Cat Princess and Human Knight

Astraea left indifferently, while the Black Cat Judge Dark Claw was still shaken. The outcome of the heated debate at the Chiefs' Council had already been decided.

Ner'zhul is not as simple as he claims; Blackhand Warchief is Ner'zhul's puppet.

Darkclaw persuaded Ner'zhul, which meant that no matter how intense the debate was, the outcome was already predetermined.

The following evening, a large cauldron was set up on the altar, and Ner'zhul stirred it with a wooden spoon while muttering some kind of incantation.

Beneath the pot, dry firewood blazed fiercely, and sparks occasionally flew from the dried charcoal, landing among the cats below the altar and reflecting countless faces.

In the darkness, the black cat Grand Judge Darkclaw was also chanting some kind of spell. In the shadows unnoticed by the other cats, Darkclaw's shadow continued to extend, eventually merging with Ner'zhul's shadow.

The contents of the pot were churning and tumbling, becoming even darker than darkness itself, as if they had absorbed all the light from the surroundings.

Dark Claw extended its claws, and a sliver of green light rose from its paw pads, propelling it into the pot. The pot of black liquid swirled and slowly turned into a green liquid.

Below the altar, the waiting cats appeared restless and agitated, and stacks of wooden bowls were placed beside the steps leading to the altar.

Ner'zhul lifted the wooden ladle, scooping up the still-bubbling green liquid, and looked at Blackhand, the chieftain of the nomadic cats beneath the altar. Black eyes.

Warchief Blackhand glanced at his lieutenant, Orgrimmar. Claw of Destruction nodded to him.

Orgrimmar stepped out of the group of cats, picked up a wooden bowl, and walked up the steps.

He had barely taken a step when the cat grabbed him. Turning around, he saw Durotan. Frostfang.

During yesterday's council of chiefs, Durotan was a staunch opponent, completely disagreeing with changing the nomadic cats' southward migration target from Starfall Plains to the Shattered Hills.

However, he was outnumbered and isolated, and the tribal chiefs who had long been wary of him were unwilling to stand by his side, ultimately passing a resolution that went against tradition.

Orgrimmar looked at Durotan, who had stepped forward, with concern and whispered something.

"The chieftains have already made a decision, Durotan, don't be so stubborn."

Durotan shook his head, took the wooden bowl from Orgrimmar's hand, and said.

"I'll go first."

Orgrimmar watched in surprise as Durotan ascended the steps of the altar. Behind them, Blackhand's gaze sharpened and became dangerous.

---

On the altar, the old, hairless cat Ner'zhul looked at Durotan as he approached and chuckled. His wrinkled fur now resembled countless blades etched on his face by the passage of time, numerous and deep.

His hands trembled as he lifted the wooden spoon and poured the green liquid into the bowl that Durotan handed him.

"Drink, child of the nomadic cats, may God grant you strength."

Durotan glanced at the green liquid in the wooden bowl and spoke slowly to the aged Ner'zhul.

"My shaman, the priest of Frostfang, told me that yesterday's sacrifice did not receive a response from the Earth Mother Goddess, and that the chieftains' council was not held under her watchful gaze."

Tell me, Ner'zhul, the greatest shaman of the nomadic cats, who is this god you claim to be who bestows our power?

Durotan's voice was loud and clear, and all the cats on and off the stage could hear it clearly.

Ner'zhul silently watched Durotan. He truly envied this Norwegian Forest Cat; it was young, strong, energetic, and idealistic.

He is just like his former self, believing that he has enough courage and wisdom to realize his ideals in a dignified way.

Ner'zhul smiled. At this moment, his body was filled with violent and dark power. Having already sold his soul to the Dark God, he did not even feel a trace of regret or shame.

It had been a long time since he had felt this good, this powerful feeling, since the Earth Mother's favor had left him. How wonderful.

Faced with Ner'zhul's silent contemplation, Durotan had no desire to continue the stalemate. His pale golden cat eyes lit up, and he slammed the wooden bowl in his hand onto the ground.

The green liquid splattered, corroding black spots on the wooden floor.

Durotan pointed at Ner'zhul and shouted.

"You have no response from the Earth Mother. Yesterday's chiefs' council was not held under her watchful eye! It was invalid!"

Ner'zhul slowly raised his head and said.

"So what if you're the self-righteous chieftain of the Frostfang Clan?"

Can your shaman possibly receive a response from the Earth Mother?

The Mother Goddess has abandoned us!

Because of our years of plundering, the Mother Goddess, utterly disillusioned with us, no longer answers the calls of any shaman!

Durotan stared at Ner'zhul.

"So you've sided with another god, wanting to send the nomadic cats to the battlefield, to make us fight to the death on the rugged, rocky hills, and to make our warriors die in a meaningless war!"

Our traditions, our glory, will all be lost, all because of your conspiracy, because you deceived us and held an invalid council of chiefs without the Mother Goddess's attention!

"Neo-Zhu shouted."

"No! Cough cough cough..."

The old hairless cat coughed violently. He slowly stood up and addressed all the cats in the audience.

"If we follow the tradition of plundering Starfall Plains, we will lose far fewer cats and be able to reclaim a lot of food, but what is the point of that?"

The white disaster is getting worse every year. How many more years can we continue to fight this disaster?

Mother Earth has abandoned us. If we continue to plunder, no cat will sympathize with us anymore, and the nomadic cat population will cease to exist!

The God of Darkness will help us, help us to lessen the devastation of the White Plague, and help us to regain the favor of the Mother Goddess.

Going to the scree hills will kill many cats—maybe you, maybe me, maybe them—but we can gain hope! More precious than tradition, more precious than glory, is hope!

The cats beneath the altar listened quietly to the conversation between the two, one side embracing tradition and glory, the other survival and hope.

Choosing the right option isn't actually that difficult.

Ner'zhul scanned the cats and glanced indifferently at Chieftain Blackhand.

Blackhand stepped forward, picked up the wooden bowl, walked up to the altar, pushed aside Durotan who was blocking his way, and held the bowl out to Ner'zhul.

Ner'zhul served him a bowl of green liquid, which he prepared to drink in one gulp.

Behind him, Durotan warned.

"Great Chief! No!"

Blackhand looked at Durotan and said.

We have no other choice!

By the spirits of our ancestors, we must do this so that our clan may regain the love of Mother Earth!

Cats that don't want to leave can go!

Black Hand looked up and drank the green liquid. Dark power flowed down his throat, and the intense corrosion caused him unbearable pain, yet he could not utter any painful howls.

His hands gripped his throat, his eyes bulged, and green life force continuously healed his corroded body. The repeated cycles of destruction and reconstruction made him kneel on the ground, trembling all over.

Eventually, the trembling subsided.

When Black Hand stood up again, his fur was faintly green, and his muscles bulged. This already huge Siberian forest cat had grown even bigger.

Black Hand stood up, clenched his fists, bulged out more muscles, and roared at the sky.

"I feel full of energy!"

In the audience, countless cats were inspired by his courage and cheered loudly.

"Great Chief! Great Chief! Great Chief!"

Blackhand waved his hand, shoved Durotan aside, and shouted.

"Next!"

Durotan watched in anguish as the eager cats took their bowls and climbed the steps, knowing he was powerless to change anything.