Chapter 630 The Change of Identity
Durotan was in great pain; a horrific wound stretched from his left shoulder to his right abdomen, with faint stellar energy hindering skin growth, preventing even the orcs' formidable regenerative abilities from healing quickly.
A dozen days ago, three elven saints ganged up on Durotan. The seemingly gentlest elven woman was actually the most ruthless, nearly slicing his intestines out with a single sword strike. He had to burn a great deal of his life force to escape, which also further injured his body.
"Father, all the messengers we sent to seek help have returned, but most of them didn't bring back any reinforcements. Only the Dragonthroat Clan sent a thousand warriors..."
Durotan's son Thrall entered his father's tent and reported to him with a somber expression. In fact, he had long anticipated this outcome. The orcs of today were no longer the united orcs who fought for territory six hundred years ago. Each clan was now only concerned with their own interests and wouldn't act without a reason.
"Has the messenger to Moscow returned?" Although Durotan was in great pain, his expression remained resolute. At this moment, he had to be strong. Hundreds of thousands of women, children, and the elderly outside were watching him, hoping that he could lead the clan to a way out.
"The messengers did not see His Majesty Arthas, but they received news of the Temple's deployment of troops. The Temple dispatched Princess Heatherine, the Controller of Light, leading 50,000 Temple troops out of Warsaw, and they will soon cross the western defense line, so... there may be no reinforcements coming."
Upon hearing his son's words, Durotan felt a sharp pain in his chest. The physical pain was bearable, but the mental anguish of seeing no hope darkened the face of this strong orcish high priest.
"Where is Garrosh? Has he agreed to our terms?"
Thrall shook his head: "Garrosh suggested we move south and seek refuge in their territory, saying that only by uniting our two races can we possibly fight against the elves..."
"Bang!"
Durotan smashed the thick wooden table to pieces with a single punch, his large nostrils flaring as he breathed heavily, his pale face turning red with rage.
"Let us seek refuge in his territory? Does he intend to annex our entire clan? We've tolerated them so much all these years, does he really think we're spineless cowards? We've already ceded all our territory south of the White Sea to him, and he still isn't satisfied... He's so greedy... Aaaaaah!"
Thrall looked at his furious father and felt a pang of guilt. Back then, the two clans joined forces to annex the territory near the White Sea that originally belonged to the Thunder King Clan. The Warsong Clan had already gained the most benefits, but now that the Frostwolf Clan was facing an insurmountable obstacle, these greedy fellows actually regarded them as the second Thunder King Clan.
"Father, if all else fails, let's move our entire clan eastward! Let's go east and let these greedy creatures bear the wrath of the elves!"
"Thrall, do you know what changes have occurred in that vast empire in the east in recent years? They are no longer as humble and docile as before. The Blackrock clan has been decimated by them, and the Duskhammer clan has been forced to migrate westwards. Are we going there now just to join in the fun?"
“But Father, the Elven army is less than fifty miles away from us. A few days ago, Krogh proved one thing with his own life and the lives of his people… We are simply no match for the Elven army.”
Thrall was excited. In recent days, many of his people had been unable to bear the shock of their homes being destroyed and had launched counterattacks against the pursuing Elven warriors, but without exception, they had all failed. Ever since Krogh led tens of thousands of wolf riders to be defeated without any suspense on the plains, the entire Frostwolf Clan had lost the will to continue fighting. Now they were only thinking about how to escape and how to survive.
Durotan looked at his only son, his eyes also misting over. Thrall was kind-hearted and very generous to his subordinates, and was loved by his people. However, his personality was not suitable for dealing with other orc clans. In a world where the strong prey on the weak, there is no need for a merciful leader.
"Yesterday, the elves sent a secret envoy... Thrall... are we facing a difficult choice?"
"The elves have sent envoys? Do they want to make peace with us? Will they let us go if we cede the former territory of the elven empire?"
Durotan shook his head and said with difficulty, "No, they... want us to surrender!"
A fierce argument broke out in the tent, then fell silent. No one knew what had happened between the father and son that night, but the next morning, astonishing news spread.
The Frostwolf Clan abandoned their resistance, made peace with the Elven Court, and handed over all their weapons of war, leaving only ironware for daily life. The various tribes then split up and, under the arrangement of the Elven Court, entered designated areas to await the allocation of new territories for cultivation.
During this process of division and distribution, many tribal leaders were unwilling to have their rights stripped away and led their followers in rebellion, but without exception, they were suppressed by Durotan and his son.
The survivors witnessed the scene of fellow tribesmen tearfully killing each other, a sight that they remembered vividly for many years to come, leaving them with a vivid memory of the tragic cries of these rebels before their deaths.
But by then, they couldn't tell who was right and who was wrong. The orcs lost some of their freedom, but in return, they gained a prosperous and stable life.
News of Durotan's truce with the Elven court quickly reached Moscow, shaking the entire orcish heartland. Although the Frostwolf Clan claimed to have made peace with the elves, how could anyone with discerning eyes not see that they had essentially surrendered?
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