Azeroth's Appraisal Technique

Deren slumped in his chair, feeling as though an Ogre had used him as a punching bag all day. His fingers trembled slightly, and he could not even hold a teacup steady—the aftereffects of a night spent conducting explosion experiments had finally caught up with him.

From the next room, the hushed voices of Onyxia and Chromie drifted through the thin wooden wall.

"So, that recipe of yours could actually be improved a little more." Onyxia's voice was unusually light, even carrying a hint of... playfulness?

"Of course!" Chromie's pitch rose an octave higher than usual. "I saw the Dwarf Gunpowder Recipe in the Caverns of Time. If we add a little Bronze Dragon Time Crystal—"

"—then the explosion can be delayed by three seconds?" Onyxia cut in, her tone brimming with excitement.

"That's right! That way, you can run farther!"

Deren's eyebrows practically shot up to his hairline. He forced himself up and pressed an ear to the wall—when had these two dragons become so close?

On the other side of the wooden wall, the two female dragons in humanoid form were crowded around a crude wooden table. Onyxia had long since dismissed her elf disguise, her jet-black dragon tail lazily thumping against the floor; Chromie swung her short little legs, the Hourglass Staff laid across her knees like a child with a new toy.

A sheet of parchment lay spread across the table, covered in messy formulas and diagrams of explosions. Onyxia tapped a spot with the tip of her claw. "Here, if we switch it to Dragon Breath Catalyst..."

"No, no!" Chromie suddenly grabbed her wrist. "It'll leave magical traces! Like Deren said, we need to rely entirely on physical reactions!"

Deren's eyes widened on this side of the wall—Chromie had actually touched Onyxia? And that black dragon, who threatened to burn entire families at the slightest provocation, had not chopped off her claw?

Even more terrifyingly, Onyxia merely gave a soft snort and actually... allowed it?

"Then use this." The Black Dragon Princess pulled out a small bottle of sand shimmering with a bronze glow from her Scale Space. "I stole it from your staff last time."

Chromie sucked in a sharp breath. "When did you—forget it." She snatched the Sand of Time from Onyxia, but her eyes lit up. "This is enough to make three Delay Fuses!"

A wicked smile curled across Onyxia's lips. "I want two."

"Greedy!" Chromie puffed out her cheeks, yet obediently divided the sand into two portions anyway.

Deren finally could not hold back any longer and pushed the door open. "You two..."

The two dragons turned to look at him at once—one silver-haired and black-scaled, her face full of arrogance; the other a twin-tailed gnome blinking her eyes. The sight was so bizarre it made his scalp prickle.

"What about us?" Onyxia narrowed her eyes, her dragon tail threateningly curling around a table leg.

Chromie, meanwhile, grinned and shook the hourglass. "We're discussing how to help you survive your next experiment~"

Deren's gaze swept back and forth between them. Just yesterday, the two had been at each other's throats—one shouting about writing a resignation letter, the other threatening to stuff her into a Time Rift. And now they were sharing "little murder tricks" like best friends at a tea party?

"Women..." he muttered without thinking.

"Hmm?" Black Flame ignited at Onyxia's fingertips.

"I mean female dragons! Female dragons!" Deren hurriedly backed away. "Truly creatures full of wisdom and beauty!"

Chromie burst into laughter, while Onyxia flicked her tail with an expression that plainly said, "At least you know what's good for you."

Rubbing his temples, Deren retreated to his own room. Faintly, he heard a conversation behind him:

"Seriously, about your father..."

"Shut up, Bronze Dragon."

"But if you need Timeline cover..."

"...Thank you."

Those last two words were so soft they were nearly inaudible, yet they almost made Deren trip over the threshold. He looked back to see Onyxia awkwardly turning her face away, while Chromie stood on tiptoe and patted the black dragon's shoulder as though comforting a child.

Moonlight spilled in through the window, tracing these strange "sisters" with a silver edge. Deren suddenly felt that he might never understand the thought processes of female creatures—especially female dragons who had lived for thousands of years.

Half asleep, Deren suddenly heard something.

"Deren..."

A gentle female voice called to him in the darkness, as though coming from somewhere very far away.

"Don't disturb me..." Deren turned over and buried his face in his pillow. "We can test the recipe tomorrow..."

"Deren..." The voice came closer, carrying an ethereal echo. "Listen to me..."

"I said I need to sleep—" Deren suddenly froze.

That voice... was not Onyxia's, nor was it Chromie's.

He abruptly opened his eyes and found himself standing in a boundless starry sky. Beneath his feet, Azeroth slowly rotated—but unlike an ordinary globe, golden veins flowed across the planet's surface, rising and falling faintly as if it were alive.

"Hello, traveler."

Deren slowly turned around and saw a female figure condensed from starlight. Her long hair cascaded like a waterfall, countless stars reflected in her eyes, and when she smiled, ripples of stardust seemed to spread from the corners of her lips.

"A-Azeroth?! No, it should be Azeroth's Soul." Deren's voice cracked as he staggered back three steps. "Wait, this must be an Old God illusion! Chromie! Onyxia! It's a trap—"

"Stop calling. They can't hear you." Azeroth—or rather, the incarnation of her Soul—gently raised a hand, and the surrounding stars rippled like water. "This is your dream. Only I can enter it."

Cold sweat soaked Deren's back. He stared fixedly at the "Goddess" before him, his mind racing wildly: Old Gods excelled at beguiling people—this had to be N'Zoth's trick!

"Prove you're not an Old God," he said through gritted teeth.

Deren stared intently at the "Azeroth" before him, his gaze as wary as if he were looking at a counterfeit product.

"Prove you're not an Old God." He crossed his arms and repeated himself in an unyielding tone.

"Azeroth" blinked, a trace of confusion appearing on her starlight-forged face.

"Proof...?" Her voice was ethereal and gentle, carrying a trace of hesitation. "No one has ever asked me to prove myself."

Deren sneered. "Ha! You gave yourself away, didn't you? How could the real Azeroth's Soul be so lacking in confidence?"

Azeroth froze.

As Azeroth's Soul, this was the first time in billions of years that a human had dared speak to her like this. Of all those chosen guardians, heroes, and prophets, which one had not knelt devoutly before her, reverently listening to her guidance? Yet this scrawny transmigrator before her actually wanted her... to prove her innocence?

She tilted her head slightly. Her starlit hair rippled like water, and her expression was both bewildered and aggrieved, like a child who had been wronged.

Seeing this, Deren became even more certain—this was definitely an Old God trick!

Muttering to himself, he began circling the being claiming to be Azeroth's Soul again. "No tentacles, no corruptive slime..."

Could she be real?

But he was still uneasy. Old Gods were best at breaking through your defenses from within. Even the mighty Aspect of Earth had been driven mad by them, hadn't he?

Deren scratched his head awkwardly. "Let me think, let me think!" How exactly was he supposed to prove that Azeroth was Azeroth? That really wasn't easy.

Azeroth calmly said, "I know how you came out of Westfall!"

"What does that prove? Old Gods can read minds too!" Deren was not at all afraid of others knowing what he had done in Westfall.

Deren stared at the starlight-condensed Azeroth before him, his gaze still filled with suspicion.

After thinking for a while, Deren's eyes darted around, and he suddenly revealed a sly grin. "How about you curse people along with me? If you can repeat every curse I say, then I'll believe you really are Azeroth's Soul."

Azeroth: "...?"

"You need to repeat my words exactly," Deren said, raising one finger. "Then I'll believe you."

Azeroth's starry eyes blinked, her expression caught between confusion and curiosity. "Curse... curse people?"

"That's right!" Deren cleared his throat and suddenly raised his voice. "N'Zoth is dog shit!"

Azeroth: "..."

Her starlit face froze. As Azeroth's Soul, in all her billions of years, she had never... insulted any being so bluntly.

"Come on, say it after me!" Deren urged.

The Soul's lips trembled slightly. At last, she muttered softly, "N-N'Zoth is... dog shit..."

Deren shook his head in dissatisfaction. "No, no, your tone isn't firm enough! Again! Yogg-Saron is an idiot!"

The Soul: "..."

Her starlit body trembled faintly, as if she were engaged in some intense inner struggle. Finally, she took a deep breath—though she did not need to breathe—closed her eyes, and shouted, "Yogg-Saron is an idiot!"

"Good! That's progress!" Deren applauded. "Keep going! C'Thun is expired seafood market stock!"

The Soul's cheeks flushed with starlight, but she still shouted along with him. "C'Thun is... expired seafood market stock!"

Deren became more and more enthusiastic. "Y'Shaarj is just a farting bastard!"

Azeroth had completely given up struggling and shouted along with him in reckless abandon. "Y'Shaarj is just a farting bastard!"

"The Void is dog shit!"

"The Void is dog shit!"

"The entire Burning Legion is brain-dead!"

"The entire Burning Legion is brain-dead!"

"All Titans are perverted control freaks!"

"All Titans are perverted control freaks!"

"Elune is a narcissist!"

"Elune is a... wait!" The Soul suddenly covered her mouth, her starlit eyes widening. "Th-this isn't very nice, is it...?"

Deren planted his hands on his hips. "What are you afraid of? She can't hear you! Keep going! The Lightforged Legion is a pile of rock scraps!"

Azeroth held it in for a long time before finally muttering in a small voice, "The Lightforged Legion is... a pile of rock scraps..."

After cursing that final line, her starlit body glowed faintly, as though she had become so embarrassed that she was shining. Deren nodded in satisfaction and finally smiled. "All right, now I believe you really are Azeroth's Soul."

Azeroth sighed in relief, but then pouted aggrievedly. "...Why did you verify it this way?"

Deren answered with complete confidence. "Because Old Gods would never dare curse themselves like that, and the Void wouldn't curse itself either. The Burning Legion wouldn't admit that it's brain-dead, and the Titans would never call themselves perverts—so the only one who could curse along with me all the way through is the real Azeroth's Soul!"

Azeroth stared blankly at him. She truly had not expected such a method of verification. "...You really are a strange mortal."

Deren chuckled. "Now we can have a proper talk—so, what exactly did you come to see me for?"

Azeroth worked hard to compose herself, finally recovering the majesty of a World Soul. "I came to tell you that your actions have made me very happy. Back then, I accidentally summoned you into my world. Unfortunately, there was a slight mishap. Still, your achievements now satisfy me. Keep it up!"