Chapter 137: The Black Tide Descends

Orgrim Doomhammer glanced at his lieutenant and began to explain, "Those humans think we are foolish; why should we not play along?"

Orgrim licked his parched lips. "They imagine us to be uncivilized savages, much like how we view those ogres." As he spoke, he turned his head to look down below.

A group of orcs followed his gaze. Behind them, the ogres were struggling to climb the slope. While they possessed sufficient strength, they were too clumsy; faced with any sudden obstacle, they would scramble awkwardly using both hands and feet, lacking any real coordination and relying purely on brute force.

"I truly wish the humans would continue to think that," Orgrim said, baring his teeth in a grin. "Let those cowardly humans believe we have no brains. I would be happy to see their underestimation make it easier for us to conquer them. When we reached the Hinterlands, we split off several clans to feign an attack on the dwarves there, and the orcs in the Hillsbrad Foothills are moving to encircle Aerie Peak, but our main force has already arrived here."

When this strategy was set, nearly all the trolls had voiced their approval. The Horde coalition was launching an assault on Quel'Thalas, and Orgrim knew that the forest trolls held an irreconcilable blood feud with the creatures known as elves. Upon hearing that the Horde intended to attack the northern continent and establish a firm foothold, the trolls had immediately volunteered to guide the orcs.

"Once we have completely conquered Quel'Thalas, we will seize the land as a base to slowly occupy the rest of the humans' territories. Then, we will surround their so-called Alliance, and at last, they will have nowhere to run, facing their inevitable doom."

Changing the subject, Orgrim looked at the Chieftain of the Dragonmaw clan beside him. "Zul'jin, is what you prepared ready?"

Zul'jin, the Dragonmaw chieftain, gazed into the distance and replied with a lowered head, "Soon. They are already on their way."

"Good. Then what are we waiting for? Advance at full speed toward Quel'Thalas."

...

Wedding night, Spire of the Sun.

Clothes lay scattered everywhere. Patrick and Alleria had already spent their passion; Patrick had risen to drape himself in a robe, kissed Alleria on the forehead, and walked slowly to the balcony, looking out over the still-illuminated City of the Sun.

"Why are you up?"

Patrick turned to see that Alleria had also risen. The nude Alleria was donning a silk chemise, which, under the influence of the arcane lighting, was nearly transparent—hardly different from wearing nothing at all.

"Is something on your mind? Can you tell me about it?" Alleria turned to pour a glass of warm water for both herself and Patrick. Though she didn't know why, her husband had a habit of drinking warm water, and she had slowly adopted the practice herself.

Though Alleria was busy with official duties, the women of the Windrunner family possessed a strong sense of responsibility; she did not want to be a mere trophy wife after marriage and hoped to share her husband’s burdens.

"Are you still worried about the Council?"

Patrick was surprised by her question, his expression one of astonishment.

The elf’s face was firm, but her heart was as clear as glass. Seeing his reaction, she assumed she had guessed correctly. "At our wedding, you saw how sour those old men on the Council looked. In time, the Council will completely lose actual control over the Ghostlands, and that is something those old fools are unwilling to accept."

Alleria took a small sip of water and continued, "Although their core power lies in Silvermoon City, as the kingdom's highest governing body, they surely do not want to relinquish their tight grip on every inch of Quel'Thalas."

Patrick felt like an emerging director trying to challenge the rules set by the old aristocracy. He had a more vivid analogy for the Silvermoon Council and the traditionalists: it was like the relationship between Wall Street and the Federal Reserve. Wall Street felt the Fed had been in power long enough and it was time for newcomers to truly take control, yet the Fed would never willingly release its grip. Naturally, internal strife would ensue, with various departments harboring mutual hostility and sabotaging one another. Behind the divided branches of power lay conflicting interests, and the political contributions of congressmen were merely a means for capitalists to legislate their way into wealth. Thus, the officials themselves were hypocritical and divided in spirit.

Faced with the political landscape of Silvermoon, Patrick was helpless. He did not want to incite conflict or bloodshed; he only wanted to use his own methods to subtly alter the future plight of the Kingdom of Quel'Thalas. He had already banned political contributions throughout the Eversong Woods, the Sun Sanctum, and other territories under his direct control.

These laughable little tricks—methods of legalizing corruption—seemed to Patrick like games for children. Yet, adjusting other policies was necessary, and doing so would inevitably affect the interests of the old nobility. This was unavoidable; he could only wait for history to take its course.

Otherwise, if he were to force the development of Quel'Thalas by wielding the butcher's knife, it was unlikely to be a viable path. Once a civil war erupted, many elven factions would become alienated from one another. It would be nearly impossible to achieve complete unity thereafter or for the High Elves to continue their glory in the world of Azeroth.

For now, the construction of the floating city brought Patrick a measure of relief, but it was not enough. The future held too many uncertainties, and there was too much to be done. Everything at present was far from sufficient. Alleria had not yet considered that the High Elves might face an external invasion, or that their homeland might suffer wounds that would take decades to heal.

Indeed, what High Elf could foresee the future? He looked down at his people dancing and singing, wine flowing, fireworks dazzling, and couples embracing...

"With the floating city, at least our interests can be secured," Patrick said. "They do not yet have the capability to interfere with the City of the Sun."

Alleria leaned gently against Patrick, the soft, smooth sensation of her skin against his back grounding him. "Actually, there is no need to worry so much about the Council's thoughts. In the Ghostlands, we are the ones in charge, aren't we?"

Her soft, alluring voice made Patrick's body go limp. He pulled Alleria into an embrace, the thin silk of her chemise doing nothing to block the rapidly rising temperature of the elf, and they returned to the bridal chamber. In an instant, the room was filled with the vibrant warmth of spring once more.