To be honest, most people in the Alliance found it hard to believe that a mere strategic deployment and a few small tricks could incite a full-scale civil war among the enemy.
Even many seasoned military officers held the same skepticism.
But that was understandable.
Azeroth's civilization had only developed to a level comparable to medieval Europe on Earth, and its warfare methods remained at that stage. The only exception was the existence of magic.
When it came to war, those who upheld chivalric values preferred direct confrontations.
At most, they would consider using a few new spells, but complex military stratagems—like the intricate tactics of ancient China—were entirely beyond their comprehension.
As a result, the rulers of the Alliance never imagined a war strategy like Alaric's—one that could instigate internal strife among the enemy without shedding a single drop of their own blood, allowing them to reap the rewards effortlessly.
In the original history of the Second War, even an astute commander like Anduin Lothar had been led around by the nose by the cunning Warchief Orgrim Doomhammer, unable to keep up with his strategic maneuvers.
This showed just how rudimentary their understanding of warfare was.
After all, while Orgrim was cunning, he would not have been considered a top-tier strategist in Earth's history.
His tactics were merely more flexible than his enemies', and his forces consisted mainly of straightforward, reckless orcs who lacked any sense of intrigue.
Thus, in this world, Alaric's strategic brilliance stood out exceptionally. As soon as the war broke out, everyone's perception of him changed dramatically.
As the conflict raged on, even the Windrunner sisters and Alaric's other subordinates began to look at him with deep reverence.
Meanwhile, rulers like Terenas Menethil evaluated his importance—and even his potential threat—at a much higher level.
After all, the trolls had gone to war without even realizing who had manipulated them. They were essentially being sold off while happily counting the profits for their unseen master.
As the conflict escalated and casualties mounted, the hatred between the warring troll factions deepened irreparably.
Even if the Alliance were to intervene now and claim the spoils, the trolls would never be able to reunite and resist together.
At this moment, the rulers of the Alliance felt immense relief—relief that Alaric was on their side, rather than born among the orcs.
They were even more relieved that Alaric was a mage affiliated with Dalaran—a nation with no territorial ambitions—rather than belonging to any of their rival human kingdoms.
Although Alaric had merely showcased his intellect and strategic prowess in this war, the rulers understood one thing very clearly: If a man like him were to get involved in the power struggles among human nations or even within the Alliance's diverse races, the consequences would be unimaginable.
Their feelings toward Alaric had now become deeply complicated.
On one hand, every ruler wanted to recruit him. A man of his intelligence could change the fate of an entire nation.
On the other hand, they feared the possibility of Alaric being swayed by another kingdom.
This kind of dilemma was difficult for outsiders to understand.
However, Alaric himself paid no attention to how others viewed him. He hadn't even bothered to read the personal letters from various kings attempting to win him over.
At the moment, all his focus was on the troll civil war.
In the long run, he had no interest in the petty rivalries within the Alliance. With adversaries like Deathwing and his brood, the Old Gods, the Burning Legion, and even the Void Lords waiting in line, why would he waste time on these trivial power struggles?
Meanwhile, in the Hinterlands, the troll war had escalated to its most intense stage.
Both sides had become utterly consumed by bloodlust. Their original reasons for going to war no longer mattered—now, their only driving force was hatred.
Almost every troll had lost a loved one in the war, and the cycle of vengeance had become unbreakable. Each warrior fought with a singular purpose: to slaughter their enemies and avenge their fallen kin.
The leaders of both factions, despite being fully aware of their devastating losses, refused to halt the war.
They were like gamblers at a high-stakes table—the more they invested, the less willing they were to walk away. Instead, they kept throwing in more chips, desperately hoping for a comeback.
After all, if they quit now, everything they had sacrificed would become a joke.
At this point, the high-ranking trolls on both sides shared the same mindset.
So many of their people had already perished—if they backed down now, wouldn't that mean all those deaths were for nothing?
By now, even if Zul'jin himself were resurrected and personally came to mediate, this war wouldn't stop.
The only thing that could put an end to it—assuming the Alliance remained uninvolved—was sheer exhaustion of both factions' forces.
And in truth, for such a primitive and savage race, that day was coming much faster than one might expect.
Desperate to gain the upper hand, both the Bloodscalp tribe and the Revantusk-led alliance had stretched their war potential to the limit.
They had committed their final reserves to the battlefield, expanded their recruitment to include the very young, the elderly, and even strong-willed female trolls.
With only minimal training, these new recruits were thrown directly into combat.
Beyond direct clashes on the battlefield, both sides resorted to raiding enemy settlements, slaughtering the weak and elderly, women, and children without mercy.
As a result, their populations had been decimated—over half of their people had perished, and those who remained were mostly the weak and vulnerable. The once-mighty troll forces had been reduced to a mere fraction of their former strength.
Yet even in the face of such devastation, they remained blind to reality.
They continued to fight with relentless fervor, still believing that ultimate victory would allow them to claim the entire Hinterlands, enslave the enemy's survivors, and rebuild their forces.
Little did they know that even this supposed future was nothing more than an illusion.
Like frogs at the bottom of a well, they saw only their small corner of the world, unaware that a much larger predator had already set its sights on them.
For those observing from the outside, the moment to strike had long since arrived.
And now, according to Alaric's judgment, the perfect opportunity was finally here.
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