The Ironforge Tomb

The two did not rest for long. To be honest, they did not need to; the fatigue brought on by excessive tension soon passed. After loosening their stiff bodies, they set off again.

Diago walked ahead, his familiarity with the place leaving Masley astonished. The Night Elf had lost count of how many times he had been thankful that his companion was a living map. But he did not ask why Diago knew so much-who did not have a story or two these days? Besides, Diago had already said he had lost his memory. Whether anyone else believed him or not, Masley did.

Only when they stood before the tomb did Masley realize that the structure atop the massive rock had not been built from stone blocks. The Dark Iron Dwarves had carved it directly out of the rock itself. Its shape somewhat resembled a Mayan temple, square and solid, but with only one level. Diago took out an adventurer's torch, lit it, and walked through the pitch-black stone doorway in the middle.

He used his torch to light, one by one, the torches held in iron rings along the walls. Their tops were hollow and filled with animal fat, allowing them to burn for a long time. By their light, the Night Elf carefully examined the murals on the walls. They had been made without paint or plaster, carved directly into the stone instead. Fierce battles seemed to have taken place here more than once, for some of the murals were covered in sword cuts and axe marks.

"This mural depicts the Titan-forged. Heavens, this really is ancient history. I wager even the Night Elves no longer have such lifelike records of what the Titans looked like..." Masley stroked the rough stone wall and sighed in heartfelt wonder-his archaeology obsession had flared up again.

"This one shows the Titan gods granting power to the Dragon Aspects. This dragon should be the Earth-Warder, the black dragon Neltharion. That's his distinctive broad, strong jaw. This one is the red dragon Alexstrasza, the Life-Binder. Sure enough, just as the legends say, she has gold rings around her horns. This one is..." The Night Elf suddenly flew into a rage. He stroked the hollow left where the dragon's entire head had been hacked away and began cursing. Diago had never imagined that the elegant, composed Night Elf could have such a savage side. "What son of a bitch did this? Didn't he know how precious these historical records were?"

"Orcs don't treasure Azeroth's history. These invaders from Draenor will never cherish the world we love." Diago pressed a hand against the Night Elf's shoulder and soothed him quietly. "We need to leave. We have more important things waiting for us."

Persuaded by his friend's words and his own sense of responsibility, Masley struggled to calm himself and reluctantly took his hand from the stone wall. The two continued toward the lower tomb.

With Diago leading the way, they walked along the long passage for a while longer. Thanks to the Dwarven craftsmen's peculiar tastes, the passage was more than tall and broad enough even for people of Diago's and Masley's stature, without feeling cramped in the slightest. Diago guessed that even tall, lumbering Ogres could charge in and turn freely. When they rounded the last bend, the walls stretched far away to either side before them, disappearing into the darkness. Masley felt as though he had entered a spacious hall. Behind them was scorching air baked by lava, but a cold, clammy wind blew into their faces from ahead. Masley could not help shivering. He stopped at the entrance and peered inside.

Diago did not stop, however. He walked inward along the wall, lighting every torch on it as he went. Once all the torches were burning fiercely, Masley discovered that he really was standing at the entrance to an empty hall.

There were no objects or decorations in the hall apart from the heavy stone coffin in its center. It was entirely Dwarven in style, plain and rugged, yet certain details displayed the Dark Iron Dwarves' superb craftsmanship. The coffin looked like a single seamless whole, leaving one wondering how Franclorn Forgewright's remains had been placed inside. Still, there were seams between the stones, almost invisible to the naked eye, though even the sharpest blade could not have slipped into them. Many murals and decorative patterns had been carved into its sides, presumably recounting the great life of its occupant.

Diago immediately caught the Night Elf as he rushed toward the coffin.

"Its owner is watching us, Masley. If I were you, I'd keep my distance. There's no question that Franclorn Forgewright was the greatest architect of his age, but that doesn't mean this Dark Iron Dwarf was kind." Diago pointed above the coffin as he spoke. Though he could not see anything, he knew what was there. As a former materialist, he did not fear the hardest battles against living enemies, but he still preferred to keep a respectful distance from mysterious beings such as ghosts.

The hunter's words brought Masley somewhat to his senses. He immediately activated his magical sight. Through it, he saw the ghost of a Dark Iron Dwarf glaring fiercely at him, waving its arms wildly. Its deathly pale face looked hideous and terrifying, and its mouth opened and closed incessantly, as though it were looking for someone to devour.

The Night Elf received a tremendous fright and instinctively backed away several steps. He did not know that the ghost was trying to tell him something, but clearly, some rule of the world prevented communication between the living and the dead. He had mistaken the ghost's agitation and impatience for malicious intimidation.

"We'd better leave first," Masley said fearfully. He finally knew where the chill and cold came from. Even the lowliest Druid apprentice knew that an environment filled with such negative energy was no place for the living to linger.

Diago said nothing more to him and instead turned toward the other side of the hall, where an exit led to the lower part of the massive rock. In fact, before his transmigration, there had been a story that entering this hall in spirit form would let one see the ghost of Franclorn Forgewright bound above the coffin. The ghost would even give players a quest, with a key that opened every secret door in Shadowforge City as its reward. Now, however, Diago had no desire to test whether the story was true. Even if it was, he could not guarantee that he could return to life after accepting the quest. After all, even for those powerful, mysterious beings, resurrecting the dead was a rather difficult undertaking. Besides, he already knew all about this quest and how to obtain its reward, so why put himself through dying once?

Standing at the hall's exit and looking out, Masley could not help swallowing. The gulp that accompanied the movement of his Adam's apple was clearly audible even to Diago beside him.

Before them lay a rugged path. Carved into the massive rock, the narrow trail coiled around it like a giant snake, winding clockwise downward. It was probably only wide enough for one person to pass.

The two hesitated for a long time before finally resolving to follow the path down. There was nothing but open air to their left, without ropes or railings, and they walked in terror. The trail was uneven, with some sections even slanting outward. This treacherous path appeared to have been deliberately designed that way. In truth, apart from a race like the Dwarves, with their low centers of gravity and broad bases, any humanoid would have trembled walking along it.

Moreover, these Dark Iron shorties clearly were not a tidy race. The path had never been swept and was covered in sand and pebbles. More than once, Diago stepped on them and nearly slipped. Right beside him, loose stones rattled down into the lava dozens of meters below, melting into it without so much as a hiss and becoming part of the lava. Sometimes Diago could not help wondering whether this was a vicious trap deliberately laid by the Dark Iron Dwarves to defend against attacks by the Blackrock Orcs.

The path ended before a thick iron chain. It was exactly like the three chains above, except that the rock wall it connected to was lower, barely a few meters above the lava lake. Masley was very worried that the surging magma might splash onto the chain.

There was no hesitation-they both knew hesitation was useless. When they entered this enormous space inside the mountain, they had understood their mission. In a person's life, there were always some things that had to be done.

"I think I must be mad!" Masley gritted his teeth and stepped onto the chain first. He did not even shift into cheetah form, although four legs would have made walking on the chain steadier.

"Actually, I was already mad when I decided to come here with you!" Diago corrected him. He drew a deep breath and stepped onto the chain bridge close behind the Night Elf.

As it turned out, what overcame fear was not an extra pair of legs but a strong heart. Someone had once said, "If an experience frightens you, the way to overcome that fear is to experience it again." Those words were indeed true. Once he began walking, Diago felt that this route was not as dangerous as it looked-after enough experience, some things were nothing more than that. He walked nonchalantly behind Masley, as though panic and fear could no longer trouble him at all.

The chain ended at a square stone platform, the base of a section of rock wall carved into an enormous pillar. The chain extended deep into the platform, looking almost as though the two were a single whole. Around the pillar, the platform offered a level surface roughly two meters wide. Near the stone wall was a recess barely large enough for one person to stand in. It had been neatly carved and looked as though it was meant to be a small shelter for a sentry. At present, however, this little room served no purpose at all; it was completely empty. Clearly, whether out of negligence or overconfidence, the Dark Iron Dwarves had stationed no sentries or guards here.

Diago did not see the Blood Elf named Lothos Riftwaker here either. That powerful teleportation mage had not yet arrived to offer aid to those setting out to defeat Ragnaros the Firelord.

On one side of the stone pillar, the Dark Iron Dwarves had cut a stone doorway into it. Diago and Masley cautiously poked their heads through the low doorway to look inside.

Before their eyes was an enormous stone hall. After more than a thousand years of excavation, this mine had been expanded to the size of four or five football fields combined. Although not a single pillar supported this vast space, the rich metal content of the surrounding rock kept its vaulted ceiling from collapsing. Unlike the gloom around the Great Forge, this hall was brightly illuminated by countless braziers and the glow of lava. At the newly excavated working faces, countless slave miners toiled away. Among them were humans, Troggs, Orcs, Bronzebeard Dwarves, and some Gnolls. Several fully armed Dark Iron Dwarf overseers patrolled among the slaves, shouting rebukes from time to time and giving the lazier workers vicious lashes.

Strictly speaking, this mine was merely on the outskirts of Blackrock Depths, also serving to provide some advance warning and forward defense. Fortunately, however, its floor was uneven and pitted, with irregular mounds of stone remaining in places. A few square rock pillars even stood in its center, providing some shadows. For the two of them and their panther, slipping inside silently would not be particularly difficult.

"What do we do? How do we get in?" Masley turned to Diago and asked. Over the past few months, as he experienced more things, the young Night Elf had begun to grow less rash. Such adaptation and change could hardly have happened so quickly in the peaceful, tranquil society of the elves. The Night Elves were too content, free of worldly desires and conflict. In some villages, nothing significant happened for years.

"Use those shadows." Diago pointed at the dark places beyond the firelight's reach. In truth, the Night Elf's and Khanifa's Stealth skills were more effective than his camouflage. The Druid and the big cat could move while in Stealth and were difficult to detect, whereas the hunter's camouflage was different. It was closer to a sniper's concealment, with a high chance of discovery the moment he moved. Without his Lizard-skin Cloak, Diago would never have dared move while camouflaged. He had to admit that this piece of lizard skin had helped him enormously, greatly enhancing his camouflage skill. At night, it looked as dull and gray as the darkness, but when the cloak moved or was exposed to light, it took on the colors of its surroundings. In a complex environment, it would turn into a pattern of small, mottled patches of color.

As far as Diago knew, only Inscription could produce a similar effect. It was a new art-Inscription-that would spread from the Undead Scourge a few years later, when the Alliance and Horde jointly launched an expedition to the northern continent of Northrend. Inscribers and enchanters were essentially alike. Enchanters made magic permanent on items, while inscribers etched inscriptions directly onto the human body-it had to be said that all those human experiments by evil necromancers had produced some results. These magical tattoos etched into the body could strengthen certain spells or skills of their bearers. For hunters, the most tempting was the Glyph of Disguise. Hunters bearing the Glyph of Disguise could move while camouflaged without revealing themselves.

At this point in time, however, the necromancers had not yet released their latest research, and no one yet knew what Inscription was. Diago had no interest in having someone draw on his body, either. He took out the Lizard-skin Cloak, draped it over his back, then lay prone and crawled into the mine. A few seconds later, the cloak began to darken, gradually becoming a mottled blend of the ground's reddish brown and the ore's deep black.