Black Vault

This was the Dark Iron Dwarves' residential district, where most of the common people lived. There were no officials here, and everyone led an ordinary life. The disaster-plagued Dark Iron Dwarves had lived and multiplied here for generations, struggling to keep their civilization alive.

But to Diago's surprise, Twilight Cultists were everywhere, preaching to the dwarves. Stranger still, the local church of Khaz'goroth, Titan the Forger, raised no objections whatsoever. Religious wars were the cruelest and bloodiest of all; wars of faith between such fanatics were exceptionally savage and utterly irrational. The Crusades in Diago's previous life were the prime example. After taking Jerusalem, those religious lunatics had even slaughtered the city's inhabitants.

On reflection, however, this was hardly strange. In ancient times, Ragnaros the Firelord had been an enforcer for the Old Gods. As the actual ruler here, his suppression of the Forger's church and propagation of faith in the Old Gods were not hard to understand.

In fact, the Twilight's Hammer's system of beliefs was extremely chaotic. Most of its members worshipped the Old God C'Thun, but some worshipped another Old God, Yogg-Saron, and quite a few worshipped the four Elemental Lords under their command. Regardless of their sect, however, their ultimate goal was to destroy the world and return it to chaos.

These Twilight Cultists were a mixed lot, encompassing every race and unrestricted by their former allegiances-the Horde, the Alliance, or anything else. Among them were humans, orcs, tauren, and even trolls and gnomes. Diago even spotted a Bronzebeard dwarf priest weaving through the crowd, though, honestly, he seriously doubted how effective this preaching would be here, coming from a sworn enemy the Dark Iron Dwarves hated.

The two carefully threaded their way through the crowd, doing their best to avoid contact with these Twilight lunatics. Inevitably, however, dwarf guards patrolling the residential district stopped and questioned them several times.

"We're heading to Tinker Town to find Master Fineous Darkvire and ask him to repair my weapon." After showing his gladiator's badge, Diago repeatedly displayed the alarming slash across his gunstock. "Look, this gun's almost unusable. I still need it to keep me alive in my next arena match."

This story was quite convincing. Moreover, quite a few of these guards had neglected their duties to watch the arena fights and remembered the pair fairly well.

Diago and Masley made smooth progress along the way, causing no disturbances whatsoever. One gray-bearded guard even told them where to go to spare them a wasted trip.

"Fineous Darkvire seems to have gone to the Black Vault. The people there said the vault door's hinges weren't working properly and needed him to repair them."

This news delighted Diago. Fineous Darkvire normally stayed in Tinker Town and never came out. That place was full of enormous combat golems, immensely powerful dark iron giants. Unless absolutely necessary, Diago had no intention of taking a sightseeing tour there.

It lay on Shadowforge City's lower level, closer to the river of magma, and was unbearably hot. The smells of various lubricants mingled with the sulfur from the magma, creating an overwhelming, nauseating stench.

The two hurried silently toward the Black Vault. The streets here were not straight. While making use of the terrain, they were inevitably constrained by it as well. They followed semicircular streets, sometimes descending the ubiquitous stairs, sometimes climbing passages to emerge above a street they had just walked along.

They walked for a long time. Just as Masley began wondering whether he would die of old age here, Diago stopped in front of a building.

"We're here. This is it," Diago said with a sigh of relief. He raised his head and looked at the dwarven characters above the lintel. "Black Vault, Heart of the Mountain!"

Despite its name, the Black Vault was actually a dwarven bank. Its front half housed the bank's business premises, while the rear half was its vault. Of course, the vault sometimes offered safekeeping services as well.

The building had a spacious entrance hall, and Dark Iron dwarves streamed in and out to conduct all manner of business. Several fully armed dwarf guards stood on either side of the entrance, watching passersby with utter boredom.

What caught Masley's attention, however, were several stone carvings on the walls on either side of the building. They were so vivid, so exquisite.

"Wow, this one depicts the summoning of the Firelord," he said, entranced, stroking the surface of the carving. It made him look like a tourist rather than an infiltrator. "Look at the Firelord's face. Look at its flaming arms. They look absolutely real!"

"This one is much older. Look, the carving technique is more archaic, without all the elaborate flourishes of modern work." Masley pointed out details of another carving to Diago. "This carving depicts the Dark Iron Dwarves excavating Shadowforge City."

"Stop looking, Masley. We have serious business to attend to," Diago said quietly, tugging the reluctant night elf into the vault where the Dark Iron Dwarves' wealth was gathered.

Unlike the heavily guarded, prison-like banks back in China in Diago's previous life, which treated everyone like a potential thief, this banking hall was furnished with numerous small tables. Bank staff and customers sat around them conducting business. Diago noticed that some tables even offered drinks for customers to sample, including fine dwarven liquor.

When Diago and Masley entered, the guards at the door had not even asked them to disarm. Wasn't this a little too confident? Diago muttered inwardly.

"How may I help you?" A beaming Dark Iron dwarf approached the adventurers, showing no discrimination over their race, status, or anything else.

"I'd like to deposit a few things," Diago replied, clutching the money pouch at his waist and looking like a nouveau riche who suspected everyone of being a thief. "Someone told me this was the safest place."

"A very wise choice. Since the Black Vault opened, nothing stored here has ever been lost or damaged. This way, please," the dwarf said proudly, leading them to an unoccupied table and sitting down. There was a trace of apology on his face, but he looked thoroughly professional, with exactly the manner of the British butlers Diago had seen in films in his previous life. "If you aren't in a particular hurry, please wait a little. Our vault is undergoing maintenance. As you know, regular inspections are necessary to ensure the safety of our customers' belongings."

"No hurry, no hurry," Masley answered hastily. He was holding a cup of dwarven spirits and gulping it down, looking in no hurry at all.

The dwarf smiled, but it was a warm smile, entirely free of mockery. Such behavior was hardly uncommon among Dark Iron dwarves, and he was thoroughly accustomed to it.

"Then I remain at your service whenever you need me." The dwarf bowed, turned, and left-a true model for the financial industry, giving customers space rather than aggressively pitching and promoting services.

When will banks back in China ever reach this level? Diago marveled inwardly. He was certain that banks in other cities of Azeroth, such as Orgrimmar or Stormwind City, could never have such a relaxed atmosphere. This was also dictated by Shadowforge City's unique location. In this enclosed underground world, no bank robber could escape, and anyone hiding in the city could not evade a citywide search.

Diago sat in his chair holding a cup of mead, surveying his surroundings with feigned nonchalance. Several guards stood at the doorway between the banking hall and the vault behind it.

An opportunity. We need an opportunity, he murmured inwardly.

Diago felt that his luck was truly excellent today, because before he had been seated long, he saw a dwarf in a gray-black architect's coat emerge from the vault in the back.

Diago recognized him at once-Fineous Darkvire, Franclorn Forgewright's successor and Shadowforge City's current chief artisan.

The dwarf had a tangled short black beard-short by dwarven standards, at least-and a stonemason's monocle tucked into his right eye socket. In his right hand he carried Ironfel, the hammer that never left his side. His architect's coat was soaked in lubricant and grease, gleaming with an oily sheen.

At the moment, however, the dwarf was hurrying along, his face filled with exasperation.

"Master Darkweir, please wait a moment," Diago called hastily. He quickly rose from his seat and strode toward the old dwarf.

"You are...?" Fineous Darkvire looked at him in some confusion. He was certain he did not know this human, but the way the human addressed him secretly pleased him. In truth, although he had maneuvered his way into his current position, few of his subordinates respected him. No one had ever addressed him as "master," either.

"I'd like to ask you to repair this weapon, but it's so complicated that I think you're the only person in Shadowforge City who could fix it." Diago flattered him unobtrusively, his face filled with admiration and reverence, which the dwarf artisan found extremely gratifying.

"I'm afraid I don't have the time right now. You must understand, as chief artisan, I have a great many things to attend to..." Darkweir said apologetically. In fact, that was quite true. Designed by Franclorn Forgewright during his lifetime, the vault door's mechanical system was outrageously complex. Never mind repairing it—he could barely even understand it.

Artisans held a special and highly respected position among the dwarves, and the finest master artisans were revered even more. Especially since the Thorium Brotherhood's departure, the Dark Iron Dwarves, desperately short of technical expertise, had shown artisans still greater respect. Even so, Fineous Darkvire's standing among ordinary dwarves was nothing to speak of.

Compared with Franclorn Forgewright, this new chief artisan was simply scum. He knew nothing of the art of construction and spent all his days making statues of Dagran Thaurissan, king of the Dark Iron Dwarves, to curry favor. He was also an utter petty villain. He had been jealous while Fineous Darkvire was alive, and after Fineous Darkvire died, he had even taken the master's final relic from Franclorn Forgewright's statue-Ironfel, the symbol of the chief architect.

After speaking to the adventurers, Darkweir hurried outside. He had to seek help from the artisans under him. Although those artisans had always looked down on him, rank carried authority, and he could certainly force them to devise a plan to repair the vault. Still, the thought made him feel as sick as if he had swallowed a fly. If possible, he would much rather solve the problem himself. How satisfying it would be to fix the trouble in a few deft moves before a group of laymen and win their awed gazes! Just like that human's admiration and reverence for him a moment ago—it was sheer pleasure!

But speaking of that human, where had he gone?