The Goblin's Big Deal

The morning mist over Treasure Bay had yet to lift. Deren stood before the headquarters of The Sandbox, looking up at the gilded spired building—it towered over the surrounding shops, its outer walls studded with glittering gemstones, even its door handles made of pure gold-plated brass.

He took a deep breath and straightened his collar.

Clothes make the man—and make the show-off.

Onyxia stood to his left, her silver-white hair swept into an aristocratic bun. A Dalaran High Mage badge (forged) was pinned to her dark-blue robe. Atop her staff floated a ghostly blue Arcane Crystal that occasionally spat out sparks.

Chromie stood on his right in an immaculate gnomish formal suit. Behind her round glasses, her golden eyes gleamed with shrewdness. A staff hung at her waist, flashing with gold light—outrageously lavish.

Deren himself wore a finely tailored dark-patterned robe, with a "The Barrens Agricultural Development Company" badge pinned to his collar—a wheat stalk encircling an explosion symbol, understated yet dangerous.

"Remember," Deren instructed in a low voice. "You're my mage advisor and chief financial officer. Talk less, put on more airs."

Onyxia gave a cold snort, a wisp of Black Flame igniting at her fingertips. "Do I look like someone who'd screw this up?"

Chromie adjusted her glasses, their lenses reflecting a cold gleam. "Relax. When it comes to putting on a performance, Bronze Dragons are professionals."

Deren silently wiped away nonexistent cold sweat, nodded, and strode toward the entrance.

The show begins.

Two Goblin guards crossed their spears, blocking their path.

"Hold it!" One guard looked Deren up and down, snorting through his nose. "His Highness isn't receiving visitors today!"

Deren smiled faintly without answering, merely raising a hand.

—Onyxia tapped her staff, and the ground cracked open with a CRACK, Shadow Energy slithering through the fissure like snakes.

—Chromie flicked a finger. A gold coin spun through the air, became a pile of coins, then vanished into thin air like an illusion.

The guards' green faces instantly turned pale.

Only then did Deren speak in an unhurried tone. "Now, could you please have your steward come out?"

Less than ten seconds later, a Goblin steward in a silk vest came scurrying out, cold sweat beading on his forehead. "T-three honored guests, this way, please!"

His gaze darted repeatedly between Onyxia's staff and Chromie's golden staff, and his throat bobbed—a human merchant accompanied by a suspected Dalaran High Mage and a powerful gnomish mage? No matter how he looked at it, this was no simple group.

Deren stood with his hands behind his back, his tone even. "Lead the way."

The steward bent even lower. "Y-yes! His Highness is in the reception room..."

When the doors to the reception room were pushed open, Prince Rivendare was reclining in a leather chair, idly playing with an ancient gold coin. At the sight of the three entering, his eyes narrowed slightly behind gold-rimmed glasses.

"Ah, rare guests." The prince's voice carried the oily smoothness unique to Goblins. "A human merchant, accompanied by..." His gaze swept over Onyxia and Chromie. "Two mage advisors? Interesting."

Deren seated himself calmly. Onyxia and Chromie stood behind him to either side, one with shadows curling around her fingers and the other shining in golden light—like two formidable protectors.

"Your Highness," Deren said with a smile, "I have some business I'd like to discuss with you in person."

The prince raised a brow. "Oh? What sort of business requires such a grand... display?"

Deren took a gilded document from his robes and gently slid it over. "These are the supplies I require every month. Long-term supply, cash payment."

The prince's pupils contracted slightly—this was no small order. He set down the coin and leaned forward. "Forgive me for asking, but what are these for? Sulfur is common enough, and we can scrape together saltpeter. But fur and beast horns will take more time."

Deren only smiled without replying, raising a finger to point at his Company Badge.

"An Agricultural Company?" the prince asked skeptically. "Can that thing really make big money?"

"Do you know Lordaeron?" Deren asked softly.

Deren's fingers lightly tapped the table, slow and steady.

"You should know the situation in Lordaeron better than I do, Your Highness." His voice lowered, carrying a dangerous hint of suggestion. "The Scourge is ravaging the land, farmland lies abandoned, refugees are fleeing south—the price of food has already risen considerably."

A gleam flashed across Prince Rivendare's gold teeth. He leaned back in his chair, his smile shrewd. "Indeed. But..." He spread his hands. "The Sandbox began stockpiling grain half a year ago. The warehouses are piled high with wheat now."

Deren was not surprised. Goblins had always possessed a keen nose, especially for war profits.

"Stockpiling grain is only the first step." He leaned forward slightly. "But don't you think... there's something else behind this Scourge outbreak?"

The prince's green ears twitched. "Oh?"

"The plague came too conveniently and spread too quickly." Deren drew a symbol on the table with his fingertip—a blurry shape resembling an eye. "As if someone is deliberately creating chaos."

The prince's eyes flickered slightly. As a Goblin, he was no less sensitive to conspiracies than he was greedy for gold.

"You mean..."

"I'm only a merchant. I don't understand politics." Deren leaned back, his tone casual. "But I do know that you shouldn't put all your eggs in one basket—if the Eastern Kingdoms become unlivable, Kalimdor's farmland will be the best fallback."

Deren's finger traced across the map, winding from Theramore Harbor to the edge of the Swamp of Sorrows before finally stopping at the vast plains of the Barrens.

"Your Highness, the continent before you is Azeroth's last undeveloped granary."

His fingertip lightly tapped Theramore Harbor—

"Jaina's territory, the Alliance's sole foothold in Kalimdor. All transoceanic trade must pass through here."

Then it moved west, sliding into the Swamp of Sorrows—

"This 'land of death'? With the right fertilizer, draining the water and turning it into high-yield rice paddies would be easy. After all... my fertilizer is best suited for reclaiming saline-alkali soil."

But Goblins never gave in easily.

"What about the risks?" Prince exhaled a ring of smoke. "The Horde's orcs won't just stand by and watch the Alliance monopolize the food supply."

Prince narrowed his eyes, his gaze behind gold-rimmed glasses sharp as a blade. "Swamp of Sorrows? Let's not beat around the bush—don't you know that's black dragon territory?" His fingertips tapped the tabletop. "Are you sure... that Daughter of Deathwing will allow humans to farm beside her lair?"

The goblins' intelligence was indeed precise. Their business dealings across the world had given them a clear understanding of every faction, and they had pinpointed every flaw in Deren's plan.

The air in the room abruptly froze.

Deren did not answer at once. Unhurriedly, he pulled a black velvet bundle from his Space Bag, its gold drawstring gleaming under the lamplight.

"You're right." He gently placed the cloth pouch on the table and pushed it toward Prince. "That's why we prepared a gesture of goodwill."

Prince untied the drawstring suspiciously—

"Clatter!"

A pitch-black dragon scale as large as a washbasin slid out, its edges streaked with dark-red patterns like molten lava. The instant it touched the tabletop, wisps of green smoke rose from the solid wood with a sizzle.

"This is...!" Prince jerked his hand back, his gold teeth chattering with a click.

Onyxia let out a soft laugh at just the right moment. A cluster of Black Flame had somehow ignited on her fingertips, and amid the flickering fire, the phantom outline of dragon claws could faintly be seen.

Deren pressed a finger against the scale and slowly pushed it toward Prince. "An Adult Black Dragon Scale Fragment—sufficient sincerity, wouldn't you say?" He deliberately scraped his nail across the scale, producing a metallic screech that set teeth on edge. "Now, it proves two things."

"First, the Development Rights to Swamp of Sorrows have already been settled."

"Second—" He suddenly seized Prince by the cravat and pulled him close. The scorching black dragon scale nearly pressed against the goblin's nose. "Our Agricultural Company has Dragon Shareholding."

Prince froze. His eyes rolled downward, staring fixedly at the dragon scale—the intricate energy patterns upon it could not be faked. More terrifying still, he could clearly feel the gaze of that "High Elf mage" behind him scraping across the back of his neck like a blade.

"Gulp." Prince swallowed, his cravat wrinkled in Deren's grip.

Deren's fingers lightly brushed over the gold cord of the black velvet pouch, the gesture as elegant as if he were arranging a work of art. The lingering heat of the dragon scale seeped through the fabric. Yet his expression did not change in the slightest. He slowly put the scale away again, and a calm smile instead appeared on his face.

"Business should be discussed slowly," he said softly, tapping the table with one fingertip. "Especially an undertaking as... long-term as this."

His tone suddenly became light, as if the drawn swords and taut tension from moments ago had never existed. Sunlight streamed through the stained glass and fell over him, lending his dark-patterned robe an understated air of luxury.

Onyxia withdrew her Dragon Awe at the right moment, and the Arcane Crystal on her staff returned to stillness, as though it were merely an exquisite ornament. Chromie adjusted her glasses, a sly glint flashing through her golden eyes behind the lenses. The ledger in her hands snapped shut with a crisp sound.

Deren drew an exquisite large glass jar from his Space Bag, its white crystals glittering faintly in the sunlight. He gently pushed it toward Prince, the movement as smooth as handing over a business card.

"This is our newest experimental product." His voice carried just the right amount of confidence. "Its yield-boosting effect is remarkable. Prince, you may verify it personally."

The gilded label on the bag—"Kalimdor Agricultural Development Special Supply"—shone brilliantly beneath the light, as though silently proclaiming its worth.

Prince's gaze shifted between the jar and Deren, his gold teeth unconsciously clamping down on his pipe. His fingers trembled slightly, both from the earlier intimidation and from the possibilities behind this "gift."

Deren did not give him much time to think. He rose gracefully, the hem of his robe sweeping in a smooth arc.

"Theramore's docks will be ready for your fleet at any time." He gave a slight nod, his tone gentle yet beyond dispute. Then he pointed at Chromie. "My chief financial officer, Ms. Milo, will ensure that everything proceeds smoothly."

Chromie stepped forward at just the right moment, her eyes curving into crescents behind her round glasses. "The accounts, the handover, future cooperation—I'll handle it all." Her fingertips lightly tapped the coin purse at her waist, making it jingle. "Time is money, isn't it?"

Prince gave a dry laugh. The cold sweat on his forehead had yet to dry, but a merchant's instincts had already allowed him to quickly regain his composure. He stood up, his fat green fingers tightly clutching the jar of "fertilizer," while the smile on his face became shrewd once more.

"Of course, of course!" He rubbed his hands together, his gold teeth gleaming. "The Sandbox values honest cooperation above all else!"

Deren smiled in return, his eyes as deep as a still pool. He said nothing more, merely raising a hand in a gesture of invitation.

Onyxia lightly tapped her staff, and the reception hall's doors slid open without a sound. Outside, the goblin butler and guards kept their heads lowered, scarcely daring to breathe.

The three of them stepped away, their footsteps echoing through the gilded corridor. Deren's back was straight as a pine, the dark patterns on his robe appearing and vanishing in the light, as if concealing countless unspoken secrets.

Only after their figures vanished around the corner did Prince collapse back into his chair and let out a long breath.

The moment the doors closed, the ingratiating smile vanished from Prince's face. He violently tore off his cravat, his gold teeth grinding together, while his fat fingers savagely yanked a hidden cord beside the bookcase.

"Rustle—"

A decorative wooden panel in the ceiling slid open soundlessly, and an Elite Goblin clad head to toe in a gray-green bodysuit descended upside down like an enormous bat. He wore a single engineering goggle, the gears in its lens spinning rapidly with faint clicking sounds.

"Test the goods." Prince tossed the fertilizer over, lowering his voice to a near whisper. "Try it on a few fields. Keep watch personally, and report to me first the moment there are results."

The Elite Goblin caught the fertilizer precisely and swiftly retreated into the ceiling. Just as the concealed panel shut, a hidden passage behind the bookcase opened with a click, and the butler hunched over as he slipped inside.

Prince slammed a fist onto the table, sending the tea set clattering wildly. "Triple the hush money for everyone who has seen those three! If anyone dares leak a word—" He pulled a yellowed contract from a drawer and shook it open. A certain goblin merchant's bloody fingerprint was stamped conspicuously upon it. "Send the terms of execution for this Accident Insurance policy to his entire family!"

The butler's green face went deathly pale, and he backed out of the room.

Outside the window, Deren and the other two were strolling across the fountain square. Onyxia's staff occasionally flashed with a wisp of black light, precisely erasing any listening spells that might have been placed along their path.

"Do you think he'll take the bait?" Chromie played with an antique gold coin she had taken from Prince's study.

Deren merely smiled without answering.