Everyone at the scene knew the weight of the great chief's head in Lothar's hands.
If King Laing had been defeated in the capital and fled to Southshore, no matter how many soldiers he had saved and how many people he had protected, Laing would still be a useless king in the eyes of the other six kings.
This humiliation would follow Laing for the rest of his life, and it would even affect the young William.
In the 'history', even if Laing had been assassinated, he was still the king who defended the country and the hero in the hearts of the people. Even if Lothar and William were despised everywhere, no one would blame Laing for his death.
In this life, Laing had survived thanks to Duque's efforts. Since Duque had protected Laing from Gahrona's assassination, he would not let Laing die in battle for the sake of his reputation in Stormwind City. After Laing died, Stormwind lost its backbone.
Now, the situation was completely different.
The great chief's head and the tribal great chief's battle flag that Lothar had asked the guards to pick up were enough to prove that Laing had been defeated with honor!
The battle flag, which was decorated with the teeth of large beasts, was obviously different.
Even if they had lost the capital, every Stormwind citizen could still go out and say to anyone, "Our great hero, Lothar, chopped off the tribal great chief's head."
However, everything was orchestrated by Duque.
Without Duque's "Orc Connection," no one would have thought of using such a method to lure the great chief out.
Even the most picky person could only give Duque a thumbs up.
Lothar was indeed a hero, as he was able to kill the great chief, Black Hand, despite the huge disparity in strength and speed. Everyone knew that Duque was the real hero.
"Give me the head." Duque waved his hand.
Lothar tossed Black Hand's head to Duque as he ran.
"Chilling Cold!" Duque waved his hand, and an extremely cold aura instantly enveloped the head of the Great Tribal Chief, who was spinning in mid-air. In the next moment, Magician's Hand caught Black Hand's head, which was frozen in a transparent block of ice.
The heavy work of moving the enemy leader's head was naturally done by the guards.
"Take the head and the flag and leave first. I'll bring the first squad to cover our retreat." Lothar did not let down his guard. He put on a shield and led the troops to retreat cautiously. In fact, Noxus was worrying too much. The Orcs were already fighting amongst themselves, and didn't have the time to pay attention to the retreating humans.
At the dock, General Tom Seamus was burning with anxiety. When he saw Laing's war flag and the royal guards at the city gate of Storm Harbor, he hurriedly led his troops to meet them.
"Your Majesty, your safety is more important than anything else." General Seamus was so emotional that he was about to cry.
"You've worked hard, my dear subject. Now, only the last two steps are left. " Laing stared at the squad of guards who were carrying the Great Tribal Chief's head and the tribe's war flag, with obvious excitement in his eyes.
Killing the commander and capturing the flag!
If it weren't for Duque, he probably would've died here, wouldn't he?
Infinite gratitude for Duque surged in Laing's chest. Thinking of the nobles who fled with their family properties at the time of disaster, Duque's name had already become sacred in Laing's heart.
On the other side, when the troops led by Lothar were almost out of the church square, Duque finally launched a backup plan.
"Ambrose Liza Magarovs …" It was a long incantation. As Duque's incantation sounded, Lothar clearly sensed that something was changing in the air.
Countless mysterious magic runes appeared under Duque's feet like ripples, spreading in all directions.
Seeing that Duque had stopped chanting, and the magic waves around him had also calmed down, Lothar still couldn't help but ask, "What did you do? If you wanted to burn down Storm City, would you need such an exaggerated magic array? "
Duque smiled mysteriously, "You will know soon."
At the same time, the Blackstone Clan Orcs who were fighting each other felt a wave of fear in their hearts.
It was purely an animal's instinct, just like how even a mouse would run away in the face of a disaster.
At this moment, every Orc in all the streets of Storm City, no matter what they were doing, forcibly stopped what they were doing. The ground under their feet made them tremble in fear.
In the largest church in Storm City, accompanied by the ringing of the bell, every evening prayer hall would echo with the uniform sound of the priests' evening prayers night after night.
Following the attack on Storm City, the bell for evening prayers had not been rung for a long time. Every priest was using holy healing spells to heal the injured, using their kind voices to comfort every frightened soul.
However, at this moment, the church bell that had not been rung in the night for a long time rang —
Three short! Three long! Another three short!
This was the signal that they had agreed on!
The members of the daredevils who had long given up hope of escaping and knew that they were going to die quickly moved. They might have crawled out of an abandoned attic, an inconspicuous closet, or a secret basement, dragging their broken bodies with all their might.
They used flint stones to light torches and threw them on the things that had been prepared beforehand.
Some of them were piles of firewood that had already been doused with oil, some were piles of whale fat that had been piled up in the corner, and some were storerooms filled with dry straw.
More importantly, in the hot summer, the brick and wood houses and the large amount of flammables that had been prepared beforehand made it very easy to start a fire.
Storage banks, exchanges, residences, shops, mansions of the nobles, various government offices, hotels, and all the important and unimportant facilities, more than a thousand fires were lit up.
In the beginning, the Orcs who had already dispersed did not care about the fire.
Burning, killing, and looting were absolutely common for any big city that had fallen. A few years ago, when the Orcs had taken over Shattrath City, they had done the same thing to the Draenei city.
And the Orcs were not interested in human houses at all. They preferred their own tents.
The Orcs did not even think of running out to take a look, let alone putting out the fire.
But soon, they found that they were wrong.
The fire was out of control. A fear that they had experienced not long ago surged in their hearts again. They suddenly remembered the scene of Duque burning down most of the tribe's main camp by himself.
That blazing fire, which could be called the flames of hell, caused the deaths of over ten thousand Orcs. They began to run out, trying to use all kinds of methods to put out the fire, but it was too late. The fire had already spread unscrupulously everywhere.
One block after another was easily swallowed by the raging fire. In the narrow streets, they could not find a place to hide from the fire. They could only run to the wide square or jump into the moat that covered the whole of Storm City. They watched in shock as pillars of fire shot into the sky one after another.
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