Galen and the others hurried down the canyon path. Lothar carried the Guardian on his back, while the battered soldiers supported one another. Frankly, they were a pitiful sight.
Per Lothar's orders, they even dragged along several dozen Orc corpses.
The Kingdom of Stormwind had deployed over thirteen thousand elite soldiers, including the famed Lionheart Legion. Fewer than half made it out alive. The Legion alone had lost more than half its strength—just three thousand under Lothar, plus Marcus's thousand-strong vanguard.
Of the three thousand noble house retinues, only six or seven hundred survived. The high hopes of aristocratic youth seeking glory and political gain were reduced to silence and shock. Notably, Duke Marcus—famed for his fiery temper—was nowhere to be seen among the survivors.
They had set out thirteen thousand strong and returned fewer than five thousand. Though they had slain over six thousand Orcs, it was still a devastating loss. Lothar, a man accustomed to setbacks, accepted defeat—but he vowed there would be a reckoning.
Galen's spellcasters had been stationed at the rear and thus suffered light casualties. Among his four hundred elite knights, over a hundred and twenty had fallen. To extract the survivors, Galen had given Danath and the others teleportation scrolls set to Gran's Village. Once they reached the canyon mouth, Galen's mass teleportation spell was ready, and he brought the remainder back in a flash of light.
Meanwhile, north of the canyon, Gandalf and his Howling Tide Legion lay hidden in the mountains. After discovering a mysterious warning, Galen had used the Heart of Origin to notify Gandalf to mobilize as a last resort. But this wasn't Stromgarde territory, and Gandalf wouldn't reveal himself unless absolutely necessary—such as if Gul'dan personally appeared.
Through Gandalf's eyes, Galen saw the Orcs halt their assault after failing to breach the Lightning Barrier—at least until Gul'dan himself arrived.
"That aura... familiar, yet different. But unmistakable," Gul'dan muttered.
He remembered the man who had collaborated with him across the Twisting Nether to open the Dark Portal. When he later met Kil'jaeden of the Burning Legion, Gul'dan had grown even more certain—this man harbored a secret.
Power-hungry, Gul'dan had aligned with the Legion. When he touched Medivh's mind—corrupted by Sargeras—he sensed something even deeper. He craved that power and thus supported the Dark Portal's construction.
"Hmph," Gul'dan sneered. "They slipped away today, but it doesn't matter. More warriors await in Draenor. The Horde will flood this world, and all its power will be mine."
Nearby, Blackhand berated Kilrogg for letting the humans escape. Kilrogg, leader of the Bleeding Hollow, was furious—he'd surrounded thousands with ten times their number, only to have them vanish into thin air. What more could he have done?
Still, knowing the Blackrock clan's dominance, Kilrogg swallowed his pride. Even the Frostwolves had learned that resistance was costly. Only Grommash's Warsong clan might dare oppose Blackhand openly.
"Take our dead," Blackhand growled, "and leave the human corpses. Let the beasts have them."
With that, he turned and stormed back to the main camp. The Orcs quickly looted the battlefield, retrieving fallen clanmates and stripping weapons and armor from the dead humans—valuable materials for their smiths.
Watching from the mountains, Gandalf clenched his fists. The Orcs left behind a field of lifeless human bodies.
After confirming the coast was clear, Gandalf led the Howling Tide down from the heights. They would recover the corpses—and, if time allowed, bring them to Holy White City, where Aragorn could attempt resurrection.
Galen hadn't used resurrection on the battlefield. Reviving thousands wouldn't have changed the odds with tens of thousands of Orcs closing in. More importantly, he didn't want to expose his ability to resurrect en masse—not to the Orcs, nor to the Kingdom of Stormwind.
He had only used it in secret, among his own base troops. With the tauren, he'd invoked An'she as a cover. If word got out, would he be besieged by people begging him to raise their loved ones?
Even the Archbishop of the Church of the Holy Light couldn't bring back the dead—why should Galen upstage everyone else? Best to keep such divine power a secret.
Back in Gran's Village, Danath and the others reappeared via teleportation. At first, the villagers were stunned. Then cheers erupted—relief at surviving. But joy quickly turned to grief as they remembered the cost of that survival.
Soon after, Galen, Lothar, and the others arrived.
Militia captain Elro rushed to greet them, eager for news. But most of the returning soldiers were too overwhelmed to speak.
"Sir Lothar, how fares the battle?" Elro asked, alarmed by their condition. Lothar carried the Guardian, the others limped behind, their armor dented and bloodied. The sight was grim.
Gran's Village lay on the southeastern border of the kingdom. If Stormwind's army had truly fallen, they would be next.
"We were ambushed by a massive Orc force," Lothar said grimly. "We suffered heavy losses. If not for Galen's help, none of us would have made it back."
He handed the unconscious Medivh to Khadgar and turned back to Elro. "Prepare fresh warhorses. We must return to Stormwind City at once. The Orc threat is far greater than we imagined."