Wokin was completely speechless.
Everyone, because of their growth environment, growth experience, clan status and many other factors, would have their own limitations.
Wokin was very smart, otherwise he would not have become Sal's main think tank.
He also had his limitations. In the end, he was just a chief of a troll clan that stood out from the many original troll clans.
The trolls had lived a hard life in the past 25,000 years. From the world's largest race in the distant past, with two great empires across the entire ancient Kalimdor continent, they had become small clans in a corner.
Of course, he could ignore the other troll clans, but what really alerted him was what the Alliance had done. The Alliance was not a peaceful organization. They had completely destroyed Zul 'Aman, located in the southeast of the Long Song Forest, and Zul' Gurub, located in the east of Stranglethorn Vale.
This corresponded to the two most glorious empires in the history of the trolls, the Amani Empire and the Gurubashi Empire.
Not only that, but the Rotten Moss clan in the Eastern Plaguelands was also slaughtered by the Alliance.
Although the Alliance had absolutely legitimate reasons for doing so, because these clans were behind the Alliance when the world encountered a major crisis, this could not hide the Alliance's decisiveness and ruthlessness.
Once again, it proved that as long as the line of justice was crossed in the hearts of the Alliance, the Alliance would mercilessly destroy it.
Times had changed. In the past, in the era of cold weapons, the trolls could still fight against magic with their numbers. Now, whether it was the Alliance's terrible flying fleet and other hot weapons, or the highly developed magic network civilization, they were not something that mortal creatures could resist with their bodies alone.
As soon as Sal reminded him, Wokin immediately realized that the tribe and the several races that had joined the tribe were in a very dangerous situation.
Wokin was discouraged, "Backstop? Backstop for what? "
Sal smiled bitterly, "The Alliance and the Dragon Guardian of the Sleeping Dragon Temple made a plan to deal with the Terminator, Neltharion, and I was needed as a backup. Do you know? Old friend, now the tribe … or the Orcs and other races need a righteous title. Only by obtaining this title, no matter how bad the tribe is in the future, will the Orcs and other races not be defined as evil races. "
This was a fight for a gold medal.
Wokin frowned, "What about the tribe? Will you come back? "
When Wokin asked the question, for a moment, Sal almost blurted out, "I'll be back." But the opposition of the Nagrand Orcs, the difficulties from his compatriots … All sorts of bitterness from the past surged into Thrall's heart.
Sal suddenly felt a little lonely when he thought about how he had been forced to abdicate after making outstanding contributions to the tribe for more than ten years. Moreover, the noble and great cause of wanting to do something for the World of Azeroth was even more attractive to Sal.
Sal finally replied, "I'll think about it seriously. But only after this world has escaped from the crisis of extinction. "
It wasn't the answer Wokin wanted to hear the most, but it was better than nothing.
Wo Jin turned around and left. Before he left, he waved his hand, "Well, before that day comes, the Darkspear Troll will endure."
The noble leader of the Trolls seemed to hunch a little more.
Sal let out a long sigh. This time, he wanted to persuade Wo Jin to lead the Darkspear Trolls and temporarily return to the tribe. Unfortunately, neither he nor Woking could convince the other party.
Seeing destruction and desolation, Sal felt a sense of desolation.
Leaving the Echo Islands and coming to the land he named Durotar, Sal finally took out a small crystal shining with arcane brilliance from his pocket and pinched it, "Duque, I'm ready."
A second later, a portal with a blue border opened, and Sal walked in without hesitation.
The brief discomfort caused by the teleportation quickly passed, and Sal looked around. The huge hall wasn't completely empty, but everything was huge in size.
Volcanic lava and black stones were everywhere, and above that were the metal creations and decorations with the style of the Titans.
Because this was the Obsidian Dragon Holy Land in the northwest of the Dragonbone Wilderness, it was also the nest of the Black Dragons. Ten thousand years ago, this was the place where the Black Dragons hatched their young. Unfortunately, with the betrayal of the Black Dragons led by Nesario, there were now only a hundred or so Draconians who obeyed Onyxia's orders.
The square was large and empty, with a large round table in the middle of the square. A man and a woman were chatting in the middle of the square, drinking their lunch.
Sal saw a cup of warm black tea on the table, as well as a small plate of biscuits.
Duque, dressed in a robe, and the humanoid Black Dragon Princess, dressed in a dark red embroidered dress, were sitting on the chairs beside the table.
Duque nodded and smiled at Sal's arrival, "Sal, would you like something to drink?"
Only then did Sal notice that there was a large tea set on the table, specially made for the Orcs.
Sal nodded, not losing the slightest bit of momentum, and sat down peacefully.
Sal's long experience of living among humans gave him more indifference. He had not experienced the life of the Lordaeron nobles. But because of his quietness and "tame", he was brought into noble balls or tea parties more than once as a slave gladiator champion.
Although drinking afternoon tea did not seem to match the rugged appearance of Sal, there was a subtle sense of harmony here.
"Oh?" Onyxia tilted her head in surprise.
Sal took a sip of the black tea, put down the cup, and deftly turned it with his fingertips. He knew very well that the initiative of the conversation was not on his side, so he took the initiative to speak.
"Duque, what do you think of the tribe now?" They had known each other for more than ten years and fought side by side many times. It was not brotherly love, but at least they were very familiar old friends. Sal knew how to deal with humans very well.
Duque knew that lies were meaningless to a smart leader like Sal, so he told the truth. "Dangerous, arrogant, and conceited. The tribe led by Garrus is like a powder keg, and will explode at the first opportunity. "
"Powder keg …? What a vivid metaphor. "Sal smiled bitterly.
Once a powder keg exploded, he would definitely be dead. The problem was that it would also blow up the people nearby. This was a classic case of harming others and oneself.
Duque raised his hand and curled his lips, seemingly a little indifferent. "Fortunately, it can't blow through the deck of the Alliance's battleship."
Sal now knew the Alliance's attitude better — disgust, vigilance, but not the slightest fear. Once free, they could clean up the current tribe at any time.
Sal sighed. "Then, Duque, do you hate Orcs?"
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