The Final Plan

In the Stone House laboratory of Treasure Bay, the pungent smell of chemical reagents mingled with the sulfurous stench of Dragonfire. Deren had rolled his sleeves up to his elbows, exposing arms slightly roughened by prolonged contact with acid. He carefully scooped up a spoonful of Potassium Sulfate Powder with a copper spoon, its snow-white crystals glinting with faint specks of light in the firelight.

"Watch closely—" He poured the powder into the Black Iron Crucible. The dry granules struck the metal with a soft rustling sound. Then came a pile of other strange powders: quicklime and various minerals.

Onyxia stood beside the crucible, her fingertips moving as she controlled black-red Dragonfire, making it precisely lick the bottom of the vessel. She kept the flames within an extremely narrow temperature range, until even the air shimmered slightly from the heat.

"Raise the temperature a little more," Deren said without looking up, his eyes fixed on the gradually melting crystals.

The Black Dragon Princess gave a soft snort. Her dragon eyes narrowed slightly, and the flames immediately shifted from dark red to a glaring orange-yellow. The potassium sulfate mixture in the crucible quickly melted into a pool of liquid, fine bubbles rising across its surface.

Chromie leaned over the edge of the table, her chin resting on her folded arms. Her Time Sandglass lay on its side nearby, its sand speeding up and slowing down with the progress of the experiment—an exclusive "interest indicator" of Bronze Dragons.

Deren grabbed an Obsidian Stirring Rod and swiftly stirred the mixture. His movements were both steady and forceful, each stroke drawing out strings of crystalline filaments—the Silicate Network taking shape.

"Keep the temperature steady! Hold it for thirty seconds!" Fine sweat beaded at his temples, yet his eyes shone brilliantly. "Then lower the temperature as slowly as you possibly can. This is the crucial part."

By then, the liquid had become crystal-clear, like melted crystal. While it was still fluid, Deren poured it into a preheated mold beside him. At the same time, he had the black dragon continue tempering it to maintain the heat.

"It worked." Once the glass had fully solidified, he let out a long breath and held the stirring rod up before his eyes. The hardened glass filaments refracted a rainbow halo in the firelight, clearer even than the purest crystal.

Onyxia extinguished the Dragonfire and picked up the cooled block of glass with interest. She could not see what was different about it.

"You can heat it slowly over a flame. You'll find that it's more heat-resistant than ordinary glass," Deren explained. "At last, I found a formula that produces glass with good heat resistance. Its melting point is several hundred degrees higher."

Chromie had already pulled out a magnifying-glass-like Time Lens and was examining the glass from every angle. "Its internal structure is exceptionally stable... Wait!" Her eyes suddenly widened. "What did you mix into the potassium sulfate? Why is it more heat-resistant?"

Deren and Onyxia exchanged a glance.

"Trade secret." The human smiled as he removed his protective gloves and pointed at a pile of bizarre ores.

Chromie soon found out why Deren wanted to make heat-resistant glass.

In Ironforge's Craftsman Hall, Prince Copperbeard's booming voice shook coal dust from the ceiling.

"By my beard!" He waved a pair of iron tongs holding a reddened piece of glass, freshly taken from the furnace after more than ten minutes of heating. With a clang, he flung it onto the floor. It did not shatter.

"Not bad. More heat-resistant and sturdier than ordinary glass. I'm interested." Prince Copperbeard nodded in satisfaction, then asked, "Where's the formula?"

Deren immediately produced a sheet of parchment covered in different minerals and figures.

Prince Copperbeard snatched Deren's parchment and squinted as he studied it closely. "Human, you're not afraid I'll learn the formula and refuse to pay you?" His red beard trembled. "You're not a fool, are you?"

Deren smiled. "You do need to watch out for Goblins. But Dwarves can be trusted to be as dependable as the earth itself."

Prince Copperbeard burst into laughter. Turning around, he roared at the craftsmen behind him, "Go to the Furnace District and make a trial batch!"

The dwarf engineer snatched the formula and rushed out with several apprentices in a flurry. Deren calmly took a sip of ale—he had long expected that the Dwarves would not believe him so easily.

"Come, drink! We'll wait here for a while first." Prince Copperbeard ordered his men to prepare a huge spread of roast meat and fine drink, enthusiastically urging Deren to have some.

"And this—" Prince Copperbeard picked up Deren's Giant Reactor blueprint, his eyebrows nearly rising into his hairline. "Are you sure this is 'agricultural equipment'?"

On the blueprint, the reactor's dimensions were absurdly enormous, and the size of its bolted connectors clearly had not been designed for humans or Dwarves—they looked more like they were meant for the claws of some colossal creature.

Deren's expression did not change. "Kalimdor's land is barren. We need to produce fertilizer on a large scale."

Prince Copperbeard gave a grunt, his thick fingers tapping a detail on the blueprint. "Then what the hell is this 'Corrosion-resistant Dragonbreath Coating'? Fertilizer equipment needs protection from dragon breath?!"

Onyxia, standing behind Deren, gave a light cough.

Deren remained composed. "It's just exaggerated wording—a symbol of how durable our equipment is."

Prince Copperbeard stared at him for three seconds before suddenly bursting into laughter. "You lad are either a genius or a swindler!" He slapped Deren hard on the shoulder—nearly pounding him into the ground. "But it doesn't matter! As long as the glass formula is real, Dwarves don't care whether the customer is a madman or a demon!"

Two hours later, the craftsman who had left earlier charged back into the hall, his face flushed with excitement and a freshly cooled glass pane raised in his hands.

"Prince! It worked!" His black beard had curled from the intense heat, but his eyes shone as though he had discovered a new vein of ore. "The melting point is three hundred degrees higher than ordinary glass! This has countless uses!"

At last, Prince Copperbeard smiled. He turned and extended his callused hand to Deren. "Deal! The equipment you want will be delivered in about a month. For the sake of the formula, I can give you a thirty percent discount. What do you say?"

Deren shook his hand, the corner of his lips lifting slightly. "Pleasure doing business with you."

"Good. Then you can settle the payment when you come to collect the goods. You trust this old Dwarf so much, and this old Dwarf is happy about it. I trust you too." Prince Copperbeard pulled him into a huge embrace, nearly squeezing the breath out of Deren.

Several days later, inside the Stone House of Treasure Bay, Onyxia's dragon eyes glimmered faintly in the dark. She irritably tapped the table with the tips of her claws, leaving several charred marks in the wood.

"A Goblin's mouth is more loose than a siren's song," she hissed softly. "And when Dwarves drink too much ale, they'll spill even their ancestral forging secrets!"

Deren sat at the workbench, recording the details of recent transactions in a ledger. Hearing her complaint, he did not look up, though the corner of his mouth curved faintly upward.

"Let them spread it," he said casually. "The more outrageous the rumors, the better."

Onyxia's tail lashed sharply, nearly knocking over a beaker on the table. "Have you lost your mind? What if it reaches Father's ears—"

"So what if it reaches Deathwing's ears?" Deren finally set down his pen and looked up at her, a crafty gleam in his eyes. "'Onyxia is farming in Kalimdor'—even Bronze Dragons would take that as a joke."

Chromie poked her head out of a Time Rift, half a cookie still clamped between her teeth. "He's right," she added indistinctly. "The most successful lie on a Timeline is making everyone think you're hopelessly stupid."

Onyxia narrowed her eyes. "For example?"

Deren rose and took a bottle of cloudy liquid from the shelf—a sample from their newest batch of "fertilizer," giving off a pungent ammonia smell. He shook the bottle and put on an exaggerated, almost comical expression of sorrow.

"Oh, revered Deathwing! Your daughter has recently become obsessed with... uh, 'agricultural innovation'!" He pinched his throat and imitated the shrill voice of a Goblin merchant. "Every day, she stirs stinking fertilizer and bought dozens of giant manure barrels from the Dwarves!"

The corner of Onyxia's mouth twitched.

Chromie burst out laughing, spraying cookie crumbs everywhere. "Perfect! Even N'Zoth wouldn't suspect a thing!"

Deren set down the bottle, his expression turning serious again. "The more people believe we're fooling around, the safer our real operation will be." He unfolded a map and pointed deep into the Swamp of Sorrows. "Once the equipment arrives, we'll build the factory in your old lair."

Onyxia stared at the map and suddenly sneered. "And my father will only think I'm using an 'Agricultural Company' to cover up a smuggling operation."

"Exactly." Deren nodded. "He might even be pleased—'Ah, my daughter has finally learned how to make money through business.'"

Chromie clapped her hands. "When several hundred tons of 'fertilizer' are piled into the lair—"

"—that will be Worldbreaker's doom." Black Flame ignited in Onyxia's dragon eyes, reflecting the spot circled in red on the map: Grim Batol, the fortress where Deathwing appeared most often.

The night wind swept past the window frame. The three fell silent for a moment, then simultaneously revealed dangerous smiles.

Deren's finger slowly traced across the map, extending from Treasure Bay's harbor to Theramore's docks before finally stopping at an abandoned Black Dragon watchtower on the edge of the Swamp of Sorrows.

"All supplies will be shipped to Theramore first," he said quietly. "Then a 'third party' will transfer them into the swamp—we absolutely cannot let anyone discover that we have direct ties to the Black Dragons."

Onyxia's dragon eyes narrowed slightly. "Jaina won't allow Black Dragon forces to infiltrate her city."

"So we need a 'neutral' agent." Deren looked at Chromie, the corner of his mouth lifting.

Chromie pursed her lips but still snapped her fingers. She looked different from her previous Gnome mage appearance, and her ornate robes had been replaced with a plain set of Gnome work clothes.

"Milo Wrench," she said in a deliberately lowered voice. "A newly arrived Gnome alchemy supplier in Theramore, specializing in the import and export of 'high-efficiency fertilizer.'"

"Goblins only recognize money." Deren pulled out a hiring contract. "So, in The Sandbox's name, we'll hire an 'independent transport team.'"

The contract's terms were airtight:

Transport Route: Theramore Docks → Neutral Merchant Caravan → Southern Swamp of Sorrows (designated "Agricultural Experimental Field")

Disclaimer: In the event of a Black Dragon attack, The Sandbox bears no responsibility.

Special Clause: All employees must sign a confidentiality agreement. Violators will face "commercial arbitration." (Goblin slang: fed to sharks.)

Onyxia snorted. "A Goblin confidentiality agreement? It's less reliable than a Troll voodoo curse."

"That's why we need a second layer of insurance." Chromie—now Milo—took out a handful of bronze sand. "I'll sprinkle some 'Time Forgetfulness Powder' onto every contract. Anyone who dares leak information will forget their own surname within three days."

Deren's expression suddenly turned serious. "Jaina isn't the greatest danger. It's the spies Deathwing has planted in Theramore."

Onyxia's claws unconsciously left several scorched marks on the tabletop. "Father's informants could be disguised as merchants, sailors, or even Theramore guards."

"So 'Milo' must accomplish two things." Deren raised a finger. "First, let Goblins show themselves as much as possible when handling trade matters. Second, make sure to maintain magical disguises."

Chromie rolled her eyes. "Got it! I'm scared of Deathwing too, okay?"

In her High Elf form, Onyxia said coldly, "In one month, I want to see the full set of equipment in the lair."

"Don't worry." Deren patted the Dwarf order at his waist. "Prince Copperbeard has already accepted the rush fee."

"Now all we need is an 'accident'... to lure Deathwing into the pile of bombs."