I traveled through time and space and became the Archbishop of Stormwind!

The deafening roar of the engine and the goblin three-wheeled motorcycle that can shake people's internal organs,

Finally, with a sharp brake sound and a burst of black smoke, it stopped in front of Yongwang Town's iconic "town gate" made of huge rusty gears welded together.

Alvin almost rolled off the motorcycle. He ran two steps and held onto the wall. He couldn't bear it anymore and vomited with a "wow".

Green Shadow patted his back attentively, and Alvin nodded gratefully.

"It's okay, I just feel a little carsick..."

Only when I stepped on the mixture of coal slag, oil stains and compacted snow did I regain a sense of ground.

He looked up and saw that this stronghold built by the goblins in the bitter cold land perfectly embodied the goblins' wasteland punk aesthetic.

Huge, rusty metal pipes, like frozen steel pythons, coiled and clung to the snow-covered hillsides and buildings crudely pieced together from scrap iron, thick canvas and rivets.

The towering chimneys unscrupulously spewed thick black smoke mixed with the smell of sulfur and tar into the gray sky.

The air was filled with motor oil, low-quality fuel, rusted metal, and... an indescribable "unique fragrance" that belonged to a large gathering of goblins.

The streets were narrow and chaotic, cluttered with all sorts of odd-shaped, clanking, or simply paralyzed mechanical devices—some were shoveling snow, some were repairing larger machines, and some were simply idling and smoking, as if to prove that they were still "alive."

The goblins, dressed in greasy overalls and moving in a hurry, talked, quarreled, and bargained loudly in their shrill voices, making the whole town like a huge, noisy, dilapidated clock that could fall apart at any time.

Sparks Rigg warmly welcomed Alvin and his party into the town’s most luxurious outpost - the Everlook Tavern and Strategic Command Center.

The interior of the tavern was dimly lit, and the smell of cheap ale, motor oil, sweat, and some kind of sticky stew mixed together, challenging everyone's sense of smell.

Crude metal tables and chairs were tilted, and groups of goblins were intently playing dice or arguing over a map on the wall with arrows and explosion symbols scribbled on it.

Rig rubbed his hands together, a smile plastered across his face. "Savior, sir! You've worked hard on this journey! Come on, come on, try some of our Everlook Town specialties! Guaranteed to keep the cold away, warm your stomach, and give you plenty of energy! Brothers, where's the food?! Hurry!"

Soon, several plates of extremely horrifying-looking food were served.

In a thick, strangely oily sauce lay some unrecognizable pieces of meat, vegetables that looked like gears, and several thick bones of unknown creatures.

The other plate contained several black, irregularly shaped dough cakes with burnt edges, emitting a strong burnt smell and a hint of sweetness.

Shantis looked at the delicious food in front of her, her brows twisted into knots.

Green Shadow poked a piece carefully with a fork, with the curiosity of studying a new species.

Only the glutton Akalitassa didn't care. He poured all the food in front of him into his stomach in one gulp and shouted, "One more!"

With the pragmatic spirit of "I'm already here" and the determination to cut off one's own arm, Alvin picked up a piece of relatively normal-looking stewed meat with a fork, closed his eyes and stuffed it into his mouth.

Huh?

The expected strange smell did not appear.

The meat is unexpectedly soft and tender, with a rich spice flavor, and even a hint of strange sweetness in the salty fragrance!

Even though it looked like a disaster, it tasted pretty good?

He tried breaking off a small piece of the pancake. Beneath the burnt crust was a soft, wheaty and lightly sweet filling.

"Hmm, it tastes pretty good?" Alvin commented in surprise.

Seeing Alvin speak, Shandris and Green Shadow also tried it half-believingly.

Shandris's face remained expressionless, but her tightly pursed lips relaxed a little, indicating that she agreed with Alvin's assessment.

After eating and drinking, the atmosphere seemed to be more harmonious.

Rig patted his chest and assured, "Savior! Don't worry! When it comes to saving the boss, we at Hot Sand Company will not stand idly by! We will also contribute manpower and manpower! We will form an elite death squad to cooperate with you!"

He turned toward the noisy tavern and roared at the top of his lungs, "Quiet! Everyone, be quiet! The time has come to sign up for the 'Save Boss Favrin and Beat Up the Greenskin Orcs Suicide Squad'! Limited spots! Generous benefits! Death benefits doubled! Those who return alive will get first dibs on the spoils!"

The tavern was silent for a second, and then erupted into an even louder uproar!

"Me! I sign up! For the boss!" A drunken goblin shouted, holding up an empty wine glass, and the next second he slid under the table.

"Count me in! I want to personally unscrew the orc leader's garlic nose and use it as a wine glass!" A relatively sturdy technician waved a wrench.

"And me! My new invention, the 'portable snowball launcher', needs to be tested in actual combat!" A goblin with cracked glasses excitedly held up a strange device with a spring and a tin cylinder.

"Deputy Chief! I can run fast! I can be a scout!" A thin goblin jumped and shouted in the crowd.

"I can bandage! Can I be considered a medic?" Another goblin timidly held up a roll of oily bandages.

The scene was once very chaotic, and the registration method was full of goblin-like casualness and "efficiency". Rig's selection rules also opened Alvin's eyes.

Whoever has the loudest voice and jumps the highest has the first right to speak.

Rig pointed at a few goblins and said, "You! You! And the guy with the broken glasses! You're all included!"

In this way, a goblin death squad consisting of "Explosive Drunk Boom", "Visual Scout Scud", "Inventor Squint", "Bandage Medic" and Captain Spark Rigg was efficiently formed in just five minutes!

They quickly put on their patched work jackets, carried all kinds of strange tool kits and "weapons" on their backs, and stood in a row with excitement and fear.

"For gold! For the boss! For the glory of Steamwheedle!" Deputy Chief Rigg stood at the bar, wielding a large wrench, and delivered a brief pre-war mobilization.

The goblins cheered.

Although the goblins are not very reliable in doing things, their execution ability can be described as incredibly strong. From the time they eat to the time they form the team, it probably takes less than half an hour, and a noisy convoy is about to set off!

Alvin and his companions once again split up on two motorcycles, followed by four or five three-wheeled motorcycles loaded with excited goblin death squads. The roar of their engines merged into one, and black smoke billowed like an industrial dragon. Led by Scout Scud, they roared south, out of the oil-stained streets of Everlook and plunged into the endless icy wastes of Winterspring.

The wind howled, and the motorcycle tracks plowed furrows through the deep snow. The black smoke was particularly glaring against the pure white background. The goblin suicide squad screamed excitedly, waving wrenches and snowball launchers at the sky, making Alvin feel like he had traveled to a post-apocalyptic wasteland.

According to Scud's vague intelligence fragments, the target they were tracking, the orc camp of the Hammer of Light, should be in a leeward ice valley half a day's journey to the south.

The convoy traveled for about three or four hours in a bumpy and roaring manner. Finally, Scud pointed to a depression in the distance surrounded by a huge ice wall and shouted excitedly: "That's it! I saw it! The green-skinned orcs' stinky flag is planted under that ice wall!"

Alvin cheered up and immediately signaled the convoy to slow down and stop secretly behind an ice slope some distance away from the depression.

He and Shantis and others crawled forward cautiously, using the cover of snow and ice spikes to stick their heads out and look into the depression.

The scene before them made their hearts sink.

There were indeed traces of a camp in the depression, a few patches of snow that had been trampled into muddy ground, a few campfires that had long been extinguished, leaving only cold ashes and a few charred firewood, and a few carelessly discarded, oily animal skins scattered on the snow.

But, there was no one!

"It's too late!" Shandris gritted her teeth and punched the snow beneath her, splashing cold snow powder.

"They moved ahead!"

Alvin's expression also became serious.

He carefully observed the remaining traces of the camp. The ashes of the campfire were completely cold, indicating that they had been gone for a long time.

There were a lot of messy footprints and traces of heavy objects being dragged on the snow, extending towards the southeast.

Rig and other goblin suicide squad members also came over, and when they saw the empty camp, they instantly became like deflated balls.

"Boss...Boss is not here anymore!"

Alvin stood up, brushed off the snow on his body, and looked southeast along the dragging trace.

There was the towering mountain range of Mazthoril, shrouded in eternal glaciers and thick mists, like the fangs of a great beast. A heavier and more ominous feeling, like a cold vine, wrapped around his heart.

"They haven't been away for long, the traces are still fresh."

He pointed southeast.

"The target remains the same—Mazthoril! Chase!"