Bladestorm

Grom's jump slash is utterly unscientific. It defies all known laws of physics.

But then again, talking about science in a fantasy world brimming with various special professional skills is often just a load of hogwash. It seems to be a simple jump and fall, but whether it's rising or falling, it has no necessary connection with the acceleration of gravity. It's just... magic, or something close to it.

The blazing red light from Gorehowl shot up into the sky, a crimson streak against the dawn. For a moment, it was like a scarlet sun had suddenly erupted from the ground, a miniature apocalypse.

Shocking and dazzling! It burned itself into the retina.

The next moment, Grom, holding the axe handle tightly with both hands, chopped down like a meteorite plummeting to the ground, a force of pure, unadulterated destruction.

Accelerate!

Accelerate!

Keep accelerating!

Crazy acceleration!

A moment and a half ago, Grom was still nearly ten meters away from Sylvanas. It seemed that the Queen could easily dodge by simply stomping her feet, a casual sidestep.

In the next half second, the sharp tip of the axe had already chopped off the bangs of hair that were leaking out from the hood on Sylvanas's forehead, a mere whisper of steel. At this precise moment, the shriek of the axe breaking through the air had just begun to spread, lagging behind its own impossible speed.

This attack broke the speed of sound! It was a sonic boom of pure fury.

This was the attack that made the Hellscream family famous, a move passed down through generations of brutal warriors. Hellscream's father used this very move to kill countless ogres and gronns, beasts that dwarfed lesser men. And Hellscream himself would later kill the demigod Cenarius of the night elves, as well as the demon lord Mannoroth, whose body was even larger than the heaviest truck before Duke crossed over. He was a one-orc extinction event.

"No——" Duke, who was at the command center, watching the battle unfold through the Mage's Eye, a magical surveillance system, was so shocked when he saw this scene that he stood up suddenly, overturning his chair. Cold sweat instantly soaked his entire back, chilling him to the bone.

Could it be that Sylvanas, who was supposed to shine brightly on the world stage of Azeroth in the future, would perish here, now, in this chaotic naval battle!?

It's Dark Portal World War II now! Not the later, twisted timeline.

There is no such thing as the Scourge! No Lich King, no Val'kyr.

It can be said that if Sylvanas dies here, she is dead and will never be reborn! No second chances, no coming back as an undead queen.

Unless...

Duke couldn't even imagine it, his mind racing, trying to find a loophole, a way out.

However, Duke forgot one person in his nervousness and fear – Alleria. As the eldest sister of the Windrunner family, a fierce protector, how could she let her sister die in front of her? She'd move heaven and earth to prevent it.

Indeed, the current Sylvanas is still immature, a fledgling, and is far from being the dark ranger and undead queen of later generations who is so powerful that the world can tremble with just a stomp of her foot. She's still got a lot to learn.

This is exactly why Duke asked the two sisters to deal with Howler together in the name of deputy commander of the Alliance. He knew they needed to work as a team.

Alleria, with a desperate burst of speed, kicked Sylvanas on the butt, a blunt, effective shove, allowing Sylvanas to narrowly avoid the attack, a hair's breadth escape.

The Gorehowl was still slashing down, its crimson blade whistling through the air, a deadly arc.

Seeing that she couldn't hit the target, Grom, in a fit of rage, decided to chop off one of Alleria's legs instead. Alleria's vast experience in battles, her lightning-fast reflexes, came into play. In this split second, she used the three arrows in her right hand as a makeshift fist, stabbing them towards Grom's face, aiming for the eyes. At the same time, the muscles on her abdomen bulged instantly, and she used her incredible waist strength to change the kicking leg into a whip kick, sweeping towards Grom's knee, aiming to cripple him.

Perhaps, Grom could cut off one of Alleria's legs, but the price was that Howler would be stabbed in the face with three arrows, a painful, blinding blow.

This is a life-and-death fighting style where you risk your life at the cost of injury, a brutal, no-holds-barred exchange.

Grom was moved, a flicker of surprise in his eyes, and a serious look appeared on his rough face. He didn't expect that such a delicate and strange "human" could have such a fierce fighting method, such a willingness to trade blows.

He finally realized that winning was not that easy. This wasn't going to be a walk in the park.

Grom canceled his leap and slash, his arms suddenly swelling with demonic power, and he changed from a chopped move to a swept move, and immediately performed a Whirlwind Slash, a deadly, spinning dance of death.

In half a breath, a violent tornado of steel and fury appeared, ripping through the air.

All the surrounding wood blocks were chopped into sawdust, exploding outwards, and even the sea water was drawn away, creating a temporary void. It looked like Grom was a small waterspout rolling up in the sea, a miniature tempest.

The Windrunner sisters jumped away with incredible swiftness, moving like lightning, just barely escaping the deadly vortex.

"Sister, are you okay?!" Sylvanas, her voice laced with genuine concern, also knew that it was her carelessness that had implicated her sister. She couldn't help but look nervously at Alleria's leg, which had even her boots chopped off and was bleeding, a crimson stain against her pale skin.

Alleria's facial muscles twitched. She wanted to comfort her sister and tell her that she was fine, that it was just a scratch. Finally, she said in High Elven, her voice tight with pain: "It's okay, but the speed will be reduced a little. I'm a bit hobbled."

Orcs have thick skin and flesh, so being hit by dozens of arrows is no big deal, barely a nuisance. But for Windrunners, who rely on speed and agility to survive, a slight slowdown can mean the difference between life and death, between victory and utter annihilation.

It is no exaggeration to say that Grom's strong physique gives him many opportunities to make mistakes. He can shrug off blows. If the Windrunner sisters make a mistake once, it will be irreparable, a fatal error.

Gritting her teeth, Sylvanas said coldly: "Sister, you provide remote cover. I'll take him head-on."

"Okay!" Although she was a little worried, this was the only way. While Grom's whirlwind was over, Sylvanas put on her longbow and drew her sword from her waist and rushed over like lightning, a blur of green and silver. Alleria kept a distance of twenty meters and covered her sister with continuous shooting, a deadly rain of arrows.

Over there in the command center, Duke finally felt relieved when he saw the Windrunner sisters and that Hellscream guy were evenly matched, a brutal dance of death.

This is the exchange of money. Every hero, every general, every soldier, was an investment.

Duke suddenly got a shock, a cold jolt of realization. He was not afraid of a large orcish force attack, a wave of green. But what if a few arrogant chieftains, a handful of true monsters, came?

Although there is only one Hellscream, the orcs are full of talented people, and there is far more than just Grommash Hellscream. He wasn't the only big fish in the pond.

There are also Gugaar, Samuro...

Wait!

Samuro!?

Duke suddenly realized his weakness, a gaping hole in his meticulously crafted plan.

"Tirion Fordring!" Duke bellowed, his voice cutting through the tense silence.

Not knowing why Duke called his name instead of Uther's, Tirion, who was ready to go down the mountain to attack at any time, was stunned for a moment, but still stepped out, his hand on his hammer.

"Present, Deputy Commander."

"I'm worried about Admiral Llane Wrynn on the front line. I need you to go there immediately and stay with Admiral Llane throughout this battle. You're his shadow, his protector."

Be a bodyguard! Tirion's face was really gloomy. In his opinion, a paladin should be a person who charges into battle, a beacon of hope, not a glorified nanny.

Duke's words came again, as if reading his mind: "I suddenly remembered that the orcs have a special profession called 'blademasters.' They have a similar stealth ability to thieves, but they move faster, like ghosts, and seem to have some kind of strange power added to their attacks, making them hit like a freight train. Tirion, this is an important task, a mission of paramount importance. If anything happens to Admiral Llane, it will be a heavy blow not only to the battle of Southshore, but also to the entire Alliance. Whether you go this time or not, I will remember you as a great merit. You'll be a hero in my book."

"Clear!" Tirion's face hardened with resolve. He understood the gravity of the situation.

Duke's transfer was a close call, a timely intervention.

Llane, wearing a golden helmet and golden armor, could certainly mobilize the courage of the Stormwind Soldiers on the defense line, inspiring them to fight like lions. But his presence was also extremely eye-catching to the Horde, a shining target.

Just as a sword suddenly slashed towards Llane from behind, a blur of steel and shadow, Tirion arrived, a flash of holy light.

Holy Shock: One of the few ranged attacks of the Paladin, a burst of divine energy.

The attack was just right, coming at the most needed time and place, a perfect intervention, which stunned the blademaster who was attacking by surprise, catching him flat-footed.

It only took Llane and General Tom a moment to react. Two sword lights crossed, a deadly dance, and slashed at the figure that was gradually becoming clearer from blur, forcing him out of stealth.

However, this blademaster obviously did not give up, his resolve unbroken.

Blade Storm suddenly rolled up, a whirlwind of steel and death.