Faced with Zoer Murphy's rejection, Fucha Ruilin didn't care and directly said the second one was very simple, which was also a choice that gave Murphy's forehead a headache.

Tell a story!

Murphy has a headache.

Since the little guys were trained to get better and better, she and Zhuoer felt like they were going to tie themselves up.

It is true that if these little guys count alone, they are not very good. They always have a way to deal with them, but if these little guys join forces to play small moves, it will definitely give Zol Murphy a headache!

If they were not mistaken, these little bastards are playing this trick now!

Although they didn't know how they saw that the two of them were unhappy with them talking about this troublesome topic, and planned to dig a hole for them. But Drow Murphy had no choice but to admit it.

Yes, I admit it!

Although they could feel that the little guys didn't really know anything, they were not fools. After being trained by Dow Murphy for a year and a half, they vaguely discovered that Dow Murphy didn't like them discussing this topic, which gave them room to manipulate.

Although the depth of this manipulating space is also a problem. If it is deep, it will easily provoke your boss and sister-in-law. If it is shallow, they will be unhappy. Fortunately, there is a way that is enough to make both parties mǎnyì, that is, telling stories!

Yes! Tell a story!

Since the two sides reached an agreement, it is probably easy to talk about. Of course, the little guys who took the initiative made a request at this time, that is, Chapter 5 to listen to.

OK! He is strong and weak. Zhuoer shrugged, and Murphy said nothing, and started to tell the truth.

Drektal told me: Thinking about it now, this time in our history is as perfect as the clear sky in early summer. At that time, we orcs had everything we needed: a beautiful world, a spirit of elemental help that guided our ancestors, and a timely help. We had plenty of food, a vicious but far from impeccable enemies, and a blessing from this land. And the Draenei... even if they are not our allies, they are by no means our enemies. As long as we speak, they never retain their knowledge and never stingy with their resources; what they really don't want to share is actually our orcs. It is also our orcs who are unknowingly distorted into tools that someone uses.

Hatred can be extremely powerful. Hatred can never end. Hatred can be exploited and manipulated.

Hate can also be created.

In the endless eternal darkness visible to the naked eye, Kiljadan lurked. The power surged and pulsed in his body, more real than blood, more nourishing than food and water, both intoxicating and calming. He was not omnipotent, at least now... Otherwise, thousands of worlds would be destroyed in his mind, and his conquest would no longer be done with force. But overall, he was already quite mǎnyì for the current situation.

Except for one thing. They were still alive, the exiles were still alive. Kiljadan could feel them; although for those stupid creatures who were still affected by time, he could still feel them. Villen and the rest of the idiots, who now hide, dare not face him and Archmond. Archmond was in that... in the turning point... as friends and alliances collaborated with him, as long as they were all pure creatures. However Villen...

Kiljaden, Archmond and other compatriots no longer called themselves "Erida". Villen would call them "Mariari", but they called themselves the Burning Legion, the army of Sargeras, and the chosen ones of God.

He stretched out a slender and graceful crimson arm, and his clawed giant hand reached into the void that contained everything. Feeling its fluctuations under his investigation. From the moment the enemy escaped again, the scouts were sent out continuously and returned with the news of failure. Archmond wanted to execute them to punish their incompetence, but was rejected by Kiljadan. Of course, he had reason to know those who were afraid and fled; and those who smelled the breath of reward, felt the praise of their masters and stayed by his side. He longed for repaid, so even though Kiljadan never concealed his dissatisfaction with the losers, he often gave them a second chance. Even the third time, if he believed that they had done their best, not just wasting his kindness.

Archmond disapproved of this fanaticism in Kiljaden.

"We still have many worlds to conquer, destroy, and serve our master Sargeras." Archmond's voice roared, penetrating the darkness surrounding the two. "Don't worry about that idiot. If he dares to form a wēixié to us, we will feel it. Let him rot in a lonely world. He will never understand what the real power is. This is enough punishment."

Kiljadan Kuiwei's head slowly turned to another demon lord.

"I'm not trying to deprive him of power," Kilgadan whispered, "I'm going to destroy him completely, and those who foolishly follow him. I'm going to crush him, I'm going to make him pay for his distrust, his stubbornness, and his refusal to think about us all..."

The giant hand clenched into a fist, and his sharp nails were deeply trapped into his palm. A sewing-like flame gushed out, leaving a deep dent on his body hidden in the darkness. Kiljadan had many such scars on his body, and he was proud of it.

Yes, Archmond was powerful. Elegant, sleek and full of wisdom. But he did not have the eager desire for destruction in him. He had explained it to him countless times; this time he just sighed and decided not to continue the discussion. They had argued this way for countless centuries, no doubt, for the next countless centuries. They would still argue... until Kiljadan successfully destroyed the existence of his former closest friend.

Maybe it was because of this that Kiljaden suddenly thought that Archmond never had any special feelings for Villen, and he just regarded him as a colleague who led Ereda. And he Kiljaden used to love Villen so much. He loved him like a brother... no more than that. He loved him like another self.

However……

The giant palm held tightly again, and another unclean flame surged out from where blood should have been seeped.

no.

He could never tolerate the idea of ​​letting Villen hide in an uncivilized world, hiding in a cave, licking his wounded self-esteem. This was far from enough. In the past, Kiljadin would say that he wanted blood...but now, blood could not satisfy him. He wanted to humiliate them and let them know what a complete shame is. It was sweeter than simply letting life disappear from Villen and his stupid followers.

Archmond turned his head. Kiljadan recognized this posture: one of his servants was talking to him. With Kiljadan, Archmond also had his own plans and conspiracies; of course, it was all for their dark masters and his ultimate goal of conquering everything. Archmond stood up without saying a word, his steps were clever and agile, and very incompatible with his tall and burly appearance.

At the same moment, a fluctuation came from Kiljadan's mind. He immediately recognized the signal: it was his adjutant, Tagas. From his thoughts, Kiljadan read the hope of caution.

What's the matter, my friend? Tell me! Kiljadan ordered in the spiritual link.

Sir, I have no intention of sowing untrue expectations. But... I may have found them.

Kiljadan felt a sense of joy. Among his puppets, Tagas was always cautious... like the man he was trying to hunt. Tagas' status was only under Kiljadan, and he had consistently proved his loyalty for so many centuries. Kiljadan knew him and knew that even such a cautious word would not be easily said without full confidence.

Where? How did you find it?

A very small world. It has not yet been civilized and inconspicuous. I felt that the place was stained with their special magical aura. Maybe they have been there and left again. Such things have not happened before.

Kiljadan nodded, although Tagas could not see his movements. A part of his past remained, he thought. He smiled slightly when he thought about the ancient body language that almost every intelligent race he had encountered, using nodding to express his agreement.

You are right. He agreed. Many times before, Kiljadan's army came to a certain world with the sweet breath of Ereda's magic, but only found that Villen and his damn followers had somehow escaped from the wind. But I still had hope. I would find them and torture them as much as I want. I always have eternal time... to do this.

He had an idea. On too many occasions, Kiljadan made a big march towards a certain hiding place in Viren, but he always ran away. At this time, Kiljadan would angrily destroy the world he threw behind him to calm his humiliated self-esteem. But no matter what, slaughtering those lower races was so happy that he could not satisfy his desire for revenge.

This time, he would not make the same mistake again. He would not as usual, as he used to send Tagas to play the forward and lead the Burning Legion to sweep the earth...Villen was the strongest, wisest, and most close to magic and knowledge among them. He would never relax his guard, especially now, not long since his last escape.Villen will always remain alert, and once he feels obvious, he will run away immediately.

But...what would happen if it was a less obvious wēixié?

Tagas…I want you to scout the world.

Sir, Tagas' delicate and calm voice was mixed with a hint of confusion.

We have invaded so many worlds with force, but have gained nothing yet. Maybe this time, I should only send one person, only one person... a person I can fully trust.

Kiljadan felt uneasy and pride in Tagas's thoughts.

The way to destroy the enemy is far more than just force. Sometimes, other methods are better.

So you want me to find a better way?

It is. Going to this world alone, Tagas. Observe it, understand it. Tell me whether the exiles are really there. How are they in their condition? Tell me how they live, whether they are rich and stable, or poor. Tell me what the world looks like, what kind of inhabitants, what kind of creatures, and what seasons. Remember, your mission is to reconnaissance, Tagas. Without my direct commands, you must not overcome the instructions.

Of course, sir, I will prepare immediately. He is still a little confused, but he is as obedient as ever. Tagas has always served Manari's master perfectly. This time, he will definitely complete the task perfectly.

Kiljadan's face, although it had no similarity to the face before he defected to the great Lord Sargeras, could still twist a smile.

With all his tribesmen, Durotan began to practice using weapons at the age of six. When he was very young, he was already tall and muscular. Of course, practicing weapons was also an innate talent for orcs. At the age of twelve, he joined the hunting team. Now, he has completed the ritual of coming-of-age and obtained the qualification to hunt ogres and their evil master Goron.

This year, when the fall Koshhag Festival arrives, he can join the adult circle after the children are sent to bed. Just like he and Orgrim discovered a few years ago, joining the circle around the bonfire as adults is not that fun.

However, at least one thing he thought was interesting was to communicate with those who had known for many years but had never spoken to him because of his youth. Durotan looked at the people sitting around with his keen brown eyes. He first saw Kashulsun's mother, of course, as a member of his clan. He knew that she also enjoyed a high reputation among other clans, and he was proud of it. He watched her curled up beside the fire, wrapped in a blanket. He knew that this was her last Koshhag festival... He didn't know how he knew, but he knew. The sadness brought to him was much deeper than he expected.

Next to Kashul's mother sat her apprentice, Drektal. He was much younger than her, but still older than Durotan's parents. Durotan had never had much communication with Drektal, but on weekdays, it was difficult for him not to pay attention to the straightforward words and sharp gazes of the older orcs. He was a person worthy of respect. Durotan continued to scan the crowd. Tomorrow, the shamans should set off to meet the soul of the ancestors in the cave of the Holy Mountain. Durotan recalled his journey and the strange and cool wind in the cave, and couldn't help but tremble.

He saw Grom. Hellscream, the young and slightly fanatical patriarch of the War Song clan. Grom is no older than Durotten and Orgrim, and has only recently taken office. Many people whispered that the previous patriarch died strangely, but the War Song clan did not raise any objection to Grom's leadership. Looking at him now, Durotten felt that this was a reasonable thing. Although Grom was young, he was amazing.

The deterrent force of the bonfire was leaping on him, adding a sense of oppression to him. His thick black hair was scattered behind his back, and his jaw was tattooed with black tattoos to indicate his identity as the patriarch. He wore a collar made of white bones around his neck. Durotan knew what it meant: in the tradition of the War Song clan, young warriors had to wear the bones of the prey he had killed for the first time and put their own marks on it.

Next to Grom is Black Hand, the burly leader of the Black Rock clan. The one who chews food quietly beside Black Hand clan is Kagas, the leader of the Broken Hand clan. His left hand is cut off from below his wrist. Instead, a long-handled sickle reflects dazzling light under the light of the fire. Even now, Durotan is uneasy to see the sharp blade. Next to it is Kilrog, Dead Eye, the leader of the Blood Cave clan. His surname is not inherited from a certain family, but he took it himself. One of his eyes floated lightly above the crowd, and the other eye in the socket has been damaged. If Grom is too young as the patriarch, then Kilrog is really too old. But Durotan knows that although Kilrog is old and his hair is gray. His career as a leader is far from over, and his remaining days are longer.

Durotan looked away unnaturally.

On the left of Drektar is a famous figure of the Shadow Moon Clan. Neuzu has been leading all shamans since Durotan remembers. Once, in the hunt that Durotan was allowed to participate, Neuzu was also present. That time, the amazing skills displayed by the shaman surprised Durotan. He did not spend a lot of time communicating with the spirit of element and struggling to guide their power. Neuzu's mastery of elements is very relaxed and natural at any time. As soon as he opened his mouth,

The earth shook under his feet; with a wave of his hand, lightning fell from the sky and landed in the direction he pointed out. The spirit of flame, the spirit of air, the spirit of water, the spirit of earth, and the elusive wild spirits all regarded him as companions and close friends. Of course, Durotan had never seen Naozu communicate with the soul of the ancestors, only the shamans were qualified to witness the communication with the soul of the ancestors. However, in Durotan's view, the soul of the ancestors must have favored Naozu, otherwise he would not be able to use his powerful power easily at any time.

However, Durotan did not like Neozu's apprentice. Orgrim was sitting next to Durotan. Seeing Durotan's eyes, he leaned over and said softly: "I look at that guy Gul'dan, throwing it out to catch prey is much more useful than it is now."

Durotan turned his head and did not let others see his smile. He didn't know what level of shaman Gul'dan was, so it seemed that Neozu had no low talent. But his appearance really couldn't leave a deep impression on people. He was very short and weaker than most orcs, with a thick short beard, and did not look like an orc warrior at all. However, Durotan felt that people might not necessarily have to become heroes if they make contributions.

"Oh, look over there! She is such a natural warrior!"

Durotan looked along Orgrim's fingers and his eyes immediately widened. Orgrim was right. The woman stood up straight, with strong muscles, and the flames reflected on her smooth brown skin. She was reaching out to cut a piece of roasted tab lamb from the fire. She was simply the embodiment of all the virtues of the orcs in Durotan's eyes. Her every move was wild and elegant like a black wolf, her fangs were small and delicate, and she was sharp and sharp. Her long black hair was braided into a simple braid behind her head, but she was still so beautiful.

"Who is she?" Durotan murmured, his heart sinking. Such a perfect woman must be from another clan... If there was such a strong, agile and elegant beauty in his own clan, he would not have been ignored...

Orgrim laughed loudly and patted Durotan on the back, causing many heads to turn in their direction... The woman was also among them. Orgrim leaned over and whispered, which made Durotan's mood brighter.

"You unopsy idiot! She is a frost wolf! If she were from our clan, I would have taken her back to myself!"

Is it a frost wolf? But... how could Durotan ignore such treasures in his clan? He turned his eyes away from Orgrim's smirk and looked at the woman again. She was staring at him. They met with each other.

"Draka!"

The woman was startled and turned around and stopped looking at him. Durotan blinked, as if he had just woken up.

"Draka," he said softly. No wonder he didn't recognize her. "No, Orgrim. She is not a natural warrior. She is a warrior of creation."

Draka was sick and weak when she was born, with a light brown skin rather than a healthy dark brown. Durotan remembered how adults whispered about her when she was young, as if one of her feet had already stepped on the road to joining the soul of her ancestors. His parents once mentioned her sadly, saying that they didn't know what evil her family had committed, and that the Elemental Spirit wanted to give them such a fragile child.

Thinking of this, Durotan recalled that shortly after that, the Draka family moved to the perimeter of the camp. Since then, he had hardly seen her after all, he was busy with his own affairs.

At this time, Draka had cut off several large pieces of roast lamb and shared it with her family. Durotan saw two children in her clan sitting next to her parents. They all looked very happy and healthy. Draka felt that he was staring at her, and turned his head and met his gaze without retreat. She stood up, her expression seemed to be looking at whether he dared to show her sympathy and compassion.

Of course he would not. She did not need any mercy. With the protection of the Spirit of Element, the care of the shaman and her strong will, she has been transformed from a weak and sickly child to a mature woman...the perfect image of an orc woman.

Orgrim suddenly gave him an elbow, and the air in his lungs was immediately squeezed out. Durotan glared at Orgrim.

"Close your mouth, your mouth is so big that it makes me want to stuff something in and block it." Orgrim muttered.

Durotan then realized that he had been opening his mouth... and had been seen by many people. Many people smiled badly at him. He quickly turned his attention back to the banquet in front of him, and did not look at Draka again that night.

But at night, he dreamed of her. When he woke up, he knew that she would be his. After all, he was the heir to the patriarch of a most respected clan.

Which woman can say no to him?

"No," Draka said.

Durotan was stunned. The morning after that day, he found Draka and invited her to hunt with him tomorrow. Only the two of them knew what this proposal meant: a man and a woman hunted together, which was a courtship ceremony. She actually refused him.

This was too unexpected. Durotan didn't know what to do for a moment. She looked at him with almost contempt, with the corners of her mouth curled up as if a smile.

"Why?" Durotan finally squeezed out a sentence.
Chapter completed!