Saving Azeroth (By Stealing the Black Dragon Princess) - 17

Chapter 17: Each Takes What They Need

Morning mist shrouded Dustwallow Marsh like damp gauze pressed against skin. Deren stood before the half-finished factory building, hands planted on his hips, staring critically at the crooked steel frame structure. The broken-horned black dragon was carefully coiling a crossbeam with his tail, placing it gingerly on the base while muttering terminology Deren had painstakingly taught him. "Vertical... horizontal... dammit, crooked again!"

"Half an inch to the left." Deren shouted, waving his copy of Introduction to Gnomish Engineering, pages slightly curling in the oppressive humidity.

The broken-horned black dragon grimaced while adjusting the angle with minute precision, fine sweat beading in the crevices between his scales—Deren had never imagined dragons could sweat, but since starting infrastructure construction, this group of black dragons seemed to constantly redefine their physiological limits.

"Human!" The broken-horned black dragon finally shoved the beam into its slot, panting heavily. "Why can we not simply weld it with dragon breath and be done?"

"Because we need expansion joints." Deren tapped the specialized bolts at the connection point. "Metal expands and contracts with temperature fluctuations. Welding it permanently shut will cause stress fractures."

The black dragon blinked with obvious incomprehension, clearly not understanding the engineering principles, but still obediently complied with instructions. Deren secretly found it amusing—half a month ago, these creatures only knew how to demolish buildings with brute force. Now they could actually construct according to blueprints.

Not far away, Onyxia leaned against a stone pillar with affected casualness, silver hair tied up in a loose arrangement, deep blue robe hem thoroughly covered in dried mud. She toyed with a gold coin at her fingertips—"negotiated" from a goblin merchant yesterday. Deren dared not ask about the specific negotiation process, only knowing the goblin had departed with visibly wet pants.

"Are you certain these idiots can actually learn?" She asked lazily, dragon eyes sweeping dismissively over the dragonspawn hauling stone. One was attempting to bite steel nails with his mouth, getting his tongue pierced and howling pathetically.

Deren wiped accumulated sweat from his forehead, laughing despite the chaos. "At least easier than teaching them to conduct successful raids." He pointed westward—several dragonspawn were digging drainage ditches with specially manufactured oversized shovels, movements surprisingly coordinated. "Look, they have learned to use tools properly."

Onyxia hummed noncommittally, fingertips suddenly shooting black flame that precisely welded a loose rivet. Sparks splashed onto Deren's cuff, burning several small holes through the fabric.

"My new clothes..." Deren lamented with exaggerated sorrow.

"I will compensate you with ten replacements." Onyxia's tail swept across his back, scales scraping fabric with distinctive tearing sounds—Deren had long grown accustomed to this particular expression of "draconic affection," too pragmatic to bother dodging.

When work ended at dusk, Deren collapsed onto the stone stool before the wooden house, gnawing his standard meal of black bread and preserved jerky. Since beginning infrastructure construction, his menu never varied—bread hard enough to double as a weapon, jerky salty enough to taste bitter, occasionally supplemented with a bowl of questionable swamp lizard soup.

The wooden door suddenly kicked open with force. Onyxia entered carrying a charred lizard tail. "Eat this instead."

Deren raised an eyebrow with surprise. "You cooked it personally?"

"The whelps cooked it." She turned away, tail tip impatiently slapping the floor hard enough to shatter a floor tile.

Deren broke off a piece to taste experimentally—unexpectedly not bad, at least superior to his usual construction worker special meal. He was about to express genuine thanks when he noticed Onyxia had already walked to the corner, frowning at the pile of reactor design drawings.

"The dwarves have not delivered yet?" She asked with cold impatience.

"High-temperature equipment requires time to manufacture properly." Deren swallowed the surprisingly tender roasted meat. "But Chromie mentioned—"

Before he could finish, a loud explosive bang echoed from outside the window. They rushed out to see fireworks rising from the coastal direction in bright colors.

"That is Theramore's patrol ship signaling. Something important must have happened." Onyxia frowned, already turning to investigate.

Since establishing contact with Jaina, both sides had tacitly agreed on discrete communication methods. Jaina arranged for a Theramore naval patrol ship to cruise the outer swamp waters daily. If anything significant occurred, they would notify Onyxia through signal flares. The other party would leave sealed letters on the coast for the black dragon to retrieve covertly. This system avoided direct contact—after all, association with black dragons damaged reputations everywhere.

Night fell black as ink across Dustwallow Marsh. Inside the wooden house, candlelight flickered hypnotically. Deren hunched over his desk, using a quill to sketch tomorrow's work arrangements in the ledger: (1) check drainage ditch gradient measurements; (2) test newly arrived pressure valve; (3) train dragonspawn to use wrenches without breaking them.

Suddenly, the wooden door swung open as though pushed by an invisible force. Damp night wind carrying sulfur scent poured inside like a physical presence. Deren did not look up from his work, only sighing with resignation. "Door hinges were just oiled this morning. Please do not use magic to open it."

Onyxia's figure emerged from shadows, long hair gleaming coldly in the candlelight's warm glow. Her fingertips pinched a gold-wax-sealed letter, Theramore's anchor emblem clearly visible on the intact seal.

"Jaina's ship arrives at the shore tomorrow morning." She tossed the letter carelessly on the table, parchment unfolding with a crisp sound. "Thrall wants to meet you personally."

Deren's pen tip paused mid-stroke, ink spreading a small blue halo on the ledger. He looked up, meeting Onyxia's blazing vertical pupils—emotions churning inside that he could not quite decipher.

"So quickly?" He set down the quill, fingertips lightly rubbing the letter's textured edge. "I assumed Thrall would at least deliberate for three to five days..."

"Jaina is personally coming to escort you." Onyxia's tail suddenly coiled around Deren's ankle with possessive force, pressure neither light nor heavy, leaving a circle of faintly reddened scale impressions on his skin. "Seems your human princess values this meeting quite highly."

Deren blinked with dawning comprehension. The Black Dragon Princess's tone sounded flat, but he distinctly heard the ominous squeaking of wooden beams being scraped by her claws, leaving smoking scorch marks.

"She is merely an intermediary facilitating trade." Deren tried unsuccessfully to withdraw his captured foot. "After all, Thrall trusts only her among Alliance representatives."

Onyxia laughed coldly, suddenly leaning dangerously close. Her long hair fell forward, sweeping across Deren's cheek, carrying dragons' unique scorching breath. "You know how Stormwind nobles describe Jaina Proudmoore?" Her nails lightly traced the elegant signature on the letter. "'Pearl of Theramore,' 'Alliance's Shining Dawn'..."

Deren suddenly understood precisely what troubled her.

"You are worried I will be captivated by the human princess?" He could not suppress his laughter, tapping Onyxia's nose tip with familiar boldness. "Please, I am someone a black dragon uses as a personal body pillow nightly."

Onyxia's pupils contracted violently to razor slits. The next instant, Deren was flung bodily into the feather mattress by her tail. The Black Dragon Princess loomed over him, claw tips pressing his vulnerable Adam's apple. "Human, you had better remember—" Her voice rumbled low as churning lava. "No matter how beautiful pearls appear, they cannot match dragon flame's intensity."

Deren looked up at her, suddenly reaching to brush aside a lock of hair from her forehead with tender care. "You know something? You right now..." His fingertips lightly traced her brow bone's elegant arc. "Are more dazzling than any pearl could ever be."

Onyxia's scales instantly bristled with emotion. She abruptly straightened, black robes surging like storm clouds. "I will send you to the coast tomorrow morning." As she turned with exaggerated dignity, her tail knocked over the candlestick. The flame was swallowed by shadow before touching dragon scales. "Dare arrive late and I will burn your precious design drawings."

After the wooden door slammed shut with finality, Deren touched the claw marks remaining on his neck, shaking his head with an affectionate laugh. Seems before meeting Thrall tomorrow, he first needed to placate a certain temperamental black dragon.

Morning mist had not yet dispersed when Deren reached the coast. Theramore's distant shoreline was vaguely visible through the gray dawn. Deren stood on the cold, wet beach, boot soles sinking into fine sand. Behind him was Onyxia in her elegant elf form—she crossed her arms defensively, silver hair blown by sea wind, golden vertical pupils fixed intently on the slowly approaching Theramore patrol ship.

"Remember," she spoke quietly, voice wrapped in dragons' unique intimidation, "if you dare gaze too long at the human princess, beware I—"

"Burn Theramore to the ground." Deren finished, lips curving with amusement. "Relax. I am merely going to discuss business arrangements."

Onyxia's tail tip lightly flicked his shin, the force calibrated to make him stagger half a step yet not truly injure him. Deren glanced back at her, finding her gaze settled on the distant ship deck—Jaina Proudmoore stood there prominently, golden hair gleaming like flowing gold in morning light, robes gently fluttering in wind.

The Black Dragon Princess's pupils contracted slightly with unreadable emotion.

"She came personally?" Deren was genuinely surprised.

Onyxia sneered coldly. "It seems the human princess values this meeting extraordinarily highly."

Deren did not respond verbally, only gently squeezed her hand—the draconic body temperature was considerably higher than humans', her palm scorching like holding burning coal. Onyxia's fingers stiffened momentarily but ultimately did not pull away.

The ship docked with practiced efficiency.

Jaina descended on ice steps condensed from waves, her gaze briefly pausing between Deren and Onyxia before nodding with diplomatic courtesy. "Mr. Deren, Warchief Thrall awaits at Theramore."

Deren nodded respectfully. "Thank you for arranging this meeting, Lady Proudmoore."

Jaina's calculating gaze swept over Onyxia, who was lightly scraping her scale-armored belt with nails, producing faint metallic friction sounds—typical draconic impatience manifest.

"Black Dragon Princess," Jaina said calmly, each word measured. "Theramore's harbor does not welcome dragonkind under normal circumstances, but since this concerns legitimate business negotiations, I can make an exception."

Onyxia's lips curved with dark mockery. "How remarkably generous of you."

Deren quickly coughed lightly, interrupting this escalating princess confrontation before it became problematic. "Let us depart. We should not keep Thrall waiting."

Jaina nodded with professional composure, turning toward the ship. Deren followed, but after just two steps, Onyxia's tail suddenly coiled possessively around his wrist.

"Return before sunset." Her voice dropped low, audible only to him. "Otherwise I will personally come to Theramore to fetch you."

Deren smiled, gripping her tail tip in return, gently squeezing. "As you command, Your Highness."

After boarding, Deren stood on deck looking back at the shore. Onyxia's figure still stood there motionless, black robes surging like living night, until the ship sailed far away. Only then did she transform into a black shadow soaring powerfully into the sky, disappearing into clouds.

Jaina approached beside him, her voice remaining calm. "You and she possess a very unusual relationship."

Deren shrugged casually. "Business partners with mutual interests."

Jaina's penetrating blue eyes looked directly at him with uncomfortable intensity. "Black dragons never truly cooperate with anyone. They only conquer or destroy."

Deren gazed at the rolling sea, chuckling softly. "Perhaps she simply has not yet met anyone genuinely worth cooperating with."

Jaina fell silent momentarily, finally only saying, "I sincerely hope you are correct in that assessment."

Theramore's trade hall sat prominently at the harbor's edge, a simple gray stone building with a brass plaque reading "Neutral Trade Notary Office" mounted outside. As Deren followed Jaina through the corridor, he could clearly hear his boot soles striking floor tiles—a steady rhythm, yet slightly faster than usual.

"Relax your pace." Jaina said without looking back, staff tip tracing delicate ice crystals in air. "Thrall does not consume visitors."

"I know that intellectually." Deren unconsciously touched his neck. "Just did not expect to meet a legendary figure so quickly."

Jaina suddenly stopped mid-stride, turning as golden hair swept over the Alliance emblem on her shoulder. "Remember, within these walls he is merely Merchant Thrall." She lowered her voice to conspiratorial levels. "Do not mention Orgrimmar, do not reference the Horde. Simply treat this as two agricultural businessmen discussing fertilizer commerce."

Deren raised an eyebrow skeptically. "Farmers typically do not bring legendary warhammers to business meetings."

Jaina's lips curved almost imperceptibly with suppressed amusement. "That depends entirely on what kind of farm."

The moment the heavy oak door swung open, Deren's breathing caught slightly.

Thrall sat at the long table's far end, broad back like a green city wall, thick braids hanging over shoulder armor. He had not worn his signature black plate armor, instead donning a plain brown leather coat, but the warhammer placed deliberately beside the table still emanated invisible oppression.

"Ah, our fertilizer expert arrives." Thrall raised his head, voice deep as war drums. His gaze lingered on Deren's face for two evaluating seconds, then suddenly smiled with genuine warmth. "You are considerably younger than I imagined."

Deren stepped forward, performing a standard merchant's bow. "Deren Lawson, deeply honored to meet you, Warchief."

"No warchief today." Thrall waved his massive hand dismissively, gesturing for him to sit. "Only a customer conducting honest business." He pushed over a cup of steaming herbal tea with surprising gentleness. "Jaina claims you can transform even discarded beast horns into agricultural treasure?"

Deren poured a handful of potassium sulfate powder from his sample pouch onto the table. "This represents my primary product sample. It can significantly increase crop yields, especially potatoes and root vegetables. Specific performance data depends on variety and soil conditions. But production requires animal fur and horns as essential raw materials. Therefore, I require large quantities. I hope to establish supply arrangements with the Warchief."

Thrall's thick fingers pinched some powder experimentally, rubbing it between calloused fingers. "You know how orcs traditionally handle this waste material? We burn it. Waste tremendous quantities every single year." He suddenly leaned forward intensely, tusks gleaming coldly in lamplight. "But you must tell me the absolute truth—"

Deren's spine tensed involuntarily.

"Can this substance genuinely grow grain?" Thrall asked with disarming directness.

Deren's fist quietly loosened under the table. "No matter how eloquently I speak, words prove meaningless without evidence. You can transport these samples back for field testing. Your people have farmers, correct?"

Thrall suddenly slapped the table, laughing with booming volume, making teacups rattle violently. "Excellent! Far more honest than goblin scam artists!" He turned to Jaina with obvious approval. "Old friend, this time you have introduced someone genuinely reliable."

Jaina nodded lightly. "Then shall we discuss transaction details?"

Three hours later, contract terms were finally meticulously finalized. All parties expressed satisfaction with the arrangements.

Horde: Deliver animal fur and horns weekly to designated neutral location, handed over to goblin transport teams.

Barrens Agricultural Development Company: Deposit payment into Theramore City Hall's escrow account. Three-party financial settlement conducted monthly.

Theramore: Serve as fund custodian, collect 1.5% handling fee (Jaina initially wanted to decline compensation, firmly rebutted by Thrall with "Alliance also needs to sustain operations").

On the return voyage, Jaina gazed at the darkening sea, suddenly speaking thoughtfully. "I can scarcely believe negotiations completed so smoothly without complications."

In the distance, a black shadow swept past twilight clouds with unmistakable purpose. Onyxia was waiting for him to come home.