In his heart, Duke warmly cursed Nozdorm's eighteen generations of ancestors and sincerely offered the essence of 5,000 years of Chinese civilization to this bastard Level 10086 Dragon of Time.
All the words in his mind had been used by Duque more than ten times.
He could totally imagine Rhonin, Krasus, Vanessa, and Brock singing and playing in the forest of Azeroth, then happily bumping into the demigod Cenarius and playing the game together.
Why can these four guys choose the difficulty of the game?
I'm playing Hell mode right from the start?
I, Duque, am the first to be dissatisfied —
Alright, that's all. It's useless now.
Nozdorm had sent Duque to the Burning Legion's nest, the Twisting Nether, and made Duque be surrounded by hundreds of millions of demons. The only way for Duque to survive was to find a way to enter the Earth Matrix and successfully teleport to Azeroth.
For example … to gain Kil 'jaeden's favor and become a part of Kil' jaeden's sinister plan.
This caused Duque to pinch his nose and eat even though he knew that there was a bowl of hot sh * t in front of him!
He elegantly sat on the operating chair that was starting to change to fit Duque's body size. Duque gave Grom a look —
Trust me!
Grom's heart jumped as he looked at Duque, and his mouth was filled with bitterness. Born in that primitive and barbaric world full of courage and heroism, Grom had always been proud of being a great Orc.
Orcs were the bravest race!
Orcs were the greatest and most advanced race!
From birth until he drank the demon's blood, Grom had always firmly believed in it.
Until he saw other more brilliant civilizations, such as the Draenei, humans, dwarves, elves … When the Orcs won, he never admitted that other civilizations were superior and more advanced than the Orcs.
But the cruel battle of Black Rock Mountain changed everything.
In the face of the overwhelming artillery shells, the last of the Orcs' elites were burned to the ground. The free and powerful Orcs were reduced to slaves of the humans for as long as twelve years. When they regained their freedom while the Scourge Army was wreaking havoc, they once again saw the violent artillery and mechanical civilization. Even the most arrogant Orcs had to admit that in the field of civilization, the Orcs had fallen far behind the other races.
Under the leadership of Duque, the combat power of the Alliance was far beyond that of the tribe.
Grom didn't dare to imagine what would have happened if the Scourge and Burning Legion hadn't been pressured by the Alliance.
However, when he was teleported by Nozdormu to the Burning Legion's space battleship from ten thousand years ago, he finally realized a shameful fact — the Beastmen had completely fallen behind!
Not to mention the advanced technology of the Burning Legion, even compared to the Alliance of 15 years after the Dark Portal, the Horde was simply primitive.
After thirteen years of guerrilla warfare in Tirisfal Forest, Grom fully understood what it meant to be beaten if one lagged behind.
He had asked himself countless times why he didn't die bravely, instead living in Hell, oppressed by the humans and even the entire Alliance.
Eventually, he came to a conclusion.
In Hell.
There was a meaning to surviving.
Because only by surviving could the race reproduce. Only then would there be hope for the future. That was why living and fighting were meaningful.
Grom survived the continuous deaths of his companions. He didn't rely on miraculous survival, but instead, he carved out a bloody path with his axe.
The sacrifice of his comrade had long since made Grom forget what tears were.
Even though he would wake up in the middle of the night from the violent and bloodthirsty nightmares caused by the demonic blood, he couldn't deny that his actions were wrong.
No matter how much pain he felt, no matter how he felt about this terrifying bloodline curse, only by fighting could he save his people and lead them to the path of the future.
This bloody path was destined to be full of thorns. Perhaps he didn't know when he would be the only one left wandering at the gates of Hell.
He was glad that Thrall, the young and great chief who had helped the tribe rise again, had finally appeared.
There were many times when he wanted to throw away the heavy responsibility on his shoulders and pass away peacefully with the beautiful expectations he had for the Beastmen.
Looking at Orgrimmar rising from the ground, Grom only had one last wish left in his heart — to repay a favor from a human.
Although that human was once the tribe's public enemy, he was also the greatest person.
His greatness even transcended the boundaries of race and country.
With the thought of repaying his debt, he had agreed to come to this damned ten thousand years ago and fight for a historical correction mission that seemed to have nothing to do with the Beastmen.
But now, he suddenly realized that he had a new responsibility on his shoulders — he had a responsibility! He had to tell Thrall about the terror of the Burning Legion that he had seen with his own eyes! He had to tell the entire tribe!
In order to achieve this goal, he had no choice but to personally witness his benefactor, right in front of him, shouldering another disaster for him!
Grom's strong arms struggled, and his mouth twitched. His sharp fangs clattered, not because of fear, but because of — excitement!
Yes!
He owed Duque another life!
Even though he had seen with his own eyes how Duque had forcefully converted Archimonde's evil curse power into holy light, it did not erase the guilt in his heart. Grom knew very well what would happen once such a high purity evil power entered his body.
But Duke smiled and plucked away the despair that should have belonged to his Grom.
He did not say a word, just a proud look. It was as if Duque was saying, "You want to corrupt me? Even a hundred times more won't be enough! "
Duque lay down with a smile, and then made countless plans in his mind. In the deepest part of his heart, he built layer after layer of mental defenses …
"Come on!" Best Actor Duque had a fanatical expression on his face, as if he was willing to sacrifice his body for the Burning Legion.
That was the desire for power!
That was the worship of the strong!
The Eredar Twins, who could not read Duque's mind at first, finally looked satisfied.
That's right, this was the expression that a bunch of useless followers should have!
The huge and terrifying needle pierced directly into Duque's heart, and the high purity of evil power that would make a large number of Apocalypse Guards jealous was injected into Duque's heart drop by drop.
"Ahhhhh —" Even the gentle Duque could not suppress the violent reaction in his body, and let out a bestial roar.
Nozdormu — I will castrate you when I get back!
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