Chapter 438: Retreat
Another dawn broke, and the morning mist shrouded the earth as usual.
Though darkness still lingered, Southshore Town stirred quietly awake, hidden under a thick blanket of sleep. The residents, despite the lack of sunlight, knew a new day had arrived.
The dense fog enveloped their wooden homes and obscured the nearby sea entirely.
Yet, the rhythmic crashing of waves against the shore, shattering on the rocks, echoed faintly through the mist, a familiar comfort.
Everything seemed as it always was.
But this morning, an unfamiliar sound reached the townsfolk's ears.
It was a deep, deliberate rumble, carried by the wind from the sea and reverberating through the dense mist.
The strange noise left the townsfolk bewildered, their daily routine abruptly interrupted.
They had never encountered anything like this before.
Gradually, the fog began to shift as though torn apart by the sound. A shadow emerged, growing more distinct with each passing moment.
Another wave crashed against the shore, stirring unease among the townsfolk. They stepped back collectively, some crying out in alarm.
Lifelong residents of the coastline, they were well-acquainted with the sea's patterns—this was no ordinary wave. Something else was approaching.
The shadow pierced through the fog and soon multiplied, each gaining a clear form—ships. Many ships.
The sight did not bring relief. Southshore Town was merely a humble fishing village with no more than a dozen small fishing boats.
In recent years, they hadn't seen fleets larger than a handful of vessels passing by. Now, hundreds of ships appeared out of nowhere, sparking fear among the people.
Clutching whatever they could find—wooden clubs, knives, fishing rods, even nets—they braced themselves for the unknown, waiting for this mysterious fleet to approach.
Yet it wasn't just hundreds of ships. Thousands of vessels loomed on the horizon, an entire nation advancing toward them!
The low rumble earlier? It was the sound of thousands of oars slicing through water in unison.
Who were they? Pirates? A navy? And why had they come to Lordaeron?
All the townsfolk could do now was grip their "weapons" and await their fate.
When the fleet drew close enough for torchlight to illuminate the flags, the town's mayor finally let out a sigh of relief.
Some villagers even cheered.
The blue banners bearing the golden lion crest—they belonged to the Kingdom of Stormwind!
This massive fleet hailed from the distant southern Kingdom of Stormwind.
Stormwind City had fallen to the relentless assault of the Orcish Horde.
After Orgrim Doomhammer defeated and killed Warchief Blackhand in a mak'gora, he claimed the mantle of Warchief for himself.
True to his moniker, "Backstabber," Orgrim wielded cunning beyond the norm for orcs. As Warchief, he quickly consolidated power over the Horde.
Initially, Orgrim intended to wait for reinforcements from Draenor's Warsong and Shattered Hand clans.
However, time was of the essence, and he understood that giving Stormwind even a moment to recover would be disastrous.
By the time Alaric and his companions returned to Stormwind from Karazhan, the city was already under siege once more.
Orgrim had adopted a more insidious strategy compared to Blackhand's brute-force tactics.
He sent waves of orc peons—low-status laborers performing menial tasks—to the frontlines as cannon fodder.
These peons were joined by prisoners, with a few orc warriors mixed in to drain the defenders' strength and deplete their resources.
Meanwhile, orcish catapults rained destruction relentlessly, showing no regard for the lives of their own peons and prisoners.
This merciless strategy inflicted heavy losses on Stormwind's defenders.
Forced to defend against the advancing peons and prisoners, they couldn't afford to let the more capable orc warriors breach the walls.
When Alaric arrived, half of Stormwind's ramparts were already lost.
Despite Alaric and the mages rallying the defenders to reclaim the walls, the situation remained dire.
Orgrim exploited his numerical superiority, launching relentless assaults day and night. Clans rotated their warriors in shifts, wearing down the defenders and their mages.
Alaric himself bore the brunt of the exhaustion.
His battle against Sargeras in Karazhan had drained him severely, leaving him unable to single-handedly turn the tide against the Horde's relentless siege.
In the end, King Llane made a painful decision: to abandon Stormwind and evacuate the entire kingdom northward to the Hillsbrad Foothills of Dalaran's continent.
Though the alliance of nations was yet to be established, aid trickled in from other kingdoms.
The Kingdom of Dalaran had already agreed to allow Stormwind's refugees to settle temporarily in the underdeveloped Hillsbrad Foothills.
In fact, long before the Horde's second assault, King Llane had dispatched displaced citizens to establish a foothold near Southshore Town.
Among the villagers by the shore were these very settlers.
Other nations contributed funds and supplies, with Hillsbrad storing much-needed provisions for the displaced Stormwind people.
The maritime power of Kul Tiras lent ships, which, combined with vessels constructed by Stormwind, created a massive fleet capable of evacuating the kingdom's remaining population in one fell swoop.
Alaric played a pivotal role in the evacuation.
To buy time for the military's retreat, Alaric personally unleashed a kilometer-long wall of fire around Stormwind.
The enormous wall of flames burned for two hours, draining Alaric's remaining mana to its limits.
The last of the defenders seized this opportunity to board the ships. Alaric stayed behind until the very end.
When the flames died, the orcs discovered that Stormwind had become an empty shell, its people and treasures already gone.
Alaric used a prepared magical key to escape safely.
His efforts ensured that nearly all of Stormwind's people and military escaped unharmed. His feat also forced Orgrim Doomhammer to reconsider his disdain for spellcasters.
Once adamant that warlocks were the root of the Horde's corruption, Orgrim began to reevaluate their potential utility.
Unsurprisingly, Alaric's heroic stand—single-handedly halting the Horde for two hours—cemented his legend.
Both among the Horde and the emerging alliance, his name became a symbol of extraordinary might and unwavering resolve.
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