Saving Azeroth (By Stealing the Black Dragon Princess) - 31

Chapter 31: Lord Admiral Daelin

In the morning mist over Theramore harbor, sea wind carrying salty dampness swept past flagpoles, making Kul Tiras's blue-and-gold anchor flag snap sharply. The sentry atop the watchtower suddenly widened his eyes, the brass telescope clattering onto wooden boards.

"Fleet! It's the Lord Admiral's fleet!"

Jaina's fingertips instantly clenched the battlements, dust and debris crumbling away. She didn't need a telescope to see those approaching steel behemoths—twelve Kul Tiran battleships formed in perfect wedge formation, proud sea anchor emblems at the prows glittering in morning light. The foremost "Tidal Fury" had raised the admiral's flag, black background with gold patterns wrapped in lightning-like red ribbons.

Deren looked up nervously. "They're not planning to bombard the harbor, are they?"

"Father prefers calling it 'ceremonial salute.'" Jaina's lips barely moved, her voice squeezed through clenched teeth. "Provided he's in a good mood."

The sea suddenly quieted with ominous stillness.

Then—

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

Gun ports on deck successively spat tongues of fire. Dozens of heavy naval cannons' volleys violently shook the sea surface. Amid cannonball screams tearing through air, Deren instinctively ducked with his head covered, yet discovered those trajectories deliberately avoided the harbor, exploding into dozens of meters-high water columns outside the breakwater. Salty seawater rained down like a storm on the docks, drenching Theramore guards standing at attention.

Onyxia's cold laugh came from the wall shadows. "Childish intimidation." Her slender fingers brushed the battlement—wet stone bricks immediately evaporated into hissing white mist. "Return fire?"

Nefarian had somehow already materialized beside her, dark red armor flowing with lava patterns. "Three against forty-eight cannons. Very fair odds."

Chromie bounced from a portal while chewing honey bread. "Don't include me!" Her golden pigtails still bore temporal sand, pocket watch hands spinning madly. "Being so publicly exposed will definitely get me scolded by the boss!"

"You can say you were supervising two restless black dragons, fearing they'd cause trouble," Deren said calmly.

"That reason is perfect." The small gnome said happily.

Before Jaina could stop them, three dragon shadows had already soared skyward with explosive force.

When Onyxia's true form unfurled, every loose object in the harbor simultaneously trembled. Pitch-black dragon wings eclipsed the rising sun, every scale gleaming with elementium metal's cold light. Nefarian's form resembled classical oil painting apocalyptic dragons more closely, with spine spikes arrayed like crimson spears. Chromie manifested as a bronze dragon, flowing golden sand displaying peculiar rhythmic patterns.

"Aim—" Nefarian's dragon maw spread wide. "Fire!"

Crimson, dark purple, and brilliant gold—three-colored dragon flames interwove into a spiral light column. Where it passed, air was ionized into blinding arcs. When this destructive torrent exploded a thousand meters above the fleet, the resulting shockwave tore clouds into radial cracks. The sea surface instantly collapsed into a half-mile-diameter hemispherical vacuum, then filled in the next second by backflowing seawater, raising five-meter-high circular waves.

"Hard to port!" Daelin's roar came from "Tidal Fury." The warship narrowly avoided the wave crest, sailors on deck desperately clutching cables and rigging. A young officer's tricorn hat was blown away by gale winds, spinning past Jaina's field of vision to slap against Deren's pale face.

After ten long seconds of tense silence, the harbor erupted in fierce cheers. Especially the goblin welcoming party, celebrating with wild enthusiasm. The Kul Tiran fleet quietly docked at the harbor, their earlier bravado thoroughly quenched.

Theramore harbor's wooden planks groaned under military boots.

When Lord Admiral Daelin Proudmoore stepped onto the dock, steel boot heels colliding with oak silenced the entire harbor instantly. The Admiral's white beard whipped in the sea wind like a battle flag declaring sovereignty. Every brass button on his deep blue admiral's uniform was polished to a mirror shine, his left chest densely packed with medals recording half a lifetime's campaigns.

Crack.

Jaina heard her own nails digging into palms. Several years unseen, Father's crow's feet had deepened considerably, yet those hawk-like gray-blue eyes remained sharp as ever. She unconsciously straightened her mage robe's collar, suddenly grateful she'd chosen this formal style with silver trim this morning.

"Father, welcome—"

Her ceremonial greeting was abruptly cut off.

Daelin's gaze passed over her without acknowledgment, fixedly nailing that hunched figure behind her. The Admiral's pupils violently contracted, veins bulging on the hand gripping his sword hilt with white-knuckled intensity.

Derek Proudmoore staggered forward two unsteady steps.

Sunlight finally completely illuminated him—wearing an old-style naval uniform, neck revealing crisscrossing whip scars beneath the collar, left leg bent unnaturally, clearly from a bone fracture that never healed properly; most shocking was that face—right half relatively intact, left half covered in dark red burn scars, features twisted like melted wax.

But those eyes.

Those gray-blue eyes identical to Daelin's were now brimming with tears.

"Re...reporting, sir." Derek's voice was like sandpaper scraping metal, yet he insisted on standing at attention. "Third Fleet Captain Derek Proudmoore... requests to rejoin active duty."

Daelin's sword clattered to the dock.

The Lord Admiral rushed forward in two powerful strides, his arms embracing his son in an iron grip. Jaina saw her father's back trembling—this man who never retreated even facing orc charges now clutched Derek like a drowning man grasping a lifeline, knuckles white from the force of his grip.

"Just alive... just alive..." Daelin's voice was muffled against his son's shoulder, repeating the phrase over and over like a broken prayer. For an instant Jaina even suspected Father was crying, yet when he raised his head, those eyes remained dry and sharp, only their reddened rims betraying overwhelming emotion.

Scattered applause rose from the harbor, gradually connecting into thunderous waves. Theramore guards spontaneously stood at attention, saluting. Several old sailors even removed hats, pressing them to chests in silent respect.

The warm bubble was suddenly pierced by wolf howls.

"For the Horde!"

Thrall's delegation arrived at the dock entrance precisely then. The orc infantry's green skin gleamed with oil in sunlight, the wolf riders' wargs bared snow-white fangs, and Cairne Bloodhoof's totem pole smashed spiderweb cracks in the ground with each step. Most provocative was the troll hunter humming war songs in the formation—his belt prominently displayed several decorations made from human skulls.

Daelin's body instantly tensed. Jaina witnessed Father's expression freeze from wild joy to ice, finally transforming into dead calm before the storm. The Admiral slowly bent to retrieve his sword, metal scraping leather producing teeth-aching sounds.

"Jaina." Daelin's voice was light yet dropped the harbor temperature ten degrees. "Tell me why these green-skinned orcs are standing on my daughter's docks?"

"This is completely normal!" Deren explained quickly from the side. "These are all legitimate business partners."

"Who are you?" The Admiral questioned with an openly unfriendly tone. Beside Deren, Onyxia in high elf form materialized, eyes coldly watching him.

"Another black dragon. Is this my daughter's city or an evil dragon's lair?" Daelin showed no retreat, mocking openly.

Deren wasn't frightened, bowing respectfully and calmly introducing himself. "I am Deren Lawson, a farmer from Stormwind. Currently agricultural advisor to Princess Onyxia. Now conducting agricultural cooperation with Lady Jaina. Everything is for Azeroth's prosperous future."

"Yes, Father. We're developing unprecedented cooperation, making the world better for everyone." Jaina hurriedly affirmed.

The Admiral silently regarded the orcs, black dragons, and pile of goblins with obvious distaste. Patting his son's shoulder, he sighed deeply after a long while. "Damn. This isn't the world I knew anymore."

Seeing Father hadn't immediately erupted in violence, Jaina breathed relief. She invited Father to rest in the city and dispatched city caravans to supply provisions to the docked fleet.

In a quiet Theramore council reception room sat orcs, the goblin baron, black dragons, and Deren. Chromie had seen the situation deteriorating and opened a portal to escape first.

The Admiral's sword slammed down on the long table, overturning Thrall's teacup. Brown liquid spread across the sheepskin map, staining Kalimdor's coastline dark brown.

"I need an explanation. What exactly are you all doing here?"

Daelin's voice was like distant thunder before a storm, every syllable wrapped in barely suppressed fury. His gaze swept across everyone present—Thrall's steady green face, the black dragon siblings lounging arrogantly, Deren cowering in the corner—before finally settling on Jaina's anxious face.

"Lord Admiral, don't rush to judgment." Deren had to steel himself to step forward. Aside from Jaina, none of the others were even human.

"Fine, I'm listening. You who consorts with black dragons—what can you possibly tell me?" Daelin stared at Deren with an expression that clearly said 'let's see what nonsense you're selling.'

Deren steadied himself, taking a breath before explaining: "My employer is Black Dragon Princess Onyxia. Dustwallow Marsh near Theramore is her territory—with far older historical claims than Theramore itself. For certain business reasons, she entered into an agreement with Baron Revilgaz of Booty Bay to jointly produce agricultural fertilizer that can increase crop yields by over half. Some regions even see production double. This is an enterprise that benefits all of Azeroth. Lady Jaina, as Princess Onyxia's neighbor, decided to jointly develop the fertilizer business. After all, as a neutral city, Theramore can play an important mediating role. For example, one fertilizer ingredient requires importing from the Horde. My employer's brother Prince Nefarian can provide the raw material sulfur. Baron Revilgaz handles transport and sales networks. All this connects through Lady Jaina's Theramore."

Daelin listened with a grim expression, turning to demand from Jaina. "Is this true?"

"Yes, Father." Jaina's fingertips glowed faintly—the spilled tea automatically separated from the map, recongealing into suspended droplets that sparkled. "Due to the fertilizer cooperation, Prince Nefarian, at Advisor Deren's suggestion, actively searched for Kul Tiran prisoners held by orc clans. Including Derek."

"Really?!" Daelin punched the table, his naval ring leaving visible dents in the oak. "My son was imprisoned and tortured by orcs all these years! Yet now I'm sitting at a table with these greenskins?"

Deren suddenly gasped, hastily clarifying. "Don't be impulsive! Not all orcs are the same. You can't blame innocent orcs for the crimes of others."

Onyxia's dragon tail slapped his calf in warning.

Thrall slowly stood, Doomhammer producing dull echoes on the table. "Lord Proudmoore, those who imprisoned your son were Dragonmaw clan remnants, completely unrelated to the current Horde."

"Ha!" Daelin's white beard trembled with cold laughter. "Greenskin is greenskin!"

Thrall scoffed, offering no further explanation. The council hall suddenly fell into tense silence.

"Lord Admiral, the current situation centers on Theramore establishing multi-party fertilizer industry cooperation. The Horde is also one of our suppliers. Increasing grain production benefits Azeroth and Kul Tiras alike. Am I wrong?" Deren interjected, trying to shift the tense atmosphere.

"Hmph, do I not understand the stakes involved?" Daelin said disdainfully, though his tone slightly softened. "I'm a naval commander, not an idiot."

Jaina saw Father's calculating gaze shifting between Deren and herself. The Admiral's Adam's apple bobbed, bulging veins gradually calming. This was the expression she recognized—Daelin Proudmoore was weighing pros and cons with his usual strategic mind.

"Father." She seized the opportunity to persuade gently. "Fertilizer can double Kul Tiras wheat yields. You can wait for concrete results before making final decisions. Now please rest first. Tomorrow I'll personally show you around Theramore's achievements."

"I'm not so old and weak I need coddling!" Daelin interrupted sharply, yet his tone was no longer purely furious. "Since you've decided, I won't interfere. But I'll be watching closely."