Saving Azeroth (By Stealing the Black Dragon Princess) - 11

Chapter 11: The Final Plan

Inside Booty Bay's stone house laboratory, pungent chemical fumes mixed with the sulfurous bite of dragon fire. Deren's sleeves were rolled to his elbows, revealing forearms roughened and scarred from prolonged acid exposure. He carefully scooped up a spoonful of potassium sulfate powder with a copper ladle, the snow-white crystals glittering in the firelight like captured stars.

"Watch closely—" He poured the powder into a black iron crucible. The dry granules collided with metal, producing a soft whisper like sand through fingers. Then came other materials—quicklime and various mineral compounds, each measured with meticulous precision.

Onyxia stood beside the crucible, fingertips wielding black-red dragon flame that licked the crucible's bottom with surgical precision. She controlled the temperature with minimal fluctuation, the air visibly warping from the intense heat radiating upward.

"Raise the temperature slightly." Deren stared at the gradually melting crystals, never looking away from the transformation.

The Black Dragon Princess hummed acknowledgment, dragon eyes contracting. The flame's color immediately shifted from dark red to brilliant orange-yellow. The potassium sulfate mixture in the crucible rapidly melted into liquid, fine bubbles rising and bursting on the surface with delicate pops.

Chromie lay sprawled across the table edge, chin resting on folded arms. Her temporal hourglass lay sideways nearby, sand flowing at varying speeds according to the experiment's progress—a bronze dragon's unique interest indicator.

Deren grabbed an obsidian stirring rod, agitating the mixture with rapid, forceful strokes. His movements balanced steadiness with power, each motion pulling up strings of crystalline threads—the forming silicate network taking shape before their eyes.

"Hold temperature constant! Maintain for thirty seconds!" Fine sweat beaded his temples, but his eyes shone with fierce concentration. "Then cool as slowly as you possibly can. This part is critical."

The liquid became clear and transparent, like molten crystal caught in suspension. While still fluid, Deren poured it into a preheated mold nearby, gesturing for the black dragon to continue tempering and heat preservation.

"Success." After the glass completely solidified and cooled, he exhaled deeply, holding the stirring rod to eye level. The solidified glass filaments refracted rainbow halos in the firelight, more transparent than the purest Kul Tiran crystal.

Onyxia extinguished her dragon flame with a thought, picking up the cooled glass block with obvious interest. She turned it over in her hands, searching for what made it special.

"Heat it slowly with flame, and you will discover it is far more heat-resistant than ordinary glass," Deren explained, satisfaction evident in his voice. "Finally perfected a formula for proper heat-resistant glass. The melting point is several hundred degrees higher than standard materials."

Chromie had already produced a magnifying glass-like temporal lens, examining the glass from every conceivable angle with scholarly intensity. "Internal structure is abnormally stable... wait!" She suddenly widened her eyes in realization. "What exactly did you add to the potassium sulfate? Why is the heat resistance so dramatically improved?"

Deren and Onyxia exchanged knowing glances.

"Trade secret," the human smiled, removing protective gloves and gesturing toward a pile of unusual minerals stacked in the corner.

Chromie quickly understood what kind of specialized heat-resistant glass Deren was manufacturing—and more importantly, what it would contain.

In Ironforge's grand Craftsman Hall, Magni Bronzebeard's booming voice shook accumulated soot from the vaulted ceiling.

"By my beard!" He brandished iron tongs holding a reddening glass block, just removed after roasting in the forge for over ten minutes at temperatures that would have vaporized standard glass. He slammed it against the stone floor with a resounding clang—it did not shatter.

"Not bad at all. More heat-resistant and considerably stronger than ordinary glass. I am very interested." Magni nodded with genuine approval, then fixed Deren with a shrewd stare. "The formula?"

Deren immediately produced parchment covered with mineral compositions and precise manufacturing data.

Magni snatched the document, squinting to examine it with the critical eye of a master craftsman. "Human, are you not afraid I will learn the formula and refuse payment?" His red beard quivered with amusement. "You are either remarkably trusting or remarkably foolish."

Deren smiled calmly. "Against goblins, one must exercise extreme caution. Against dwarves, you can trust them as reliable as the mountains themselves."

Magni roared with delighted laughter, the sound echoing through the hall. Turning to the craftsmen assembled behind him, he bellowed with characteristic volume, "Go to the forge district immediately and trial-produce a batch!"

A dwarf engineer snatched the formula, rushing out with several eager apprentices trailing behind. Deren calmly sipped ale—he had long anticipated dwarves would demand proof before committing.

"Come, drink with me! We will wait here together." Magni ordered subordinates to prepare a substantial table laden with roasted meat and fine wine, enthusiastically urging Deren to partake.

"As for this contraption—" Magni grabbed Deren's massive reactor design diagram, eyebrows nearly reaching his hairline. "You are absolutely certain this qualifies as agricultural equipment?"

The blueprint displayed reactor dimensions that were absurdly large. The bolt interface specifications were clearly not designed for human or dwarven hands—more suited for some colossal creature's claws.

Deren's expression remained perfectly neutral. "Kalimdor's soil is notoriously poor quality. We require large-scale fertilizer production capabilities."

Magni grunted skeptically, stubby fingers tapping a suspicious detail on the blueprint. "Then what in the name of the Titans is this 'corrosion-resistant dragon breath coating' specification? Since when does fertilizer equipment require dragon breath protection?!"

Onyxia stood behind Deren in her high elf disguise. Hearing this, she coughed lightly with impeccable timing.

Deren maintained his composure with admirable skill. "Merely an exaggerated marketing term—symbolizing our equipment's superior durability and quality standards."

Magni stared at him for three long seconds, then suddenly burst into thunderous laughter. "Lad, you are either a complete genius or an utter fraud!" He slapped Deren's shoulder with enough force to nearly drive him into the ground. "But it matters not! As long as the glass formula proves genuine, dwarves do not concern themselves with whether customers are madmen or devils!"

Two hours later, the craftsman who had departed returned to the hall with an expression of barely contained excitement, holding a freshly cooled glass plate with reverent care.

"Your Majesty! Complete success!" His black beard was singed and curled from proximity to extreme heat, but his eyes shone like discovering a new mithril vein. "Melting point three hundred degrees higher than ordinary glass! Tremendously useful for forge applications!"

Magni's face split into a satisfied grin. He turned to extend his calloused, work-worn hand to Deren. "Deal struck! Your equipment will be delivered in approximately one month—for the formula's sake, I can offer a thirty percent discount. What say you?"

Deren shook his hand firmly, lips curving with quiet satisfaction. "Pleasure doing business with Ironforge."

"Excellent. When you arrive to collect the finished goods, we will settle the final payment. Since you trusted this old dwarf so completely, this old dwarf is honored and returns that trust." Magni's great bear hug nearly suffocated Deren with enthusiastic camaraderie.

Days later, inside Booty Bay's stone house, Onyxia's dragon eyes glowed faintly in the gathering darkness. She irritably tapped the tabletop with her claw tips, having already left several charred marks in the abused wood.

"Goblins gossip worse than tavern wenches," she hissed quietly with obvious frustration. "Dwarves drunk on ale will spill even ancestral forging secrets to complete strangers!"

Deren sat at the workbench, meticulously recording recent transaction details in a leather-bound ledger. Hearing her complaint, he did not look up, though his lips curved ever so slightly.

"Let them spread the rumors." He spoke with deliberate lightness. "The more outrageous the stories become, the better for our purposes."

Onyxia's tail whipped violently, nearly overturning delicate beakers balanced on the table's edge. "Are you completely mad? If word reaches my father's ears—"

"What if it does reach Deathwing's ears?" Deren finally set down his pen, looking up at her with cunning gleaming in his eyes like foxfire. "'Onyxia engaging in agricultural ventures in Kalimdor'—even bronze dragons would dismiss that news as ridiculous fiction."

Chromie poked her head through a temporal rift, still chewing on half a stolen biscuit. "He's right," she said indistinctly through the mouthful.  "The most successful deceptions throughout all timelines involve making everyone believe you are hopelessly incompetent."

Onyxia narrowed her eyes dangerously. "Provide an example."

Deren stood with theatrical flair, retrieving a cloudy liquid bottle from the shelf—their latest fertilizer sample, emitting eye-watering ammonia fumes. He shook the bottle dramatically, adopting an exaggerated, almost comical expression of distress:

"Oh, most esteemed Lord Deathwing! Your beloved daughter has recently become utterly obsessed with agricultural innovation!" He pinched his voice high to mimic a goblin merchant's shrill, grasping tone. "She spends every waking moment stirring foul-smelling fertilizer and purchased dozens of giant manure containers from dwarven craftsmen!"

Onyxia's mouth twitched involuntarily.

Chromie burst into uncontrollable laughter, spraying biscuit crumbs everywhere. "Absolutely perfect! Even N'Zoth would never suspect!"

Deren set down the bottle, expression turning genuinely serious. "The more people believe we are merely playing at business, the safer our actual operation remains." He unfolded a regional map, pointing deep into Dustwallow Marsh's interior. "When the equipment arrives, we construct the production facility within your old lair."

Onyxia stared at the map, then suddenly sneered with dark amusement. "And my father will assume I am simply using an agricultural company as cover for smuggling operations."

"Precisely." Deren nodded with satisfaction. "He might even feel pleased—thinking, 'Ah, my daughter finally learned to generate profit through legitimate commerce.'"

Chromie clapped her hands together enthusiastically. "And when hundreds of tons of fertilizer accumulate within the lair—"

"That becomes the Worldbreaker's final resting place." Onyxia's dragon eyes ignited with black flame, reflecting the red-circled location on the map: Grim Batol, Deathwing's most frequently visited fortress.

Night wind swept past the window lattice with a low whistle. The three fell silent momentarily, then simultaneously revealed dangerous smiles that promised violence.

Deren's finger traced the map slowly and deliberately, extending from Booty Bay's bustling harbor to Theramore's fortified docks, finally stopping at an abandoned black dragon watchtower on Dustwallow Marsh's desolate edge.

"All materials ship to Theramore initially," he said quietly, voice measured and careful. "Then a neutral third party transports them into the marsh—we absolutely cannot allow anyone to discover direct connections between our operation and black dragons."

Onyxia's dragon eyes contracted sharply. "Jaina Proudmoore will never permit Black Dragon influence to infiltrate her city, no matter how subtle."

"Which is precisely why we require a neutral proxy." Deren looked meaningfully toward Chromie, lips curving with calculated intent.

Chromie pursed her lips with resignation but still snapped her fingers with professional efficiency. Unlike her previous elegant gnome mage appearance, her attire had transformed to plain gnomish work clothes—practical, unremarkable, and forgettable.

"Milo Wrenchspring," she announced in a deliberately common voice, stripped of aristocratic polish. "Theramore's newest gnomish alchemy supplier, specializing in high-efficiency fertilizer import and export services."

"Goblins recognize only profit margins," Deren produced an employment contract written in meticulous legal script. "So we utilize the Steamwheedle Cartel's name to hire an independent transport team with no traceable connections."

The contract terms were airtight and professionally crafted:

Transport Route: Theramore Docks → Neutral Caravan → Southern Dustwallow Marsh (officially designated as "Agricultural Test Fields").

Liability Disclaimer: In case of black dragon attacks, Steamwheedle Cartel bears no responsibility whatsoever.

Special Confidentiality Clause: All employees must sign binding agreements; violators face commercial arbitration (goblin euphemism: feeding sharks).

Onyxia snorted with obvious disdain. "Goblin confidentiality agreements? Less reliable than troll voodoo curses."

"That is precisely why we implement double insurance measures." Chromie—now fully embodying Milo—pulled out bronze temporal sand grains that glittered like captured starlight. "I will sprinkle temporal amnesia powder on every signed contract. Anyone who attempts to leak information will forget their own name within three days."

Deren's expression suddenly turned deadly serious. "The most dangerous threat is not Jaina herself, but Deathwing's intelligence operatives planted throughout Theramore."

Onyxia's claws unconsciously carved several deep, smoking gouges into the tabletop. "My father's informants could be disguised as merchants, sailors, dock workers—even Theramore guards themselves."

"So Milo must accomplish two critical objectives:" Deren raised his fingers sequentially. "First, allow goblins to handle all direct trade negotiations whenever possible. Second, maintain magical disguise at all times without exception."

Chromie rolled her eyes dramatically. "Understood perfectly! I fear Deathwing's wrath as much as anyone, you know."

Onyxia spoke coldly from behind her high elf illusion. "One month from now, I expect to see complete equipment installations within the lair."

"Do not worry." Deren patted the dwarf purchase order secured at his waist. "Magni charged express delivery fees for a reason."

He paused, gaze distant and calculating. "Now, we simply need one carefully orchestrated accident... to lure Deathwing directly into the bomb pile."