Hagra the Windbinder observed an infected person and carefully recorded the course of the disease.
This is a young Zandalari woman, skinny as a stick, her forehead is as hot as fire, big drops of sweat are dripping, the corrupted blood is plundering the last nutrients in her body.
The infection of the corrupted blood is very strong. Thrall and Hagra were infected one after another, but they were easily cured. Unfortunately, this Zandalar woman refused to be treated.
The woman's lips were chapped and her teeth were missing. She trembled and said:
"The great Zandalari Emperor said that magic will make us corrupt. Always keep the instructions of our ancestors in mind. This is the pride of being a Zandalari. You will not understand."
Hagra had no choice but to put down the pen and paper, shrugged and said to Sal:
"Corrupted Blood is very powerful. You just need to tell your enemies not to use magic. They will all die and no one will survive."
Thrall snorted coldly: "Do you think there will be idiots like the Zandalari in our era?"
The Zandalari woman was very unhappy and struggled to retort: "We Zandalari are not stupid. We have created a great civilization. The splendor of the City of Heaven is unmatched by anyone."
Thrall sneered and said: "The City of Tongtian has collapsed."
"What, you lied to me."
The woman raised her arms, took her last breath, and her eyes widened, unable to close her eyes.
Hagra the Windbinder shook his head, a feeling of powerlessness welling up in his heart.
Sal and others entered a big house in search of food.
On the street, a group of guards went from house to house searching for survivors, swearing and waving all kinds of terrifying weapons, claiming to be carrying out the orders of a certain high priest.
The few survivors were driven to the streets, crying and wailing, and were executed for violating their ancestors. Their bodies were removed and made into hard meat jerky.
"How did these guards survive?"
A survivor hiding in the closet poked his head and asked.
Sal glanced at him, grabbed a handful of food and put it into his mouth:
"Same as you, using magic."
The survivors huddled in a ball and muttered: "Since we have violated the instructions of our ancestors, why should we die? It's not fair."
Sal was silent.
Windbinder Hagra suddenly said:
"I remember that Garrosh advocated iron-blooded violence and was determined to build an Iron Horde. He didn't care about magic. What would happen if he used the Corrupted Blood on the orcs in Orgrimmar?"
Sal's expression condensed, his eyes rolled, he thought for a moment and said:
"Hey, even though the antidote is right in front of you, that idiot Garrosh must not have thought that, yes, this is indeed a useful super weapon."
Thrall holds a bottle in his hand, filled with an unknown amount of corrupted blood.
He seemed to see Garrosh, who was infected with the corrupted blood, emaciated and died, and there were corpses everywhere in Orgrimmar.
Hagra the Windbinder stood up and started packing her things. She was completely disappointed.
As the corrupted blood spreads, it's not just the orcs who will die. Races without magical talents may also be exterminated.
Mulgore Goldenhoof and Elemental Lord Modrok also packed their bags.
Sal looked strange: "What are you doing?"
Hagra said calmly: "There is nothing worth remembering in this era. We are going back."
"Go back?" Sal thought he heard wrongly.
Modrok made a loud noise and said: "The Guzandala Empire has been destroyed, and it's time to go back."
Sal smiled evilly: "Have you forgotten? The time beacon is in my hand."
Mordrake took a step forward, took out the time beacon from Thrall's arms, crushed it into pieces in front of him, spread his hands and said, "Now your time beacon is gone."
"you?"
Mordrac's eyes were full of ridicule, and Thrall had a premonition that something bad was going to happen. The enslavement scroll seemed to be ineffective.
Hagra looked at Thrall quietly: "There are loopholes in magic. Even the magic of Moon God Elune is not without flaws."
"Without the time beacon, how will you go back?" Thrall stopped talking and watched as Mulgore took out a black time beacon from his arms.
"Eternal Dragon?" Thrall asked bitterly.
Mogoole shook his head and did not explain further.
"So what if we go back? You have lost the great savior Thrall. The Bronze Dragon will not let you go. You are plotting to destroy Azeroth. You will all die."
Thrall made his last stand.
Hagra smiled and said: "So we are ready to join the Black Dragon Legion. Goodbye, Thrall."
Mogole said cheerfully: "Sal, make the tomb more beautiful and put more funerary objects. I really hope to dig out your tomb and maybe have a chance to resurrect you as an undead."
Sal felt dizzy and knew that he had been given up.
Mulgore, Hagra, and Modrok stood together. Mulgore turned the black hourglass upside down, and the three figures slowly disappeared.
Sal sat on the chair and made no sound for a long time.
The guards on the street walked away. The Zandalari hiding in the closet poked his head, looked out the window cautiously, and asked, "They're all gone."
"Yes, they are all gone." Salmran said.
The Zandalar climbed out of the closet, grabbed the food in front of Thrall and put it into his mouth:
"You said that in this world, all those who believe in their ancestors are dead. Hey, I think the great Zandalari Emperor is a murderous demon king. Whoever believes it is a fool. Are you listening?"
Thrall's eyes showed a fierce light, which frightened the Zandalari people to put down the food in a hurry. He was not the owner of this big house and was looking for food like Thrall.
"What's your name?" Thrall asked.
"Gurubashi!" the Zandalari stammered.
Thrall was stunned for a moment after hearing this. According to the ancient custom of the trolls, the empire is usually named after the founding emperor, such as Emperor Zandalari.
Could this troll be the creator of the Gurubashi Empire?
"Hey, can you read? Do you know magic?" Thrall asked.
The young Gurubashi was puzzled and said tremblingly: "I once worked as a slave in a priest's house. I helped organize the library. I knew a few words and some magic."
"Very good, I'll teach you some ways of being an emperor. It's actually very simple. Killing one person is a capital crime. Killing ten thousand people makes you a king. If you kill tens of millions of people, you will be the Zandalari Emperor..."
Zandalar border, a small fishing village by the river.
The young tax collector straightened his clothes and walked into a small hut.
The Corrupted Blood was raging and almost everyone in the village was dead. This family undoubtedly used magic.
"In the name of the great Emperor Ata, we collect taxes." The tax collector looked at the dilapidated hut, only two old trolls were left.
"Our children are all dying of illness and we can't pay taxes." The old troll trembled and begged.
The tax collector raised a cruel smile: "You can also use it as taxes."
Walking out of the hut, the tax collector carried a bag on his back and finally solved the problem of dry food.
The Zandalar Empire is in chaos, and the guards are searching for survivors everywhere. The only way to survive is to leave this country.
By the river, a fishman boatman took some hard dried meat, weighed it, nodded and said, "Get on the boat."
The fishman pushed the boat hard, causing a splash of water. The young tax collector stared at the water in a daze.
"It's rare to see Zandalari people recently. What's your name and what race you are?" the fishman asked.
"Amani, the troll clan."
The tax collector looked up at the other side of the river, his eyes filled with hope.