Lordaemir Internment Camp

This was the third update, making up for an overdue chapter. Writing at night was such a pain. With all the stopping and starting, this chapter had taken three hours—not because it was hard to write, but because I didn't feel like writing. Considering how much effort it took, please show your support and add Jiaoshou's work to your favorites.

On that clear afternoon, the summer sunlight flowed brilliantly like watery musical notes, soaking through a different kind of beguiling sorrow.

After some time on the road, Dalaran was almost within sight. Once they passed the Lordaemir Internment Camp ahead, another two days of travel would bring them to Dalaran.

A short while earlier, part of the caravan had split off for Southshore. Monroe led that group, and with him heading to Southshore, Rex felt fairly reassured.

Looking at the Lordaemir Internment Camp before him, Rex had come here specifically to see it. There was no need to pass through it on the way to Dalaran; they could easily have gone around. But he would not miss this chance to visit the Lordaemir Internment Camp. Having come to the world of World of Warcraft, wouldn't his trip have been wasted if he never saw the orcs who could stand against humanity? Especially now, when the orcs were at their weakest: listless and bereft of fighting spirit, not yet the orcs who had rallied under Thrall's encouragement.

Thinking of Thrall, however, Rex felt no urge to act. He had no intention of killing him. Ever since crossing over into this world, Rex had worried about one thing: what changes would he set in motion if he altered history?

In an ordinary world, no matter how much a transmigrator shook things up, there would be no repercussions of that sort. Unfortunately, Azeroth had a group of irritating bastards who styled themselves as holy warriors and guardians of time, constantly correcting altered history. Yes, they were the shit-yellow, shit-yellow Dragon Aspects—the Bronze Dragonflight. Rex had never understood why they were called that. If it were up to him, he would simply have called them golden dragons. What an imposing name! It would instantly raise their prestige.

Although the shit-yellow dragons were nothing special in the game, with little collectible value and zero appeal—anyone could get one once they reached the required level—their standing had shot up in this real world. Sure enough, different perspectives and interests led to different attitudes toward things. As a player, he had found the Infinite Dragonflight the most annoying of all. Now, however, Rex adored them and desperately hoped they would wipe out his greatest threat, the Bronze Dragonflight. The reason he would not kill Thrall was precisely his fear that doing so would bring the Bronze Dragonflight down on him.

After all, Thrall was someone who would one day determine Azeroth's rise or fall. To borrow a phrase from fantasy novels, a smile from him could shake the winds and thunder, and his wrath could chill the seas.

So far, the Bronze Dragonflight had never interfered with him, as though they knew nothing of Rex. But Rex did not dare ignore them. Who knew when a few bronze dragons might turn up and invite him for a little chat? The Five Dragon Aspects were exceptionally gifted. Even their young had strength comparable to the fifth tier, while adults reached the Seventh Tier. Those of royal blood were stronger still.

This trading expedition to Dalaran was also a test on Rex's part. There had definitely been no such caravan in Gilneas's history, so his actions counted as changing history. Compared with killing Thrall, however, this was countless times less significant. Different degrees of severity naturally produced different consequences. Killing Thrall could lead to only two outcomes: the Bronze Dragonflight would appear, or they would not.

If they did not appear, that would be good news for Rex. If the Bronze Dragonflight did appear, they certainly would not care that he was a prince of Gilneas. With several Saint Tier dragons attacking him together, Rex could simply lie down and become a corpse.

There would be no way out whatsoever. Of course Rex would not do anything so dangerous. He was no saint, willing to throw away his own life to eliminate a major threat to the human Alliance. Rex cared about his family and friends. As for everyone else, one saying summed it up: whether you lived or died was none of his damn business.

Rex intended to test the Bronze Dragonflight's attitude step by step, to see whether there was truly a conflict between them and whether he was a target they were bound to correct. If so, he would definitely plan to join forces with the Infinite Dragonflight and wipe out the Bronze Dragonflight. As for the danger posed by the Infinite Dragonflight, he could not afford to worry about that when his own life was at stake. There was another possibility: perhaps everything he was doing now was already part of this parallel world's history. Like Thrall, he might be a great figure destined to influence Azeroth, in which case that line about a smile and a fit of wrath could apply to him too.

That was the trouble with Azeroth. Every last one of the Five Dragon Aspects was a disaster—not a decent one among them. Without them, perhaps Azeroth would be a better, more harmonious world, Rex thought spitefully.

As he looked at the Lordaemir Internment Camp before him, Rex's eyes grew unfocused. All the internment camps holding orcs had been built after the Second War ended. Who knew what had gotten into Arthas's father, the father Rex had inherited in this world? Why not simply kill them? Even if he could not bring himself to do it, plenty of people who hated orcs would gladly take on the task. He could even hand them over to the High Elves or the dwarves. If they wanted to kill them, let them; if not, so be it. How much of the Alliance's money had been wasted building these camps?

Orc prisoners kept pouring into the internment camps. The camps built across the land were filled to capacity, making it necessary to construct new ones on the plains south of the Alterac Mountains. That was how the Lordaemir Internment Camp had come into being. It was only one of a whole batch of camps built at the time, though. Close to Dalaran, it was not particularly large, holding only a few tens of thousands of prisoners. It also supplied subjects for Dalaran's mages to study. After all, many of those mages were very interested in the orcs' current weakened state, so unlike their former aggression and valor.

Rex sighed, unable to understand it. Perhaps this leader of the Alliance had some earth-shattering conspiracy in mind—no, some grand plan—and that was why he had spared the orcs. But later, his own son had killed him, and the truth had vanished into the river of history with him. That was merely Rex's own speculation; the real reason might have been something else entirely.

"Stop! You have no business here!" As Rex approached, a guard at the Lordaemir Internment Camp faithfully carried out his duty and barred the way for Rex and Rona.

(End of chapter)