Azeroth Monster Manual

PS: Modified

Looking at the dimming sky above, Ayr's expression became increasingly solemn.

Two hours had passed since departing from the Frozen Tundra Pass, and the clear sky was gradually stained with a hazy, warm color by the setting sun's afterglow as time flowed.

But Ayr clearly had no mood to appreciate the scenery, looking at the exhausted army formation behind him, and then at the pocket watch in his hand, the young man's originally calm face was now covered with a layer of gloom.

Even though this dwarven guard was elite, they showed obvious signs of fatigue after six hours of high-intensity forced march. The guarding soldiers at the pass were even worse. It should be known that they were only regular garrison troops. Compared with those guards and high-level musketeers, the physical fitness of these ordinary soldiers was evident.

But forced marching was necessary. The reason for abandoning their own advantages (in terms of numbers and soldier quality) and exhausting the soldiers' physical strength in exchange for a short period of forced march was because Ayr had already guessed the Frostmane trolls' next military action.

Bypassing the Frozen Tundra Pass, taking advantage of the time difference before the dwarves could react, to plunder the resources of the farms and mines.

Although it was absurd, reality is often more bizarre than novels.

It should be known that although these scattered soldiers were numerous, their condition could be inferred from the fragmented information as being very bad (starving and freezing, with extremely poor equipment). Such an army could not possibly directly attack the indestructible Frozen Tundra Pass, even with 20,000 dwarven prisoners in front.

But these trolls, knowing their own weaknesses, were still resolutely heading southeast, which in itself was a big question mark. Even a brute like Hermit, with a little thought, could conclude that these trolls were not rushing headlong towards the Frozen Tundra Pass, but had other plans.

Ayr was not a prophet, nor did he have functional magic that could detect enemy traces on a large scale, but no matter how things changed, their principle remained the same. No matter how clever or cunning these Frostmane trolls were, as long as their lifeline was grasped, there would be no problem.

Ayr thought so, and quickly put it into action.

"As long as we get to the Froststone Farm before those blue-skinned bastards and wait for them, blocking their way, then this game of cat and mouse will be completely over."

...

Finally, before the sky completely darkened, Ayr led the 30,000 troops behind him to the outskirts of Froststone Farm. Along the way, the original huge team of nearly 50,000 people was reduced to less than 30,000 in this race against time.

Ayr did not overly criticize the dwarven soldiers who had fallen behind, but considerately instructed the exhausted and unable to persevere soldiers to rest in place, and after their strength recovered, they could take a shortcut to catch up to the rear of the farm.

"Signal officer, give the order that everyone should enter the farm and rest in place. They can eat dry food and drink water, but they are absolutely not allowed to cook. The rising smoke will scare away our prey."

The signal officer, upon receiving the order, hurriedly rode his mount and galloped towards the direction of the army formation.

"Kurdran, how are the griffon riders doing?"

The reason for asking this question was because Kurdran, leading the fifteen griffon riders, had been acting as aerial scouts during these six hours of forced march, and after these six hours of high-intensity flight, even Skarlett (Kurdran's griffon partner), who was of epic rank, was beginning to feel the strain.

"Commander, Skarlett and I are doing well. Short-distance flights shouldn't be a problem."

Kurdran frowned, looking at his exhausted griffon partner. Although he felt very sorry for him, he still gritted his teeth and insisted.

He knew that although the war had not yet begun, this period of time was the most critical point. And he and Skarlett were likely to be the lever that would move this war, success or failure hinged on this.

"Very good, take the knights who can still persevere, and the task of scouting the Gathering Field is entrusted to you."

Solemnly patting the shoulder of this stout man, Ayr took out an unremarkable stone from his arms and handed it to him.

"This is a communication stone that can directly contact me. If you find anything unusual, contact me immediately."

Receiving the communication stone from the young man, Kurdran treasured it and put it in his arms, and then without hesitation walked towards the area where his companions were.

A moment later, with a sharp whistle, several exceptionally strong griffons, including Skarlett, flew into the sky and headed southeast.

Looking at the griffon riders gradually turning into a few black dots, Ayr couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief.

The places where the Frostmane trolls would plunder were nothing more than two points: one was the Froststone Farm, which could supply one-fifth of the vast Khaz Modan, and the other was the Goblra Gathering Field, which possessed a vast mineral deposit.

Which point the trolls would prioritize plundering became the most important thing. Ayr was not a prophet, nor was he the Frostmane trolls' tapeworm, so naturally he did not know the Frostmane trolls' next move.

But he still decided to take a gamble, deciding to put all his forces on Froststone Farm instead of the larger Goblra Gathering Field.

The reason for choosing this was because Ayr believed that the condition of these 'guests' who had come from afar was not good. Hunger and cold were easy to say, after all, the Frostmane trolls possessed far superior frost resistance than ordinary people, which could effectively resist the severe cold, and even going shirtless in this frigid weather was common.

They had a strong fighting spirit and a cruel nature. But there was one thing that these bloodthirsty bastards could not avoid. No matter how powerful the trolls' innate advantages were, they could not change the fact that they were mortal beings.

Hunger was one of the most effective means of defeating trolls, even if they were incredibly enduring and unusually strong. And Ayr, based on this, judged the Frostmane trolls' next move.

"First, attack Kharanos to plunder enough population, and create the illusion of preparing to attack Glimmering Ridge. Then, relying on the Frostmane trolls' unique advantages and familiarity with the terrain.

Traverse the rarely visited mountains, bypassing all the outposts, until passing through the Frozen Tundra Pass's defense line through a top-secret path.

Next is to play a beautiful time difference, plundering the farms and mines without anyone noticing, and then leaving under the cover of night..."

Ayr sat between the ridges, constantly reviewing everything he had deduced, and the veins of the matter gradually became clear in bullet time (pseudo).

"But, if they are just going around in a big circle, how did they avoid the trackers' pursuit?

Wait, is it that Frostmane Seer? Did he use the spirits of nature to cover up the trolls' scent and the traces left by the march? If that's the case, then everything makes sense."

The young man looked up at the sky and noticed Elune had already graced the branches. The sky was dotted with stars, truly a lovely night.

"Now, the only thing to do is wait. Even if it's just thirty thousand weary soldiers, as long as I seize their tail, I am confident I can completely annihilate this rabble!"

A frosty mist puffed from the young man's mouth. He had made up his mind that after this chase, he would help the dwarves completely resolve the 'minor ailment' of the Frostmane trolls.

Not only for the friendship of the dwarves, but also for himself. As long as he could eliminate the dwarves' hidden troubles, the subsequent series of plans for Uldaman and Gnomeregan could be smoothly implemented.

In three months, the Alliance, or rather, Elben himself, would welcome two of the most steadfast and powerful allies.

Thinking of the dwarves' excellent combat power, comparable to that of the orcs, and the high-tech creations of the gnomes, his heart burned with excitement.

"Who will be the first enemy of the Alliance (Brotherhood)? Zul'jin of Zul'Aman? Or Jin'do of Gurubashi? It's truly exciting."

The young man's lips curved into a smile, his face full of anticipation.

… …

The night was hazy. More than forty hours had passed since Bartoc (Berserker, leader of the Frostmane trolls) led a surprise attack on Kharanos. At this moment, he was traversing a narrow, icy path, followed by a 'blue dragon' winding like a serpentine curve.

Traversing a mountain range was an extremely painful task, and traversing a narrow mountain range only half a person wide was even more despairing. Because you never knew when a boulder would fall from the sky (cliff), nor when a seemingly flat snow pit with hidden dangers would appear.

Bartoc's eyes were frighteningly red, and his already hunched back became even more bent, but fortunately, the exit was ahead.

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He placed the exhausted prophet on a relatively flat rock. Due to communicating with the elemental spirits, this elderly man had exhausted all his physical strength (mana).

Watching the tribesmen and dwarven prisoners emerge from the mountain range one by one, Bartoc's tired face revealed a long-lost smile, which quickly turned into a grimace.

An hour later, after the last Frostmane troll emerged from the mountain range, Bartoc called his adjutant over.

"Leave a team of skilled men here to take care of the prophet. As for the others, including those dwarven sheep, tell them to speed up and exert all their strength. Tonight, we will drink their blood in the dwarves' farms!"

Upon receiving Bartoc's order, the adjutant quickly went to the tired troll army to convey the command.

"Bartoc… cough cough, I don't need any protection. We can't confirm whether those dwarves have discovered our tracks or not. I think you should need me to continue communicating with the spirits of nature to ensure that we are truly safe."

The Frostmane Prophet struggled to stand up. As his voice fell, his wrinkled features became animated.

"Haha, Prophet, you are overthinking it. Those dwarven sheep will definitely not realize that we are attacking their granaries and mines at this moment. Don't worry, rest here for a while, and I will return with full granaries of rice and piles of ore!"

The Berserker laughed loudly, not giving the Frostmane Prophet any chance to argue.

Immediately, he stepped into the moonlight, leading the rested army and prisoners away quietly, leaving only a few strong Frostmane warriors to protect the prophet.

"Alas, I hope you can return with a full load. This raid is the key to whether the tribe can continue to survive in the future… May the spirit of ice protect you, and may you return safely…"

The Frostmane Prophet watched the departing army, praying silently alone.

… …

"How is the reconnaissance going?"

Bartoc squatted on an ice-covered slope, the dense pine trees perfectly concealing his figure. Behind him were countless blue figures. Under the cover of the night and pine forest, these ruthless beasts hid their tracks well.

"Overseer, everything is normal. Those dwarven sheep have no defenses."

The scout handed Bartoc a bright red radish while whispering the information he had just gathered.

Bartoc took a fierce bite of the frosted radish, the splashing juice wetting his relatively intact, low-quality leather armor. The crisp sound of chewing the radish made the surrounding guards swallow hard, the burning and empty feeling in their stomachs constantly reminding them that they had not eaten any food for almost two days.

Looking at the vast farmland in the distance and the brightly lit, dwarven-style wooden buildings, Bartoc couldn't help but reveal a bloodthirsty smile. Then, he opened his mouth, and after a while, a clear nightingale's call rang out from his mouth.

Upon hearing this crisp bird call, the troll army hidden in the pine forest seemed to have discussed it, and they all crawled up from the ground.

A ray of bright moonlight shone down, and countless hunched figures ran like ghosts towards the nearby farmland, seemingly slow but unusually swift.

This was the terrifying aspect of trolls: strong bodies, bizarre recovery speed, and extremely strong endurance and resilience. Judging from the agile bodies of these trolls, they did not seem like a tired army that had not eaten any food for two days.

Looking at the approaching farm, Bartoc finally revealed a happy smile, so he decided not to hide his tracks anymore and began to roar wildly.

As the roar sounded, more and more roars and shrieks followed.

A scarlet light enveloped the Berserker's body. At this moment, he completely activated the power hidden in his bloodline.

[Berserk]: Increases your attack speed and movement speed by 30%

Seeing the Berserker's frenzied posture, the high-level professionals also activated their own racial talents. For a time, streaks of bright red light lit up one after another, and countless red dots completely illuminated the dim night sky.

"Kill all those dwarven sheep!"

Thus, Bartoc led these ravenous Frostmane trolls towards the unsuspecting, tranquil farm.

What the Berserker didn't know was that what awaited them wasn't sweet vegetables and delicious pork chops (lamb chops), but a web of death that could completely end their lives.