After the smoke and dust cleared, golden streams of light emanated from within. The spot where Thrall had stood was now a crater from Grommash's leaping strike, but a shield of golden light had blocked Grommash's attack.
However, after taking a full-force leaping strike, the shield shattered with a crisp sound, and Grommash was bounced back a few steps before regaining his footing.
Thrall turned to look behind him; familiar blue banners had risen, and elite human foot soldiers charged into the battlefield, helping the orcs of the Horde fight against the Warsong Clan.
"Identify your opponents and deal with those red ones first," Varian ordered his soldiers to charge, but to hold off attacking the green-skinned orcs for now.
The light in Arthas's hand gradually faded; it was he who had just helped Thrall block Grommash's powerful blow.
Thrall's forehead was also covered in cold sweat at this moment. Facing Grommash's axe blade head-on, he finally understood how terrifying that attack had been. Without Arthas's aid, if he had tried to take it head-on, even if he had survived, he would likely have been severely wounded and lost his combat ability.
The leaderless orcs could very well have been scattered by Grommash's Warsong Clan because of this, and the Horde would have suffered significant losses.
Arthas, riding his warhorse, effortlessly traversed the battlefield. The heavy warhammer in his hand seemed weightless, and any Fel Orcs who dared to approach were sent flying with a single swing, unable to get up from the ground.
"Why are you helping us?" Thrall watched Arthas warily. There was no helping it; even the most ignorant Orc had heard of this Prince's great name.
He was the glory of Lordaeron, the spiritual leader of the First Legion and the Silver Hand. Wherever Arthas was present, any enemy of humanity would be struck with fear and flee in disarray.
The orcs who had once faced Arthas's encirclement and suppression naturally knew Arthas's "ferocious reputation." In their eyes, the Prince of Lordaeron could be compared to a raging flood or a fierce beast.
Even Thrall sometimes wondered what he should do if he were to face Arthas. However, before they became enemies, Arthas unexpectedly stood on their side first.
"You should be able to continue fighting, right?" Arthas glanced at Thrall, noticing that the Warchief's face held some barely concealed surprise. "Don't be so surprised. It's just that demons are more deserving of death than orcs."
"I understand," Thrall immediately grasped Arthas's meaning: in dealing with demons, the Alliance temporarily shared common interests with them. "I will help you fight Grommash."
Arthas nodded. In the current situation, the best option was to quickly subdue this mad Warsong Clan chieftain. A few helpers would naturally allow the battle to end faster.
Seemingly realizing Arthas's threat, Grommash roared, lifted Gorehowl, and charged towards Arthas. His raised axe blade aimed at the warhorse Arthas was riding.
Grommash's rich combat instincts made him decide to eliminate Arthas's mount first, forcing the knight into ground combat, which would undoubtedly be more advantageous for him.
Arthas, seeing through Grommash's intentions, swept his warhammer, and scorching Holy Light spread out, blocking Grommash's path. However, Grommash showed no sign of stopping, intending to force his way through the seemingly fragile "obstacle."
But when Arthas's Holy Light fell upon him, even his senses dulled by demon blood could clearly feel intense pain. Grommash's body trembled, clearly having suffered considerable damage.
Before being enveloped by more Holy Light, Grommash rolled on the ground, narrowly dodging the remaining Holy Light. The area previously swept by the Holy Light was already scorched black.
Fel and Holy Light collided like oil meeting fire. No other stimulus was needed; simply the collision of the two energies produced a violent reaction.
Fel power flowed through Grommash's body, so the Holy Light burned on him like maggots on bone until it was annihilated by the fel.
Arthas's warhammer gave Grommash no time to breathe. He charged forward on his horse, and the Holy Light-shining warhammer solidly struck Grommash's chest, sending the arrogant Warsong chieftain flying.
Thrall seized the opportunity from the side, and the Elemental Shackles, which he had been charging for a long time, flashed out, coiling around Grommash's body, dragging him and slamming him hard onto the ground, creating a huge indentation.
He also understood that Grommash, strengthened by demon blood, was tough and would not lose his life from this amount of damage. And indeed, as Thrall expected, even after taking a hammer blow from Arthas and being bound by elemental magic, the berserk Warsong chieftain continued to struggle, making Thrall's spell precarious.
But just as Grommash raised his head, a giant warhammer of condensed golden Holy Light descended from the sky, pressing down firmly on Grommash's body. Surging energy fluctuations continuously emanated from the indentation. Thrall, unable to bear it, wanted to stop the spell, but he also understood that without depleting enough of his stamina, Grommash would continue to rage uncontrollably.
As the sound of the warhammer crushing down grew fainter, Arthas waved his hand, and the warhammer shattered, turning into fragments of Holy Light that fell upon Grommash's body, effectively extending the life of his largely charred body.
Thrall, seeing this, also stopped and quickly ran to Grommash's side. After confirming that the chieftain had lost consciousness and was in a coma, he summoned elemental power to soothe Grommash's battered body.
The berserk Warsong Orcs, having lost their chieftain, merely put up a desperate resistance. Before long, they were suppressed under the combined attack of humans and orcs. Most of them were captured, and a small portion died in the fierce fighting.
The Warsong Clan had already lost many warriors in the frenzy and slaughter caused by the demon blood. Thrall believed that stabilizing the situation with this outcome was already a very good result.
After treating his own injuries, Thrall stood up, walked to Arthas's horse, performed an Orcish salute to Arthas, and solemnly said, "I owe you a favor."
"If you truly feel you owe me a favor, then control your people and don't let them cause any more trouble." Arthas was not polite with Thrall. This leader's benevolence and caution were good qualities, but within the wild Horde, Thrall's occasional indecisiveness could lead to major mistakes.
"I..."
Thrall wanted to argue, to say that orcs were not a barbaric race, but after seeing the battlefield strewn with corpses, he could say nothing.
"I advise you to best keep Hellscream in a cage—if you don't want to cause more serious consequences. He's only unconscious now; the Pit Lord's control over them hasn't ended."
Arthas looked at Grommash, whose fingers were already twitching involuntarily, knowing that he was gradually recovering, but until the demon blood curse was lifted, the best way was to properly guard this berserk "beast."
Thrall also glanced at Grommash, then looked at Arthas and sighed, "I... I understand, but I want you to understand that orcs are not pawns of demons; they were merely enslaved and lost their own consciousness."
"Alright, instead of talking nonsense here, you should think of a way to restore your chieftain's consciousness," Arthas said calmly. "I just want to remind you that if the source of the demon blood isn't eradicated, orcs can be controlled by this corrupted power at any time—you're on your own."