The underground city

For anyone who had never encountered Azeroth, it was hard to explain just how awe-inspiring Blackrock Depths felt to a first-time explorer. Its scale was so immense and its layout so complex that you had to stay close to the others at all times to avoid getting separated, yet even then, you could still get lost. Nowhere else in all of Azeroth offered such intricate, magnificent scenery, nor did anywhere else hold so many secrets worth exploring and discovering. Almost all of Azeroth's finest ideas in underground city design could be said to have been distilled into Blackrock Depths.

In truth, Blackrock Depths was far more than a cave or a building. It was a city that represented the pinnacle of Dark Iron Dwarf civilization, both the starting point of an era in Azeroth and a treasure trove of Dark Iron culture. Those familiar with that culture preferred to call it by its other name-Shadowforge City.

This was a city that had everything. Besides its throne room and multiple barracks, Blackrock Depths had a bank, a temple, a main thoroughfare, an arena, a prison, a residential district, a craft district, a machine shop, a forge, an enormous lecture hall, a garrison fortress, and even a thriving tavern. It truly was an "underground city" in every sense.

When you entered this city, it was difficult to say exactly how many enemies you would face. No one had ever managed to determine just how many people lived in this city built above magma. The xenophobic Dark Iron Dwarves shrouded their underground city in mystery in the eyes of other races. It was so vast that, without a guide familiar with the city or a detailed map, few people relying on nothing but their eyes and sense of direction would avoid getting lost.

As he once again stepped into this eerie, deep city fraught with danger, the ultimate and most perfect expression of dungeon design in all of Azeroth, Diago felt his entire body tremble. It was not from fear or anything else, but from the feeling of returning to an old haunt as though a lifetime had passed. That was, in fact, the case. Having transmigrated to Azeroth, Diago had practically lived two lives. Though he had never actually been here in this life, memories from his previous one were being stirred from the depths of his heart, surging up little by little. It was the same Blackrock Depths, and he faced the same Dark Iron Dwarves, but the carefree pleasure of playing a game in his previous life was utterly different from his fearful, painstaking caution now. In this real world, you could not expect to cut your way through everything as you had in the game in his previous life. After all, at least tens of thousands of people lived in this city. Could you imagine two people slaughtering an entire city?

After passing through the broad passage guarded by Conqueror Pyron, the adventurers reached an open hall. Rather than a hall, it was more of an enormous underground cavern, one that rivaled the vast mining site at the other end of the passage in size. Compared with the uneven mine strewn with debris, however, this hall was considerably more level. Supplies lay piled haphazardly against the walls, providing the infiltrators with sufficiently safe hiding places.

The hall formed an irregular circle and appeared to serve as a transport hub. At least six enormous openings were scattered around it, leading to other parts of the city. Some were blocked by massive wooden gates, while others stood open. Dark Iron Dwarves guarded these passages, patrolling back and forth with enormous red dogs on leashes. These bloodhounds were said to have felhound blood. They were extraordinarily vicious and exceptionally good at detecting Stealth; even the craftiest Rogue struggled to escape their noses. The Dwarf dog trainer Grebmar had pioneered the taming of bloodhounds among the Dark Iron Dwarves, turning them into potent tools for patrols and manhunts.

For a hunter and a Druid, however, dealing with this problem was scarcely any trouble at all. Although a Druid's Beast Soothing was powerful, it required getting close to the animal and could not affect a whole pack of beasts, so a hunter's methods were the most effective option here. Diago took a dry, black, cake-shaped lump from the small cloth pouch he carried, crumbled it in his hand, then scattered the fine powder into the air.

"What's this? Can you eat it?" Masley asked curiously, breaking a small piece off the palm-sized dry cake. Before Diago, whose expression had changed drastically, could stop him, the glutton tossed the piece into his mouth and began chewing slowly.

"A little coarse, a little rank. It doesn't taste good at all." The Night Elf carefully savored it, giving Diago a suspicious look. The culinary god he knew would never make food so far below his usual standard. "What is this stuff? Didn't you make it?"

"I think you're better off not knowing..." the human hunter said haltingly. His expression was peculiar, caught somewhere between a smile and something else, looking a little contorted and painfully suppressed, as though he were constipated.

"Tell me. What is this?" Suspicions multiplied in Masley's mind. He had never seen that expression on Diago's face before, and an ominous premonition suddenly arose within him: I have to get to the bottom of this.

"Dragon dung. I collected it in the Badlands," Diago finally admitted helplessly. He had no choice; the Night Elf had seized him in a tight grip, and they could not afford to make a commotion here. It was hardly a rarity-the whelps of the Badlands evidently still retained the fine habit of relieving themselves wherever they pleased, and the stuff was everywhere in that desert. Still, he tried a little trick, saying "dragon dung" extremely quickly and slurring the words in the hope of glossing over them.

To his disappointment, however, Masley heard the words clearly and correctly understood their meaning. A Night Elf's long ears were not just for show.

Masley retched in disgust, but nothing came up. Bent over, eyes wide, he stared at his companion in disbelief. This was outrageous. There were limits to what anyone could tolerate! How could someone bully an honest fellow like this? And so the "honest fellow," Masley Bearhide, erupted at once. Fortunately, he still remembered where they were and did not shout. The Night Elf transformed into a giant bear, pinned Diago to the ground, and pummeled him. In close combat, no hunter was a match for a Druid in bear form. He even rolled back and forth on top of the hunter, crushing him until every bone in Diago's body cracked and popped. Khanifa watched the pair with great interest. It thought they were playing, just as it had with its brothers when it was a little leopard. It looked eager to try, very much inclined to join in.

"No. You are not doing that. Don't even think about it." Its master immediately sensed this dangerous thought through their soul bond. Struggling to poke half his face out from beneath the giant bear's backside, he sternly stopped it.

Only after quite some time did the brat of a bear finish venting his anger and lean against a corner, panting heavily.

"You should have told me what it was sooner!" Masley accused self-righteously. He was extremely unhappy that Diago had failed to stop him. Truthfully, the Night Elf wanted to die right now. It was too devastating to his self-respect.

"I didn't have time. Your hands were too quick," Diago answered with difficulty from the floor. He could not even find tears to cry and looked on the verge of death.

"You mustn't tell anyone what happened today. Otherwise... hmph!" the Night Elf threatened indignantly. If word of this reached Darnassus, how could he ever show his face again?!

"All right, all right. I won't." The human hunter rolled over and climbed to his feet. He quietly poked his head around the corner and looked outside. They really had made rather a lot of noise just now. Had their hiding place not been tucked between several stacks of wooden crates, and had the cavern hall not already descended into utter chaos, they would certainly have alerted the Dark Iron Dwarves.

The Dwarves had indeed been alerted, but not by the adventurers. Their trained bloodhounds had suddenly gone berserk for no apparent reason, as though they had all contracted rabies at once. Every method Grebmar had taught them for controlling the beasts had failed. The doctored dragon dung had an effect on the bloodhounds beyond all expectation. Though it was only a palm-sized lump, and only the droppings of a whelp, the innate aura of the king of beasts still plunged them into utter terror, a helplessness of complete despair. The bloodhounds' sensitivity only magnified the power of Dragonfear over them. The beasts went wild, racing about as though they had lost their minds. Even their handlers' desperate tugs on the straps attached to their collars did no good. Some frenzied bloodhounds even lunged at their handlers and savaged them with their teeth. More of them, however, collapsed trembling on the ground, losing control of their bowels and bladders.

Taking advantage of the chaos, the adventurers crept toward the second opening on the right under cover of the shadows.

Compared with the two passages beside it, this passage made greater use of large stone-block masonry. It was therefore more regular in shape, looking no different from Dwarven buildings constructed entirely of stone on the surface.

The Dwarves called this place the detention block. Despite that name, it should really have been called the interrogation block. Most prisoners brought out of the cells-in the first passage on the right-were escorted here for questioning. It was not just outsiders-Orcs, humans, Bronzebeard Dwarves, or members of other races. Dissidents among the Dark Iron Dwarves were sometimes brought here as well. According to Ofist, many of them had suffered considerably here, and some had never been heard from again after arriving. It was a place of terror that made even the Dark Iron Dwarves themselves shudder at its mention.

The passage was straight and spacious, with many neat little rooms carved out symmetrically on either side. These rooms were used to interrogate less important prisoners.

The passage reeked of a nauseating mixture of blood, urine, feces, and the scorched stench of roasting flesh. Dark brown marks spattered the walls on either side, which Diago guessed were dried bloodstains. Numerous instruments of torture also hung on the walls. From some of the little rooms came occasional bloodcurdling screams. In the shadows of a corner, Masley looked around uneasily, but Diago knew this was only the outer area. The hall ahead was where the real spectacle lay.

Interrogator Gerstahn was in charge of the hall. There had once been rumors that she was a spy sent here by the Twilight's Hammer, but those rumors had never been confirmed. She was, however, indeed a Shadow Priest of some evil god. Those she had tortured with Shadow Word: Pain knew that well.

When it came to torturing their opponents, all the other races of Azeroth combined could not match humans. Perhaps that was why this woman had been invited here.

The successive disturbances in the mine and the central hall had not drawn the Dark Iron Dwarves' attention. Everything here still seemed calm, no different from usual. As the adventurers made their way down the passage, the Dwarves continued going about their own business, looking busy and hard at work, with no attention to spare for anything else.

Even so, after sneaking through the shadows for a while, the adventurers began finding it difficult to make any headway. There were simply too many Dark Iron jailers moving through the area. Several times, passing Dark Iron Dwarves accidentally brushed against Masley as he hid in the shadows. Though he was not exposed, the suspicious look one of those Dwarves gave the empty air nearly made him lash out and silence him.

And so, after advancing about fifty yards, the adventurers had no choice but to find an empty little room and slip inside.

It appeared to be an equipment storeroom. Several rows of shelves stood in the middle, packed full. Numerous wooden crates were piled around the room's edges, giving it a somewhat disorderly appearance.

"What do we do?" Masley asked anxiously. Diago had already told him that Interrogator Gerstahn held the key to the cell where Marshal Windsor was imprisoned. He did not want to storm the prison; that would cause far too much of a commotion.

"I have a way," Diago said confidently. For a veteran who had spent ten years getting by in Azeroth, this really was not much of a problem.

Note: Dragonfear-dragons were native creatures born almost alongside Azeroth itself, and the creator Titans had further granted them the tremendous power to safeguard the world. They were therefore a form of life that transcended other creatures. Faced with their immense power and enormous bodies, almost all creatures experienced a sense of despair and helplessness. Mild cases resulted in slower reactions; more severe cases left their enemies unable to move, or even drove them into a frenzy in which they lost all reason. Even the bravest Warrior inevitably suffered a considerable reduction in fighting ability when facing a dragon. This naturally emanating aura could be called the dragons' greatest weapon for subduing others without a fight.

It was not only dragons themselves. Sometimes severed limbs, scales, and even excrement shed from their bodies retained a trace of heart-pounding Dragonfear. Generally speaking, the more sensitive a creature was, the more intensely it perceived Dragonfear. And that was before accounting for the potent irritant drugs Diago had added to this lump of dragon dung.