The suspension bridge

It was the twenty-first year after the opening of the Dark Portal.

One day that October, Diago left Thorium Point with Khanifa and Masley.

In recognition of the tremendous service the two had done the Thorium Brotherhood, Thorium Point held a grand farewell ceremony. Ofist, Bornnait, and Skrang saw them off at the road leading down the mountain, while the other Dark Iron Dwarves sang their farewells from the streets and windows, every last one of them holding a cup of fine liquor. Faced with such enthusiasm, they would certainly have ended up dead drunk and delayed their departure by several days if not for Diago's staunch resistance.

Diago had never thought he had done the Thorium Brotherhood any great favor. Even if he had, the dwarves' help and gifts had been more than enough repayment, but the Dark Iron Dwarves clearly thought otherwise.

"Just send word, just send word!" Ofist cried, rather agitated, hugging Diago around the waist-which was, in fact, as high as he could reach. "Whenever and wherever you need us, send word. The Thorium Brotherhood will always be your most loyal friends!"

High Forger Bornnait was much more practical. He stepped forward and gave Diago an equally forceful hug, then handed him a bronze badge bearing the image of a burning anvil.

"Therum Deepforge in Stormwind City's Dwarven District is one of ours. He runs a smithy there with his daughter. If you need anything, go find him. He'll help you, and even if he can't solve the problem, he'll notify us," he said quietly. It seemed this dwarf was one of the Thorium Brotherhood's undercover contacts in the human world. For Bornnait to tell him even this, he must truly have trusted him.

Strang brought them a donkey. The Thorium Brotherhood had not managed to bring their riding lizards up from underground, nor had they learned how to tame mountain goats, so they had to make do with these lumbering creatures for the time being. Although both adventurers had a demon backpack, their belongings had accumulated throughout their travels, and the packs were becoming inadequate. Less important items such as blankets and outdoor cooking utensils were better carried on the donkey's back. Though a donkey was not the most docile or obedient beast of burden, it was better than nothing.

Before leaving Thorium Point, Diago destroyed the M1's blueprints and every trace relating to the rifle's manufacture. He did not think this rifle would remain more advanced than Azeroth's weapons, particularly its firearms, for very long. He especially knew that in a few years, when The Burning Crusade began, the spread of Draenei technology would bring Azeroth's firearms up to par with Earth's weapons. At this stage, however, he had absolutely no idea whether spreading automatic weapon manufacturing technology would have any serious effect on the course of Azeroth's history. To be safe, it was better to bury the secret deep in his heart. Attracting the Bronze Dragonflight's attention would not be a good thing.

After leaving Thorium Point, they took a little over a day to reach the Altar of Storms. The utterly ruined altar had lost its appeal to elementals and ogre mages and stood deserted. From here, they could already see the Blackrock Mountain Range to the south. The towering mountains were scorched black, with a faint dark red glow showing through in places where magma flowed within, erupting from time to time.

The journey had been exhausting, and the two seldom spoke or acted rashly. Had Khanifa's training of the donkey not provided some diversion along the way, the ambitions stirred by the divine revelation might slowly have cooled in that silence. They knew they were nearing the end of their journey, and it might be a terrifying end.

Although the north was already growing cold at this time of year, Searing Gorge remained as dry and hot as a furnace. Its southernmost reaches were utterly deserted, with few intelligent creatures besides Dark Iron Dwarves venturing there. Once lush and full of life, the land was now barren. Neither shrubs nor trees could survive here; only broken, blackened stumps remained to tell of its beauty long ago. They had reached the Firelord's lair to face their unknown fate.

They reached the foot of Blackrock Mountain without obstruction. Apart from the lifeless earth left by the Firelord, there was no trace of life here. This mountain range, renowned throughout Azeroth, looked taller and more terrifying than ever.

They camped north of the mountains. Not far from their camp, a stone-paved path stretched into a valley formed by two spurs of Blackrock Mountain, vanishing around a bend. Both knew where it led, but neither cared to mention it.

After a night's rest, they set out along the path. They followed its twists and turns for half the morning before reaching the entrance to Blackrock Spire beneath a cliff.

Diago and the two panthers stared at the enormous, dark stone gate before them. It was unmistakably dwarven in style. Aside from those Dark Iron shorties building huge gates to compensate for their height, Diago could think of no other creatures on the continent who would do something so pointless.

One half of the gate was shut, while the other stood slightly open, leaving a gap barely wide enough for a person to pass through. The open door was fifteen feet high and two feet thick. A smell of sulfur assailed them amid the drifting steam and black smoke.

Diago went in first. Thanks to his memories from before his transmigration, he knew there were no orc or dwarf sentries anywhere along the route from here to Blackrock Depths.

This immense fortress was a masterpiece painstakingly designed by the dwarven architect Franclorn Forgewright. All right, we had mentioned him more than once already, but we still had to say it: this Dark Iron Dwarf was the greatest architect in Azeroth in his age, bar none.

Blackrock Depths had been built after the destruction of the Dark Iron City of Thaurissan. After the dwarves had summoned Ragnaros in an act of near idiocy, he destroyed most of Blackrock Mountain, leaving Franclorn Forgewright to design and build this magnificent fortress as a new home for the Dark Iron Dwarves.

The fortress hollowed out the entire mountain and was divided into aboveground and underground sections. The aboveground portion was called Blackrock Spire, while the underground portion was called Blackrock Depths, home to the Dark Iron Dwarves' subterranean city, Shadowforge City.

During the Second War, a group of fleeing Blackrock Orcs seized control of Blackrock Spire from the Dark Iron Dwarves. From then on, the dwarves had been confined to Blackrock Depths. Farther underground lay Molten Core, a place filled with volcanoes and lava. It was the lair of their master, Ragnaros the Firelord.

The Blackrock Orcs did not enjoy their triumph for long, however. Nefarian, son of the great dragon Deathwing, descended from the sky, subjugated and enslaved them, and built his own lair, Blackwing Lair, atop Blackrock Spire.

Now, under their respective masters' control, the Blackrock Orcs and Dark Iron Dwarves fought fiercely for possession of the entire mountain. After suffering enormous casualties, both sides, unable to sustain their efforts, retreated to their lairs to lick their wounds, gather strength for the next campaign, and await the best opportunity. This also created a power vacuum here. Neither side dared send patrols into the area for fear the other would interpret it as a provocation. Until they were ready for war, any provocation would be ill-timed.

But this gave Diago and Masley an opening. They passed through the gate into a lofty passage, completely empty and bare. At the far end, they could see a crimson glow, a color both had grown very familiar with. It meant there was flowing lava ahead.

"Are you sure there aren't any enemies here?" the Night Elf asked uneasily, watching Diago stroll along as though he were in his own backyard, paying no heed to anyone. It was unbelievable. Along the way, they had not seen so much as a rat, let alone an orc or dwarf, as though the place had just undergone a thorough cleaning.

"I'm sure," Diago said confidently. He could no longer remember how many times he had come here in his previous life. He could find his way with his eyes shut.

As they proceeded into the mountain, the crimson light grew stronger, and the passage grew hotter-far hotter than Searing Gorge. Wisps of steam drifted past them, making them sweat all over. A sound also began pulsing in their ears, like something boiling and bubbling in a pot.

Masley felt as though he had been walking for a century. The thick fur of his cheetah form made the sweltering heat difficult to endure. Their donkey felt much the same. The lumbering beast was already restless from the heat and snorting constantly. Without Khanifa keeping it in line, it might long since have turned and bolted. In truth, however, they had not walked toward the red glow for very long. After about a quarter of an hour, the view suddenly opened up, and the two entered an enormous cavern within the mountain.

Before them lay a vast lava lake with steep, cliff-like shores. About forty meters above its surface, where they had just emerged, the dwarves had built a broad, circular bridge along the cavern walls, sloping down on both sides toward the opposite shore. At the bridge abutment across the lake, Masley saw a white light shining through, strikingly conspicuous amid the blazing red surroundings. That was the exit to the Burning Steppes.

An enormous rock hung suspended in the middle of the lava lake. Broad at the top and narrow at the bottom, the stone pillar resembled an egg covered in sharp edges. This egg was held in place by six immense chains extending from the surrounding mountainside in two tiers.

The chains were about four meters thick, made from the simplest interlocking cross links. Each link was square, the size of a tabletop, and cast entirely from dark iron. They fitted tightly together, each allowing only its two neighboring links to pass through, ensuring that the horizontal links sat snugly beside one another. All the links had been installed in an upright cross formation, allowing people to walk along either side of the cross's horizontal bar.

Interestingly, the rock walls anchoring the three upper chains had been carved into enormous statues of Titans. Their muscles bulged and their bodies leaned backward, making them look as though they were straining to pull the chains taut. The three lower chains were embedded deep within rock walls carved into pillars, with no risk of coming loose.

Atop the enormous rock stood a stone building erected by the Dark Iron Dwarves: the tomb of its designer, Franclorn Forgewright. Inside was a secret passage leading to the underground city of Shadowforge City. Many suspected this was a little indulgence on Franclorn Forgewright's part-everyone attempting to enter Blackrock Depths first had to pay their respects at the tomb of the dwarven architect who had surpassed all others of his age.

It would hardly have been an exaggeration to say Masley had forgotten to breathe. Neither human nor elven language had any words to describe his excitement. He had heard bards sing of Blackrock Mountain, but this surging lake of lava and magnificently crafted tomb suspended in midair utterly exceeded his imagination! Filled with shock and awe, he stared motionlessly at everything before him, completely forgetting why he had come.

He stood transfixed for what felt like almost a century. Finally, unable to help himself, he ran out of the passage, crossed the bridge deck, and reached its edge.

Masley carefully approached the edge of the bridge and craned his head to look down. A scorching blast struck his face, and he could almost hear his hair sizzling as it singed.

The lava lake was not the dark red of cooling lava, but an incandescent scarlet, making it look thinner and more fluid. The blazing lava flowed and rippled like lake water, its thick molten mass constantly swelling and churning as though an invisible hand were stirring it vigorously. From time to time, bubbles sheathed in lava rose from the surface, swelled, and burst, splashing thick gobs of molten rock.

Though he did his utmost to keep his legs steady, Masley felt utterly powerless before this terrifying vision of a molten hell. He let out a frightened scream and went limp, toppling toward the lake. Before he completely lost his balance, however, a strong hand seized his arm.

"Careful, Masley." His human companion pulled him back to safety, then released him.

He turned and saw Diago tie the donkey's reins to a stalagmite, then head toward the rock wall on the left. There was a recess there, which looked pitch-black from the passage entrance. Masley fell only a few steps behind, yet the hunter had already vanished from sight.

"This way, kid," the familiar voice called loudly from the darkness. Rather than activate his darkvision, Masley felt his way forward. Such a stark contrast between light and darkness was far too harmful to darkvision.

He moved along the wall. Looking outward from this position, he saw Diago Asnar on a protruding rock, trying to jump onto the chain tethering the enormous boulder.

"If you keep following the bridge to the left, there's a passage leading to the upper levels of Blackrock Spire. That's Blackrock Orc territory," Diago said, standing on the chain and pointing at the bridge below.

Masley looked south in the direction he indicated but could make nothing out clearly. He climbed onto the rock and jumped onto the chain as Diago had. Only then did he realize it was far thicker than it looked. This side alone was wide enough for two adults to walk abreast. That was only theoretical, however. In reality, no one would dare, particularly on the outer edge, because the chain was no low bridge, and the surface below was no placid water.

Although he had crossed this chain more than once in the game in his previous life, Diago discovered that he had overestimated himself when he actually stepped onto this suspension bridge in reality. Looking at the lava lake from the bridge and looking down from the chain were entirely different experiences.

Diago only discovered his fear of heights after walking seven or eight meters along the chain. He had merely glanced down without thinking when a sudden wave of dizziness struck him.

The surging lava rose and fell beneath his feet like a hellish tide, but the height itself was even more deadly. As someone afraid of heights, Diago needed almost every shred of reason he possessed to restrain his self-destructive impulse and keep from jumping. His heart stopped as though an invisible hand had suddenly seized it. A few seconds later, it began beating again, but so violently that it seemed ready to leap from his chest. As though his heart had set the rest of him shaking, Diago felt his entire body trembling and sweating. Within mere seconds, his clothes felt soaked through.

Years of use had worn the chain smooth and gleaming. It also sloped downward at roughly thirty degrees, making it even harder to walk on. Diago's legs weakened, and he could not help reaching toward the inside of the chain for support. Sweat from his palm fell onto the scalding iron with a faint hiss, but he seemed not to feel a thing, clinging tightly to the chain and not daring to let go.

"Don't look down, Diago." Just then, he heard a strained voice behind him, murmuring a prayer to hearten both his companion and himself. "We need not fear, for Elune is with us. She will strengthen us, she will help us, she will uphold us with her righteous right hand."

Diago turned his head shakily and saw the Night Elf trembling as he too held on to the chain. His purple face had turned ashen, but he still inched resolutely forward. Diago guessed his own complexion was no better, but the Night Elf's determination rubbed off on him, and he began mechanically inching forward as well.

"Are you certain this is the only way to Shadowforge City?" the Night Elf asked breathlessly. The Night Elves' capital, Darnassus, supposedly stood upon the World Tree Teldrassil, thousands of meters above the ground. By rights, Night Elves should not have been afraid of heights, but the sight before him clearly suggested otherwise.

"I'm certain," Diago replied. He felt as stiff as a robot and had to exert considerable effort to pry his jaw muscles apart.

"I curse whoever designed this iron bridge to hang from the very top of the World Tree! But why don't those stupid Dark Iron Dwarves station guards at the other end? I bet a single guard could stop anyone from crossing, unless they were a ghost," Masley said through gritted teeth. As far as Diago knew, some powerful Druids could transform into Storm Crows and soar through the skies, but this acrophobic Night Elf before him seemed clearly destined to have no such connection with the sky.

Diago pursed his lips. Though he knew perfectly well that few people came here except when the Dark Iron Dwarves and Blackrock Orcs were fighting, the Night Elf's ominous speculation still sent a shiver through him.

Well, the two snails crawled onward, babbling nonsense, neither knowing what he was saying. If a single dwarven rifleman on the far side had spotted them at that moment, he could easily have sent them both into the lava lake. Fortunately, nothing of the sort happened before they stepped onto solid ground on the other side.

They lay flat on the ground, gasping violently like large fish tossed ashore, greedily drawing every scrap of air into their lungs. Diago felt utterly drained and did not want to move even a finger.

"I wouldn't do that again if you killed me," the Night Elf said feebly, impressed that he had actually managed to crawl across. "We won't have to take another route like that, will we?"

Strangely, his companion gave no answer, only silence.

"Don't tell me..." A bad feeling came over Masley. He tilted his head to look at Diago. This remarkable human hunter always knew every route, as though he had visited those places before.

"Have I ever told you that you have a gift for being a far seer?" Diago asked helplessly, baring his teeth. His expression resembled that of a host from his previous life whose favorite line had been, "Congratulations, you got it right."

"Ah... just let me die!" The Night Elf knocked his head against the ground, wailing in despair. Just then, he heard Diago calling loudly to his pet.

"Over here, Khanifa! Well done!" the hunter praised delightedly.

The Night Elf struggled up from the ground and saw Khanifa bounding toward them along the chain. She looked nimble and agile, as though she were walking down a broad, level road.