The choice

Masley crept forward along the rock wall, while Diago followed behind him beneath the Lizard-skin Cloak. The color-changing cloak had now turned as black as dark iron ore, blending perfectly into their surroundings.

Whenever a slave digging beside the wall pushed his mine cart away toward the center of the mine, they would slip past the stretch where he had been working. Then came the next slave, and the next.

They made slow progress. Nearly an hour passed, and they had covered only forty or fifty meters, because the slaves dug at different speeds. The immensely strong ogre slaves might fill a cart with ore in just a few strokes, while the dawdling gnoll slaves might fail to fill one in half an hour.

"Aren't we there yet?" Masley asked impatiently. He deeply disliked this dark, cramped underground environment. This really isn't a place for a Night Elf, he grumbled inwardly.

"Don't rush, Masley. We're in no hurry. There's no night or day in the Great Forge. It's always like this here, so you don't need to worry about dawn," Diago said offhandedly as he watched their surroundings. For a competent hunter, patience was always the most valuable quality.

"But I..." Masley wanted to complain some more, but Diago pressed a hand against his shoulder, signaling him to be quiet.

Once quiet, the Night Elf finally noticed a figure moving in the shadows just three meters away. That section of the wall had been dug deep, creating a patch of shadow that the light could barely reach. Without looking carefully, it was easy to miss.

Masley felt sweat break out all at once, nearly soaking the back of his clothes.

The two watched the figure nervously, but he seemed not to have noticed anything on their side. He kept digging, pick stroke after pick stroke. Perhaps dissatisfied with the quality of the ore where he was working, he moved two steps toward Diago and Masley and chose a new spot to dig.

The two grew even more nervous. They pressed themselves against the wall, held their breath, and stayed perfectly still. For a moment, Diago even hesitated over whether to strike first and kill the slave laborer.

Once the man left the shelter of those shadows, they finally saw his features clearly. He was a typical Bronzebeard Dwarf, with bronze skin and a fiery red beard. His beard was divided into three sections, the middle one woven into a thick braid that reached his chest. Diago judged that he must be a meticulous man. Even reduced to slavery, the dwarf still tended his beard with care.

Diago studied the dwarf nervously from beneath his cloak. He could only squint, afraid to open his eyes too wide lest the dwarf notice their reflection.

But the next moment, he almost froze. The dwarf tilted his head slightly toward them and grinned. Diago could even see his white teeth gleaming in the darkness.

He spotted me! God, he spotted me! Diago shouted inwardly. He was certain the dwarf had seen him. He swiftly reached for the hatchet at his waist. If the dwarf cried out, he would have to stop him.

But the dwarf did nothing. He continued digging vigorously at the wall, then loaded the rocks he had dug out into the mine cart behind him, as though he had seen nothing.

"If you're an enemy of these black runts, then kick their asses good and hard in return for me not reporting you. Remember to kill a few extra for me..." he murmured, seemingly talking to himself.

Diago could barely believe his ears. He stood utterly stunned. Only when the dwarf slave pushed his cart away did he numbly follow the Night Elf forward.

For some time afterward, Diago remained distracted, nearly getting spotted several times as a result. If Masley had not pulled him back in time, he would already have been exposed.

Diago suddenly felt like changing the plan. He had originally intended to act like an assassin, killing with a single strike and vanishing far away. Now, though, he wanted more to make a real fight of it and rescue these slaves. But he immediately dismissed the thought, because there was no way he and Masley could accomplish it alone.

Yet the thought grew like weeds in his heart. In the brief time it took them to advance another twenty-odd meters, he had even begun considering the feasibility of the plan, constantly adding to and refining it.

Give it a try. If you don't try, how do you know it can't be done? a voice repeatedly tempted him from within.

"What the hell is wrong with me?" he cursed irritably. To be honest, he had never thought himself particularly noble, much less a saint. Even before crossing into this world, he had only ever scraped a passing grade in elementary school moral education. The greatest good deeds he had done were giving up his seat on the bus and helping old ladies cross the street. In recent years, he had not even dared help old ladies cross the street anymore. After all, he had arrived in this world only two months ago. There was no way he could go cheerfully to his death like those true people of Azeroth.

Strictly speaking, before crossing over, Diago had not been one of those unemployed shut-ins who loved Japanese anime and lived off their parents. In truth, he knew very little about Japanese anime and had a job of his own. He simply liked his life to be a little simpler and disliked going out.

This was not uncommon in today's restless, self-serving society. Such shut-ins often felt out of place in the reality around them. They confined themselves to a corner, passively resisting its ugliness and sickness. They did not want to become callous and cold-blooded, slick and worldly, much less have what little passion they had left worn away. Yet they lacked the strength to stand against harsh reality, so they could only keep their own integrity intact and immerse themselves in Plato's ideal world.

In Azeroth, the people Diago admired most were the heroes of the War of the Beast and the Man: Uther, Tirion Fordring, Anduin Lothar, and Turalyon. They embodied loyalty, courage, sacrifice, and honor. They were the incarnations of justice and virtue, punishing evil in the darkness, defending justice in adversity, and saving people from disaster. But Diago had never thought himself that strong. He was not yet ready to shoulder his own responsibilities.

Yes, you can't do it. You aren't that strong. You can assassinate that foreman and leave with a clear conscience. You're so much nobler than those natives. You can't die. You still have a wonderful life ahead... The voice mocked him ceaselessly from within, sounding cold and scathing. Oh, oh, oh-our great world-traveler can return to the surface now. He's done his best, just like the protagonists of those time-travel dramas...

Diago felt deeply wounded. Countless times, he had scorned those smug, conceited protagonists in transmigration stories who cared only about themselves, closing the book with a long sigh of frustration when he could bear no more. Those protagonists who proclaimed, "Establish a heart for heaven and earth, establish a purpose for the people, carry on the lost teachings of past sages, and bring peace to all generations"-which of them did not rack their brains and exhaust themselves climbing the ranks of officialdom, vying for dynastic supremacy, or becoming gods, sages, Buddhas, and patriarchs? What had they done for the worlds they had entered? Would they sincerely do anything for the people around them-the natives they regarded as NPCs? In their eyes, these natives were merely backdrops that highlighted their special status, stepping stones for their ascent.

Am I going to join the ranks of the people I despise now? Am I going to become someone like that? Once again, he searched his heart. What kind of person do I want to become?

No, I'm different from them. I'll never become someone like them! I truly love this world. I'm no different from the native inhabitants of Azeroth. I'm proud of my faction and my race. I long for this world's recognition. I long for honor! a voice shouted deep within him. That famous maxim suddenly surfaced in his mind, and it took almost every shred of reason he had to keep himself from shouting aloud.

Esarus thar no'darador! Every drop of blood in his body cried out. It was an awakening of the soul. The usually gentle Thalassian rang hard and clear as steel at that moment.

"For the Blood of Our People!" he repeated softly in Common.

Masley gradually reached the northernmost edge of the mine. This was already very close to the Cauldron, and the red glow of the lava made the area quite bright. The two of them had to be very careful to avoid being spotted.

Masley looked up and saw a flight of stone steps carved into the rock wall. The steps zigzagged several times along the wall before disappearing into the darkness higher up. According to Diago, that was the second level of the Great Forge, the area belonging to the overseers and guards.

He looked back and saw that his companion was still more than thirty meters behind him, which surprised him. Ever since they had left that Bronzebeard Dwarf, Diago had been acting very strangely, and it worried him greatly.

"Hey, Diago." The Night Elf felt he had to say something. In fact, this was something he had wanted to say all along before they reached this place. The wretched plight of those slave laborers had deeply stirred his compassion.

"What is it?" Interrupted in his thoughts, Diago raised his head somewhat impatiently and spoke sternly. His whole body was shrouded in darkness beneath the cloak. He looked icy, without a trace of living warmth.

Masley hesitated, which left him looking rather tongue-tied, but he finally mustered his courage.

"I think we should do something for them," Masley said earnestly, pointing toward the slaves in the distant mine, their hands and feet callused as they toiled in despair.

"Is that really what you think?" his companion asked in an unreadable tone. He pulled back the cloak covering his head, but his expression was hard to fathom. The red glow from the distant lava fell across his face, weaving shifting patterns of light and darkness, now bright, now dim.

"Yes. Elune said that no one has the right to imprison others for personal gain. That is the boundary between justice and evil," Masley said fervently. Those with faith were fortunate. When faced with a choice, they never needed to think too much; they simply followed their deity's teachings.

Diago said nothing, and the two suddenly fell silent. But Masley still watched his companion expectantly. He firmly believed that this human was a noble man who would not tolerate the evil deeds of the Dark Iron Dwarves.

"Yes, you're right. I think so too." Diago suddenly broke the silence. His voice sounded somewhat hoarse, but he looked as though a great burden had been lifted from him. The Night Elf sensed in him the steadfastness of someone who had made up his mind.

"I knew you'd agree with me, Diago!" Masley exclaimed in an excited whisper. He was almost jubilant, and his companion's return to normal finally gave him reason to be. "I hesitated over whether to tell you, but in the end I did, because I knew we were the same kind of person!"

Diago smiled without a word. With some difficulty, he swallowed to moisten his parched throat. He felt utterly exhausted, more exhausted than after a great battle. One step led to heaven, another to hell; the elevation and degradation of human nature often hinged on a single thought.

"We need to draw up a thorough plan," the Night Elf said excitedly.

"Let's head back first. We need to find a few helpers!" Diago said. He took a bottle of dwarven liquor from his pocket and swallowed a great mouthful. "I think this is what I need most," he told himself.

I wonder, will this chapter offend too many people?