Theramore's Doubt

The morning mist over Theramore Harbor had yet to disperse when Chromie—or rather, "Ms. Milo Wrench"—was already standing by the docks, her golden eyes fixed on the horizon behind round-rimmed glasses. She held a thick ledger in her arms, occasionally scribbling in it with a quill while muttering, "Time is money, efficiency is life..."

In the distance, three goblin cargo ships slowly sailed into port. The Sandbox's gold-coin emblem gleamed brightly on their sails in the morning light.

"Finally." Chromie adjusted her glasses, a shrewd smile curling across her lips.

The moment the ships docked, a goblin in an elegant silk vest leaped ashore. He wore a Gold-rimmed Monocle and held a gem-studded calculator, with several muscular Goblin Slave Porters following behind him.

"Ah! Ms. Milo!" The Goblin Accountant hurried over and enthusiastically seized Chromie's little hand, shaking it. "Right on time, not a second late! The Sandbox values the spirit of contracts above all else!"

Chromie gave him a professional smile. "Of course, of course. Is all the cargo here?"

The Goblin Accountant patted his chest. "Sulfur, saltpeter, custom containers—everything according to the order, not a single copper short!" He leaned closer and lowered his voice. "However... shipping costs have gone up by five percent."

Chromie raised an eyebrow slightly. "Oh? I recall the contract saying 'free shipping.'"

The Goblin Accountant gave an awkward laugh. "The seas have been rough, you understand..."

Chromie sighed and pulled a sheet of paper from her ledger. "Fine, five percent—but if you pull this trick again, I'll go work with the Rustwater Syndicate."

The Goblin Accountant's face changed instantly, and he hurriedly waved his hands. "A misunderstanding! It's all a misunderstanding! Shipping at the original price, the original price!"

Chromie nodded in satisfaction, then directed the Goblin Transport Team to move the goods into a warehouse she had rented in advance. The warehouse stood on the edge of the Theramore docks, far from Jaina's Mage Tower but conveniently located, making it ideal for transferring "special cargo."

As the goblins hauled the goods, Chromie casually asked, "By the way, how has trade between the Sandbox and Theramore been lately?"

The Goblin Accountant's eyes lit up. "Business has been great! Especially grain and..." He suddenly lowered his voice. "Special merchandise."

Chromie smiled. "Is that so? It seems we can work together for a long time."

"Of course! Of course!" The Goblin Accountant rubbed his hands together, his gold teeth gleaming. "As long as the profit's good enough, the Sandbox will even do business with demons!"

Chromie watched the Goblin Transport Team leave, then locked the warehouse doors. Looking at the piles of goods, she felt a little pained. After all, she had bought all of it with her private funds.

Chromie stood on tiptoe again to count the sulfur barrels, worried the goblins had cheated her. She couldn't exactly use magic in Theramore, so she had no choice but to count them one by one herself. A smudge of dust clung to the tip of her nose, and her round glasses had slipped down her nose. With a quill clenched between her teeth and the ledger spread across a crate, her fingers rapidly calculated. "Twenty barrels of saltpeter... thirty of sulfur... Hm? Why is there one bag of aluminum powder missing—"

Suddenly, the temperature inside the warehouse plummeted.

Dragon scales instantly surfaced beneath Chromie's skin—an instinctive reaction whenever a Bronze Dragon encountered danger. She spun around sharply, and her quill dropped to the floor with a clatter.

Jaina Proudmoore had somehow appeared in the middle of the warehouse. Arcane Energy swirled around her fingertips, while frost spread over the ground from beneath her boots. Her gaze swept over the mountain of goods before finally settling on Chromie.

"Ms. Milo," Jaina said, her voice colder than a northern wind, "explain yourself."

Chromie swiftly adjusted her glasses to conceal her faintly glowing eyes. "Honored Lady Proudmoore! These are all legal agricultural materials—"

Jaina's Mage Hand abruptly tore open a wooden barrel, filling the air with sulfur powder. Then she used Arcane Energy to lift a bag of aluminum powder, her brows furrowing tightly. "Sulfur, saltpeter, aluminum powder... and these beast hairs and horns." With a flick of her fingers, a barrel of viscous fuel floated into the air. "Are you sure this is a 'fertilizer' formula?"

A thin sheen of sweat appeared at Chromie's temple, but she maintained the ingratiating smile characteristic of a gnome merchant. "Of course! Our Super Growth Agent requires special catalysts! Look at this—" She suddenly pulled out a small packet of white powder. "Potassium sulfate compound fertilizer! Certified by the Dalaran Agricultural Research Institute!"

Jaina took the packet, Arcane Energy flickering at her fingertips. The detection spell showed that it truly was fertilizer—but suspicion still filled her gaze.

"Then what are these?" She pointed at several sealed iron barrels in the corner, labeled "Premium White Sugar."

Chromie's heart nearly stopped. Inspiration struck in her desperation. "Sugar promotes fermentation! It can produce organic acids! It improves soil acidity and alkalinity!"

Jaina lightly tapped her staff with her fingertip, every sound seeming to strike directly against Chromie's taut nerves. "I've read Advanced Alchemy, Ms. Milo. The ratios of these materials... are very unusual."

Chromie suddenly pulled out a wrinkled piece of parchment, covered in an exaggerated flowchart. "Look! This is our latest Barrens Soil Improvement Plan!" She pointed at a complex chemical formula. "The white sugar is merely a catalyst carrier here!"

Jaina's gaze shifted back and forth between the parchment and the cargo. At last, she put away her staff, and the frost in the air slowly dissipated.

"Remember this: Theramore permits no threats." Her figure began to fade as Arcane Energy rippled around her. "I'll be watching your 'agricultural development.'"

With a flash of blue light, Jaina vanished, leaving behind only a few drifting ice crystals.

Chromie's legs went weak, and she collapsed directly onto a barrel of saltpeter. Taking off her glasses to wipe them, she let out a long breath. "Time above... that was more exhausting than dealing with Nozdormu..."

Suddenly remembering something, she sprang up and rushed over to inspect the seals on the iron barrels—fortunately, Jaina had not noticed the tiny Bronze Dragon mark at the bottom of the barrels. It was a hidden mark Chromie had made with time magic, visible only to the Dragon Race.

"Deren was right," she muttered as she took out the Time Sandglass. "Next time, I need to put a Jaina Detector at the warehouse entrance..."

Jaina returned to her office, which lay beneath the cold blue light of crystal lamps. Thick oak desks were piled with parchment scrolls and magical letters. Beyond the window, the Theramore Harbor lighthouse beam swept regularly over the sea, casting her shadow across the wall—stretching and shrinking, like her turbulent thoughts.

Her fingertips paused over a letter sealed in wax—Kael'thas's Request for Aid. The parchment still retained the distinctive scent of magical ink from the Violet Citadel, and the handwriting was slightly messy from the urgency of its writer:

"Jaina, the Scourge has breached Quel'Thalas's defenses. High Elf refugees are currently..."

The quill tip softly scraped against the edge of the ink bottle. She instinctively wanted to write a reply, but another document suddenly caught her attention—a hide scroll sent by Thrall's messenger, its edges still carrying the dry windblown sand of Durotar.

"My old friend, game in the Barrens is growing scarcer by the day. Our hunters have no choice but to..."

Jaina's temples throbbed. She pressed a hand against her forehead while the other unconsciously stroked the Crystal Ball on the desk. Within it appeared scenes from outside Theramore: a goblin caravan transporting suspicious goods, and farther away, faint traces of Black Dragon activity amid the mist of the Swamp of Sorrows.

"Lady Proudmoore?" A gentle knock came from outside. Her adjutant cautiously poked his head in. "The envoy from Stormwind City has arrived, regarding the Undead and the formation of a joint army."

Jaina's fingertip swept across the Crystal Ball's surface, and the image immediately switched to the harbor warehouse. In the replayed magical projection, "Ms. Milo" was animatedly explaining something to a sulfur barrel.

"Tell him to wait." Jaina suddenly rose to her feet, the wind stirred by her robes sending several documents fluttering. "Prepare a ship. I'm going to the swamp myself."

The adjutant widened his eyes. "Now? But there are rumors that—"

"That's precisely because there are rumors." Jaina took a dagger engraved with protective runes from a hidden compartment in her bookshelf. "If a Black Dragon has truly become active again in the Swamp of Sorrows, I need to confirm whether that one has returned."

Jaina's frown deepened. She recalled the vision she had seen during divination three days ago: a thread of uncertainty and chaos was eroding the hazy future.

"Tell the envoy," she said at last, slipping the dagger into a hidden pocket of her robes, "Theramore will stand with the Alliance."

When the blue light of the Portal flared up, the corner of a document pinned beneath a paperweight was revealed. It was the Theramore Tax Office's latest report:

"Recent procurement list of The Barrens Agricultural Development Company:

Rope × 30 rolls

Iron nails × 15 barrels

Jerky × 50 pounds

Hard black bread × 50 pounds

Note: Suspicious but legal."

Jaina vanished amid the arcane radiance.

The thin mist before dawn shrouded the northern trade road out of Theramore, where six reinforced Goblin-made cargo wagons groaned under their burden. Each wagon was pulled by two sturdy packhorses, their wheels carving deep ruts into the muddy road.

"Tie everything down tighter!" The Goblin foreman Gristok leaped onto the pile of cargo and rapped an exposed steel beam with his wrench. "If this shipment goes missing, The Sandbox will turn us into mechanical snowmen!"

The wagons were crammed with an assortment of supplies:

Steel plates labeled "Premium Fertilizer Containers" (actually meant for reinforcing dragon nests)

Linen ropes soaked in fireproofing potion (there was no tool cheaper or more useful than rope)

Barrels of lime stamped "For Agricultural Use" (with heat-resistant ceramic lining hidden at the bottom)

Even several crates of dry, hard bread and jerky (Deren's daily staple)

When the convoy reached the edge of the Swamp of Sorrows, the lead packhorse suddenly snorted uneasily. The Goblins exchanged glances and, as if by mutual understanding, began untying the reins—the Accident Insurance contracts at their waists were faintly heating up.

"It's here! It's here!" the lookout Goblin shrieked, pointing at the sky.

A black shadow tore through the morning mist. In her dragon form, Onyxia circled low overhead, the foul wind stirred up by her wings making the wagon tarps flap violently. She deliberately spat out a wisp of Black Flame, instantly charring a dead tree by the roadside.

"Run!" the Goblins shouted in unison, scattering in every direction. Some even activated rocket boots, leaving behind trails of scorched footprints.

Onyxia watched the fleeing Goblins with satisfaction, a cruel curve lifting the corners of her dragon maw. With a casual hook of her claws, all six wagons rose into the air—then one of them suddenly fell apart, raining iron nails down like a storm.

"Damn shoddy human craftsmanship," she muttered, welding the broken axle back together with dragon breath. She failed to notice an iron nail wedged between the scales of her right claw.

As the black dragon carried the wagons into the depths of the swamp, the last fleeing Goblin abruptly stopped. After gathering the scattered packhorses, he headed briskly toward Theramore.

Outside the newly built "factory" in the Swamp of Sorrows, Deren was checking the supplies against the list.

"Half a crate of iron nails is missing." He frowned at Chromie, who was gnawing on bread. "And three rolls of fireproof rope."

Onyxia returned in her elf form, rust still clinging to the knuckles of her right hand. "Losses. On the road." She suddenly flicked her hand, and a bent iron nail clattered to the ground.

Deren raised an eyebrow. "So that's why you wouldn't let me inspect your claws earlier?"

The Black Dragon Princess's ear fins instantly flushed crimson. She roughly hoisted a stack of steel plates and marched toward the warehouse.

"Extra food tonight!" Deren cheerfully pulled out the jerky and bread. How about making some meat soup and dipping the bread in it? he thought happily.

Happy cries from the Whelps drifted over from afar—they were using the empty cargo wagons as slides.