The Shadowforge Lock

Diago and Masley pushed the heavy vault doors open just wide enough to squeeze through, slipped out, then closed them again as quietly as they could.

They turned around to find the Dwarven guards looking at him questioningly, clearly puzzled that the two of them had come out on their own. Seeing their empty hands, however, the guards were not particularly suspicious.

"Master Darkweir is inside, contemplating the wondrous Heart of Iron. Please keep quiet, and do not disturb him under any circumstances. Before long, Shadowforge City may have another Franclorn Forgewright. You're very lucky to be able to witness this great moment, unlike us-we still have to run errands for Master Darkweir." Diago waved the large iron hammer in his hand and spoke reluctantly. He looked like an opportunist who wanted to be beside his superior at a critical moment, never missing a chance to curry favor.

"Khaz'goroth above, the Heart of Iron!" The Dwarven guards were stunned, blurting out their true faith. After all, a Dwarven craftsman could enter the Heart of Iron state scarcely once in a lifetime; some less talented craftsmen never experienced it at all. It was rather like the sudden enlightenment of ancient monks. Exceptionally talented Dwarven craftsmen would break through the bottlenecks holding them back during this enlightenment, raising their craftsmanship to a realm beyond the reach of ordinary mortals. Franclorn Forgewright, the grandmaster revered by the entire Dwarven race and a source of their pride, had experienced the Heart of Iron three times in his life, establishing his exalted position as Azeroth's foremost master craftsman.

"All right, we're leaving. The master said it was urgent." Diago waved and headed out of the bank, but before leaving, he warned them again, "Remember, you must not disturb Master Darkweir while he contemplates the Heart of Iron, or you'll become the sinners of Shadowforge City!"

"We absolutely won't. We swear on our lives." The Dwarven guards thumped their chests in unison as they swore. They had long since forgotten their former contempt for Darkweir and were thrilled to be witnessing this glorious moment. In their fervor, it never occurred to them that the two apparently empty-handed thieves had actually emptied Shadowforge City of its finest, most precious treasures.

Struggling to suppress the urge to burst out laughing, the adventurers retraced their steps. They walked calmly and unhurriedly. Almost no one could have imagined that these two had just committed an act that would disgrace the entire Dark Iron kingdom.

While crossing the Bridge of Flames, they saw the comical pair of guards again; their shift had not yet ended. Their earlier brawl, however, seemed to have left both of them with conspicuous injuries. Gray Anvil's face was covered in blood, while the other Dwarf, Dughal, had two swollen black eyes that made him look like a panda.

"What day is your next fight scheduled for? Tell me. I'll definitely come and cheer you on," Anvil said, his eyes bleary. He seemed to have drunk a little too much.

"Will your purse last that long?" His companion gave him a mocking look, clearly harboring serious doubts.

"Shut up, Dughal! Nobody will think you're mute!" Gray Anvil lunged at him, waving his fists. His temper really was nothing to speak of.

Not long after crossing the Bridge of Flames, they returned to the three-way junction where they had started and headed south toward the Temple of Thaurissan.

It was a tall building shaped like a long corridor. Huge banners bearing the Flame Anvil hung from its stone ceiling, the traditional emblem of the Dark Iron Dwarven clan. Exquisite Dwarven stone carvings lined the walls on either side, recounting Dwarven history from the age of the Titans to the present. Had Diago not held him back firmly, Masley would certainly have rushed over to examine them closely.

This was where the Dark Iron Dwarves worshipped, and a gigantic statue of Franclorn Forgewright stood at the far end of the Temple of Thaurissan. In truth, although the Emperor of Blackrock ruled supreme over Blackrock Depths, the figures the Dark Iron Dwarves revered most were always those master craftsmen whose skills were unsurpassed and whose standing transcended the ordinary. Franclorn Forgewright was among the greatest of them.

Every year during the Midsummer Festival, the flame priests would come here to hold a grand ceremony of blessing. Today, however, there were few people in the corridor, apart from several Twilight Cultists with ulterior intentions.

When Diago and Masley reached the end of the corridor, they saw them.

Pyromancer Rograine was a Tauren dressed in red robes, carrying a red staff tipped with an enormous ruby.

He was a shaman, which was not unusual among Tauren, but was very rare among Twilight Cultists.

Rograine had once been a highly respected member of the shamanic organization, the Earthen Ring, but he was considered heavy-handed in his treatment of the elements. This approach coincided with the Twilight Cultists' methods of violently enslaving elementals to serve them, so his later decision to join the Twilight's Hammer was hardly surprising. He had eventually come to Blackrock Depths as an envoy of the Twilight's Hammer, only to develop a sudden interest in the statue of the famous Dark Iron architect Franclorn Forgewright. Although others might have found nothing unusual about this, Diago found it highly suspicious. After all, the key that could open almost every secret door in Shadowforge City lay beneath that statue, and that key was precisely what the adventurers had come for.

Whatever the case, there was no doubt that he was not one of the Emperor of Blackrock, Dagran Thaurissan's men. Moreover, as far as Diago knew, the Twilight Cultists harbored ulterior designs and wanted to seize control of this great city. Their cooperation with the Dark Iron Dwarves was merely a show of unity, far less intimate than it appeared. This gave the adventurers an opening.

"Arbiter Grisstone sent us here on business!" Diago waved the Gladiator's Badge in his hand and spoke arrogantly, showing no intention whatsoever of explaining that business to the Twilight Cultists. In fact, most of the arena's gladiators were somewhat crude and rude. It was just the manner one would expect of those brutes who might die at any moment.

Rograine said nothing. He took a few steps away from the statue. He had been standing beneath it, apparently paying his respects to the great Dwarven master.

"Aren't you leaving? You should know that there are things in Shadowforge City you aren't allowed to know about." Diago grew even more overbearing, looking for all the world like a wretched eunuch throwing his master's weight around.

"Even the Emperor of Blackrock wouldn't dare treat us like this..." a Troll beside Rograine protested. His race was not often seen in the Twilight's Hammer.

"Oh?" Diago tilted his head and gave him a disdainful sidelong glance. "You can go and tell the Emperor of Blackrock that. But right now..."

"Get out of here, now!" His tone abruptly sharpened into a rude bellow.

"You...!" The Twilight Cultist wanted to say more, but Rograine held him back. They walked toward the other end of the corridor without a word.

Diago gave the Night Elf a meaningful look. Masley took a few steps toward the passage entrance and watched the Twilight Cultists warily, making his distrust perfectly clear.

Diago climbed up the statue's leg and finally placed the heavy Ironfel in Forgewright's raised left hand. Miraculously, the moment the hammer touched the statue, its open left hand clenched shut. Diago could hear the grinding of metal components shifting inside the statue. He had no doubt that the hammer was held so tightly that anyone trying to forcibly remove it would have to shatter the entire statue. But doing that would also cause Ironfel to destroy itself, a trap Franclorn Forgewright had designed during his lifetime.

A small drawer slowly slid out from the statue's base. Diago saw the gleaming thorium key lying quietly at the bottom.

He quickly took the key out. Just then, he heard the Night Elf shout.

"Stop! Don't come any closer."

He turned to see Pyromancer Rograine and his companions running toward them, their faces full of anxiety.

Without betraying anything, he pushed the drawer and watched it slowly retract into its original position like an optical drive.

"You're taking something that doesn't belong to you!" The Twilight Cultists finally reached them, but they already understood that someone else had beaten them to the thing they had dreamed of obtaining.

"What a joke. Everything in this city belongs to the Emperor of Blackrock, and you dare dispute that!" Diago leaned in and spoke viciously in a low voice. He was so close that he could even see his reflection in the Tauren's eyes, and spittle from his mouth splattered the Tauren's face. "Don't think we don't know what you're scheming here!"

"This is the will of the Twilight's Hammer. You'll bring the Dark Iron Dwarves a great deal of trouble!" Rograine threatened, but his threat held no power over the two impostors.

"Stop trying to scare us with the Twilight's Hammer. Before the Emperor of Blackrock, you're nothing, you scum!" The hunter coughed loudly, then spat the thick phlegm he had cleared up forcefully onto the floor.

"You're insulting the glory of Twilight!" the Troll beside the pyromancer said furiously, his face flushed as though the phlegm had landed on it.

"Am I? And what can you do about it?" The hunter laughed wildly. He looked at Rograine mockingly and spat out another mouthful of phlegm in provocation.

"We'll lodge a protest with the Emperor of Blackrock!" the Tauren said, his eyes bloodshot and his breathing heavy. In truth, Rograine knew perfectly well that their plan had failed. Now he could think of no way forward except to kill these two gladiators and seize the key, but he also knew what that would mean. The consequences of openly breaking with the Dark Iron Dwarves were far beyond what he could bear. The cooperation between the Twilight's Hammer and the Dark Iron Dwarves had been decided by two deities, and no one would be allowed to sabotage it. For a moment, the Tauren hesitated, unable to advance or retreat.

"Go right ahead," Diago said indifferently. He turned and headed out of the corridor. He knew he could not keep provoking them. It would be no joke if things got out of hand.

Behind them, Pyromancer Rograine's hands, their veins bulging, clenched and unclenched, then clenched again. In the end, he could only watch them leave.

Once they rounded the bend in the corridor and disappeared from the Twilight Cultists' sight, Diago all but collapsed in a corner. He gulped down air. That performance had nearly drained him of all his courage and mental energy. Reaching behind him, he felt his back. It was clammy, and the clothes underneath were soaked with sweat.

After a brief rest, the two set off again. The greatest problem was now solved. All that remained was how to retrieve the intelligence held by General Angerforge and Golem Lord Agamand.

They retraced their route to the central hall. Along the way, the Gladiator's Insignia afforded them many conveniences. Although they had won only a single arena match, that glorious victory had been enough to earn them some renown.

This time, they took the northernmost cavern, the passage leading to the East Barracks. Here, they saw the enormous Shadowforge Lock.

Surprisingly, there were no guards around the gigantic lock-not a single one. Perhaps the Dark Iron Dwarves thought it was so close to the barracks that no one would dare stir up trouble here.

Diago stood on the raised platform behind the great lock and looked down. A dozen or so meters below lay the famous Dark Iron Highway. This main thoroughfare, which ran through almost all of Shadowforge City, bustled with people coming and going. The East and West Barracks stood atop the cliffs on either side, commanding this vital artery. Hundreds of Dark Iron cannons had been positioned along the cliff edges, their dark muzzles pointing at the highway. Their range covered almost the entire passage, leaving no blind spots. No one had ever dared launch a frontal assault here. For any attacker, it would be a disaster.

Diago did not look for long. In truth, this was hardly the time for sightseeing. He walked back from the edge of the platform and carefully examined the enormous mechanical lock.

The lock looked like a gigantic gear, its face engraved with an exquisite flaming anvil, the emblem of the Dark Iron Dwarven clan. Several thick iron chains and cables were wound around the gear, stretched taut. Diago reckoned that the enormous lock must draw its power from some supernatural force; otherwise, it was difficult to explain how such a tiny key could drive such a large mechanism.

He walked around the great lock and finally found the place to insert the key on one side. It was a small control console. Diago inserted the key into its only keyhole, then turned it gently-he did not dare use too much force for fear of snapping it.

To his surprise, the key turned without much resistance. At least, Diago did not find it particularly stiff. A few seconds later, the enormous gear-shaped lock began to turn slowly, without making much noise. It seemed the Dark Iron technicians had maintained it well.

As the great lock turned faster and faster, a humming sound rose, and then the gear finally stopped, having released all its energy.

"That's it?" Masley said incredulously. He looked around in bewilderment, but nothing seemed to have happened. "I haven't seen anything yet."

"You will," Diago said casually. In fact, this enormous lock was only the control section of the entire mechanism. Its main body-the drawbridge leading to the barracks-was still several hundred meters away.