Ner'zhul was confused by what he had just experienced, but it soon became clear to him.
Because he met the orcs' old friend Kil'jaeden again in the Twisting Nether.
The same Ling Chi, Cun Zheng, soul burning; the same begging for mercy, cursing, and begging for mercy again.
But the difference from last time was that Ner'zhul was mentally prepared. Of course, for Kil'jaeden's perverted and cruel torture, it would be a pain to know in advance.
Everything was just like what Nero's ancestors had experienced before. His soul was sealed in ice and came to Northrend, and Arthas was tempted to put on the Helm of Command...
Trying it again, the result was still the Alliance and the Horde besieging the Frozen Throne. It felt like Ner'zhul was cornered in the Black Temple.
…
When he appeared in front of Kil'jaeden for the third time, Ner'zhul found that he was getting used to it.
I don't know how many years have passed since he repeated this, and every time he tried to do something different, but in the end he would still return to the starting point, that is, the place where he fell in the void.
Ner'zhul only knew that he was completely tired of looking at Kil'jaeden's old face that was even more disgusting than an ogre, and he almost memorized the names of everyone in Azeroth.
No one knows how many years have passed, but Ner'zhul found that he seemed to have forgotten all those things. His memory became increasingly blurred, but his belief became stronger and stronger.
At first, Ner'zhul asked himself, what he longed for was what every old man longed for, which was to live. Why did fate have to play tricks on him again and again?
But later, Ner'zhul suddenly realized that his heart might be lying to himself. He moved his memory forward again, and finally opened the most dusty scene.
He more or less went back to the days when there were no demons, the hot and noisy summer in Nagrand.
At that time, he was still the most respected shaman chief among the orcs. He chatted and laughed with the ancestor spirits and guided the orcs to live a simple and peaceful life.
What he wants has always been the respect of everyone, the kind of god who can make the soul extremely happy!
Since you can’t be a god that everyone respects, you can become a demon that everyone is afraid of!
…
Breaking through the shackles of the mind on oneself, this process alone does not know how many years it takes.
But this time, Ner'zhul finally returned to the real world, and his body was almost burned to char by the dragon's breath.
He reincarnated for hundreds of millions of years in the time stream created by Nozdormu, but in reality he only experienced one second.
Of course, if Ner'zhul could not wake up within this second, the flames of the dragon's breath would naturally burn him to ashes.
It can only be said that Nozdormu himself did not expect that someone could actually come out of the time stream he spat out in anger.
He casually swatted out the flame of time on his body, and Ner'zhul limped along in the void.
There was still residual time magic in the embers, which made Ner'zhul look very strange. The right half of his body was old, but the left half was rejuvenated with youthful vitality.
Ner'zhul didn't care at all about the condition of his body. After a while, this body was no longer his.
After being kidnapped by two evil lords in the Twisting Nether, Ner'zhul arrived in front of Kil'jaeden with ease.
The cruel torture of the Deceiver was now considered as "just a couple of times" as ordinary as possible in Ner'zhul's eyes.
But in order not to arouse Kil'jaeden's suspicion, Ner'zhul deliberately put on a very strange and realistic reaction.
This is not difficult for Ner'zhul, after all, he has experienced it countless times.
Ner'zhul didn't do anything extra. He was just waiting for when Kil'jaeden would surrender him to Azeroth.
After thousands of calamities, Ner'zhul finally understood what he should do. Azeroth will usher in the most powerful Lich King, and Ner'zhul is confident of spreading fear and disaster to the world. In other words, even if
It was a failure, and Ner'zhul had learned to face it calmly.
…
The undercurrent in the Twisting Nether is surging. The old lich Ner'zhul is waiting to be crowned king, and there are people over there who are proclaiming themselves warchiefs.
When he broke through the siege of the Cursed Land, Fenris only had more than 4,000 men left. After returning to Gorongas, he recruited more than 1,000 people in the Black Temple, adding up to a total of 6,000 people.
And this team of 6,000 people was teleported directly from the Black Temple by Ner'zhul using the Scepter of Sargeras and disappeared.
At that time, Ner'zhul had threatened everyone, and this team might have been sent to the city of Lordaeron by him.
In fact, although it was not as exaggerated as Ner'zhul said, the location where these tribes were sent was also very dangerous.
They were teleported to the Silverpine Forest! The actual distance from Lordaeron City is no more than 200 kilometers!
Such an army that survived such a fierce war suddenly appeared next to Lordaeron's bedside. If Terenas knew about it, he would definitely have trouble sleeping and eating.
Fortunately, Fenris, who had just appeared in Silverpine Forest, had not yet figured out the situation. He was not even sure whether this was Azeroth, so he did not act rashly.
As for the huge Silver Pine Forest, there is no problem hiding tens of thousands of troops, so the outside world is not aware of Fenris's existence.
Hiding in a large, inaccessible forest on the western edge of the continent, it was indeed difficult for the outside world to spot them, but within two days, Fenris met an acquaintance in the forest.
It was true that he was an acquaintance. The person who appeared in front of Fenris was none other than Orgrim's former lieutenant: Varok Saurfang.
After the battle at Hillsbrad Foothills, Orgrim used half of his forces to stop Saurfang from taking the rear.
For this task, Saurfang did a good job indeed. He successfully prevented the Alliance from moving eastward with Orgrim in his hands, buying time for Orgrim and Zul'jin to unite.
But Saurfang did have limited troops at the time, and Hillsbrad was the site of the Fourth War. If you stayed there, you were destined to be beaten by at least three countries: Dalaran, Gilneas, and Stromgarde.
How could Saurfang's lone army hold on? It didn't take long before he led his remnants to the west and hid in the vast forest.
Now these two old friends met in this silver pine forest.
"Fenris...Chief, why are you here?"
Speaking of which, Saurfang is at least half a student of Fenris, so after meeting Fenris, he naturally cannot help but respect him.
"Hmph, this is Ner'zhul's masterpiece."
Fenris said with a cold snort, and then the two of them exchanged what they knew.
When they talked about the current situation of the tribe and the orcs, both of them sighed at each other.
But what surprised Saurfang was that after sighing, Fenris suddenly said categorically.
"The orcs have caused today's situation entirely because they don't have a strong voice.
The tribe does not have absolute leadership over each clan, and the army I have now is completely made up of various clans.
Saurfang, I think the orcs you have are in the same situation, right?"
When asked by Fenris, Saurfang did not hesitate to admit that among the more than 2,000 troops he still had, few people took the initiative to mention the clan.
"We just take this opportunity to build a new tribe, completely abandon the clan, and build a consensus that belongs to the tribe!"
Just like that, Fenris was officially declared the warchief in front of more than 8,000 orcs in the Silverpine Forest!
But during this process, Saurfang seemed a little silent.
He has a deep connection with Fenris, and it stands to reason that he should support Fenris.
But in his heart, the one who is most qualified to be called the warchief is definitely Orgrim.
Saurfang knows about Orgrim's escape from prison, but he is currently missing.
Since Orgrim is not dead yet, a new warchief should not be born.
But he also admitted that what Fenris said was right. The tribe failed because of inconsistent ideas and random fighting in the war.
Nowadays, these more than 8,000 orcs need a leader, but they all come from different clans. The orc clans will never accept each other's subordinates. There must be a bigger flag to unite them.
Therefore, Fenris' appointment as warchief seemed to be a natural progression.
Saurfang sighed at this.
No matter what the fate of the orcs is in the future, for now—