentioning Orgrim’s name, the young Orc’s emotions grew turbulent. "We have wasted too much time in these mountains and forests. We cannot survive here! We need wider lands for our people to live!"

"Then go and seize them! Take them by force! The lands of the humans lie at the foot of the mountain. Are you afraid?! Or perhaps, that name the humans gave you has turned you into a human yourself, Thrall?!" Grommash flexed his muscular arms, his axe, *Gorehowl*, stained with the blood of countless strong foes and beasts, gripped tightly in his hands.

"Blackmoore raised me, but my business with him ended the moment he died. Grommash, do not try to provoke me with that!" Thrall furrowed his brows. "You are the chieftain of the Warsong clan, the mightiest warrior of the Old Horde. Do you not understand that humans are no longer what they were a decade ago?"

"If it were as easy to take human lands as you say, would we still be hiding in these deep woods? Grommash, times have changed. Under the leadership of that Prince named Arthas, Lordaeron is different from before."

"Hmph!"

The chieftain of the Warsong clan let out a low grunt. He could not refute Thrall’s words, because it was the truth. Even the battle-hardened Warsong clan had been forced to hide in the forests of Tirisfal under the relentless suppression of the human armies.

"I have received a vision: the future of the Orcs lies on the continent across the Great Sea. Remaining here will only intensify our conflict with the humans." Thrall reached out and patted Grommash on the shoulder. "Orgrim would not want to see us wasting precious time on senseless bickering."

"You have learned all the rhetoric of the humans, Thrall," Grommash stared at him for a long time. "But you have also learned much from Orgrim. I did not like that man, but I must admit, he did a fine job as Warchief."

Thrall smiled with satisfaction. Although Grommash was short-tempered and blunt, he could still see clearly when it mattered most.

However, Thrall also understood that leaving the Eastern Kingdoms would not be easy. "The humans guard the ports with heavy forces. It is unrealistic for us to set sail from within Lordaeron, and we do not have enough ships to transport our people and warriors."

He leaned on the *Doomhammer* passed down to him by Orgrim and fell into deep thought. "How are we to leave this place?"

"If there are no ports or ships, we can build them ourselves. The mountain trails east of Tirisfal lead to Silverpine Forest, where there is a path to the sea. There are no humans there, only many spiders and wild beasts."

Grommash, who had lived in the Tirisfal Glades for years, had his own ideas, and he stated them directly. Whether to adopt them or not was up to Thrall.

Orcish shipbuilding technology was not advanced, but while they could not build warships, constructing transport vessels capable of crossing the sea was not a problem. Furthermore, Orcs generally possessed much greater physical stamina than humans; even without sails, they could manage the crossing by rowing.

At the very least, this was how they had operated back on Draenor and later when they had swept across the Eastern Kingdoms.

"Although it will be difficult, it is the only option we have right now."

With a preliminary plan in place, Thrall and Grommash gathered the Orcs rescued from the internment camps and began to move secretly along the mountains from the southern lands of Lordaeron toward Silverpine Forest.

Uther, stationed in the Hillsbrad Foothills, also sensed that the number of Orcs seemed to be gradually decreasing. They had stopped raiding human villages and towns.

"Have they finally realized the cost?" Alexandros Mograine was the commander of the forces assisting Uther in defense; he was also a Paladin of the Silver Hand.

"It seems they are no longer in Hillsbrad." Uther plucked the Orc flag from the sand table but hesitated to place it elsewhere. "But where on earth could they have gone?"

"Ha, what are you worried about? Under Prince Arthas’s deployments, the defenses of Tirisfal and Weald have been built long ago. These Orcs could never threaten the core of the Kingdom." Alexandros laughed, not as worried as his colleague.

"You are right, but we still cannot let our guard down. The tragedy at the southern camp serves as a constant reminder that our world still faces many unknown dangers."

Upon hearing this, Alexandros lost his excitement. He gritted his teeth and said, "Three hundred men. Three hundred fine soldiers, dead for no apparent reason? And only one recruit and a little girl survived?!"

"We arrived too late. The area had been infiltrated by demons long ago. By the time Arthas arrived, following the traces, their souls had already been devoured by demons."

"Sigh... I wonder what Arthas was feeling at that moment." Alexandros sighed. He, too, had personally had to finish off "comrades" resurrected by Orc warlocks during the Orc Wars, and he understood that feeling.

"Compared to Arthas, let us first find out where these Orcs have gone. I trust in Arthas's character; he will not lose his composure over this incident."

"You are right. Now, let us go and deal a heavy blow to those fleeing green-skinned scum!"