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Saving Azeroth (By Stealing the Black Dragon Princess) - 8
🕑 Added 2025-10-12 13:46:22 +0000 UTCChapter 8: Azeroth Authentication Method
Deren slumped in his chair, every muscle screaming protest like he had been used as an ogre's punching bag. His fingers trembled, unable to hold even a teacup steady—the aftereffects of a night spent conducting explosion experiments finally catching up with brutal efficiency.
From the adjacent room came hushed conversation filtering through the thin wooden wall.
"So, your formula could actually be improved slightly." Onyxia's voice was unusually light, even carrying a hint of genuine enthusiasm.
"Of course!" Chromie's pitch rose an octave. "I observed dwarf gunpowder formulas in the Caverns of Time. If we incorporate a trace of bronze dragon temporal crystal—"
"We can delay the explosion by three seconds?" Onyxia interjected, voice full of excitement.
"Exactly! That way you can retreat to a safer distance!"
Deren's eyebrows nearly reached his hairline. He struggled upright, pressing his ear against the wall—when had these two dragons become so friendly?
On the other side of the wooden barrier, two humanoid dragons squeezed around a crude table. Onyxia's elf illusion had dissolved entirely, her pitch-black dragon tail idly slapping the floorboards with rhythmic thumps. Chromie swung her short legs, her hourglass staff laid across her knees like a prized possession.
Parchment spread across the table surface, covered in scrawled formulas and crude explosion diagrams. Onyxia tapped somewhere with her claw tip, leaving small indentations. "Here, if we switch to dragon breath catalysis..."
"No!" Chromie suddenly grabbed her wrist with surprising boldness. "That leaves magical traces! Like Deren said, we must use purely physical reactions!"
Deren's eyes widened on the other side of the wall—Chromie actually touched Onyxia? That black dragon who threatened incineration at the slightest provocation had not severed her hand at the wrist?
More astonishing, Onyxia only hummed thoughtfully and actually acquiesced without protest.
"Then use this." The Black Dragon Princess retrieved a small vial of bronze-glowing sand from her dimensional storage. "Acquired from your staff during your last visit."
Chromie gasped theatrically. "When did you—forget it." She snatched the temporal sand, eyes brightening like gemstones catching light. "This amount is sufficient for three delayed fuses!"
Onyxia's lips curved into a wicked smile. "I want two."
"Greedy dragon!" Chromie puffed her cheeks indignantly but still obediently divided out two portions.
Deren finally could not restrain himself, pushing open the door. "You two..."
Both dragons simultaneously turned to look at him—one silver-haired and black-scaled with haughty features, the other a pigtailed gnome blinking innocently—the scene so bizarre it made his scalp prickle with unease.
"What about us?" Onyxia narrowed her eyes, her tail coiling threateningly around the table leg.
Chromie grinned mischievously, shaking her hourglass. "Discussing how to help you survive the next round of experiments!"
Deren's gaze swept back and forth between them. Yesterday these two had been at each other's throats—one threatening resignation letters, the other promising temporal rift imprisonment. Now they shared technical tips like longtime collaborators at an alchemist's guild meeting?
"Dragons..." he muttered unconsciously, shaking his head.
"Hmm?" Onyxia's fingertips ignited with black flame.
"I mean—truly creatures of wisdom and unexpected depth!" Deren quickly retreated toward the doorway. "Magnificent beings!"
Chromie giggled behind her hand while Onyxia flicked her tail with an expression of grudging approval.
Deren rubbed his temples, retreating to his room. He vaguely heard conversation continuing behind him:
"Seriously, about your father..."
"Quiet, bronze dragon."
"But if you need timeline cover for certain activities..."
A long pause, then barely audible: "Thank you."
Those last two words were so soft Deren nearly thought he imagined them. He glanced back to see Onyxia awkwardly turning her face away while Chromie stood on tiptoe, patting the black dragon's shoulder with surprising gentleness.
Moonlight spilled through the window, gilding this bizarre pair with silver edges. Deren suddenly felt he would probably never understand the dynamics between ancient dragons—especially ones who had lived thousands of years and carried burdens heavier than mountains.
Half-asleep, Deren suddenly heard a voice piercing the veil of unconsciousness.
"Deren..."
A gentle female voice called through darkness, as if from an immeasurable distance.
"Do not bother me..." Deren rolled over, burying his face deeper into the pillow. "Need to test formulas tomorrow..."
"Deren..." The voice drew closer, carrying ethereal echoes that seemed to resonate from multiple directions simultaneously. "Listen to me..."
"I said I need sleep—" Deren suddenly froze.
This voice belonged to neither Onyxia nor Chromie.
He snapped his eyes open to find himself standing in boundless starry space. Beneath his feet rotated a slowly spinning Azeroth—but unlike any ordinary representation, this planet's surface flowed with golden veins that pulsed with visible life, beating like a cosmic heart.
"Hello, transmigrator."
Deren slowly turned to see a female figure formed from pure starlight. Her hair cascaded like a waterfall of light, eyes reflecting countless distant stars. When she smiled, stardust-like ripples spread from her lips across the void.
"A-Azeroth?! No, the world-soul." Deren's voice cracked as he retreated several steps. "Wait, this must be an Old God illusion! Chromie! Onyxia! It is a trap—"
"Stop shouting. They cannot hear you." Azeroth—or rather, the world-soul's avatar—lightly raised her hand. The surrounding starry space rippled like water disturbed by a stone. "This is your dream. Only I can enter here."
Cold sweat soaked Deren's back instantly. He stared fixedly at the "goddess" before him, mind racing through possibilities: Old Gods excelled at corrupting minds—this was definitely N'Zoth's deception!
"Prove you are not an Old God," he said through gritted teeth, fists clenched at his sides.
Deren stared fixedly at the self-proclaimed "Azeroth" before him, eyes as wary as a merchant examining counterfeit currency.
"Prove you are not an Old God." He crossed his arms defensively, tone emphatic. "Right now."
"Azeroth" blinked, her starlight-formed face showing genuine confusion that rippled across her features.
"Prove myself?" Her voice was ethereal and gentle, carrying hesitation. "No one has ever required me to demonstrate my authenticity."
Deren sneered. "Ha! Caught you already! The true Azeroth world-soul would not lack such confidence!"
"Azeroth" froze completely.
As Azeroth's world-soul, for the first time in eons beyond counting, a mortal dared speak to her with such audacity. Those chosen guardians, legendary heroes, prophets blessed with visions—which one had not knelt in reverence, devoutly listening to her guidance? Yet this scrawny transmigrator demanded she prove her innocence?
She tilted her head slightly, starlight-flowing hair rippling like liquid silver, expression both bewildered and aggrieved like a wrongly accused child discovering injustice for the first time.
Seeing this reaction, Deren grew more certain—this was definitely Old God trickery!
He circled the self-proclaimed Azeroth world-soul warily, muttering observations. "No tentacles visible, no corruption slime either..."
Could it actually be real?
But unease still gnawed at him. Old Gods excelled at breaking down mental defenses from within. Even the mighty Earth-Warder Neltharion had succumbed to madness, had he not?
Deren scratched his head, mind working frantically. "Let me think!" How to prove Azeroth was genuinely Azeroth—truly a challenging puzzle.
"Azeroth" spoke calmly, attempting to establish credibility. "I know how you escaped from Westfall starvation!"
"That proves nothing. Old Gods can read surface thoughts!" Deren was not remotely concerned about others knowing his desperate journey from the farmlands.
After staring at the starlight-formed "Azeroth" for a long moment, Deren's eyes suddenly gleamed with cunning inspiration. "How about you curse alongside me? If you can repeat everything I say exactly, I will believe you are truly Azeroth's world-soul."
"Azeroth": "...What?"
"Need to repeat my words precisely," Deren raised a finger emphatically, "then I will believe you."
"Azeroth's" starry eyes blinked, expression mixing confusion and curiosity. "Curse?"
"Exactly!" Deren cleared his throat, suddenly raising his voice. "N'Zoth is worthless garbage!"
"Azeroth": "..."
Her starlight face froze completely. As Azeroth's world-soul, in eons beyond measure, she had never so bluntly insulted any existence—certainly not with such crude vocabulary.
"Quickly, repeat it!" Deren urged impatiently.
The world-soul's lips trembled slightly, finally mumbling quietly, "N-N'Zoth is... worthless garbage..."
Deren shook his head disapprovingly. "Not convincing enough! Again! Yogg-Saron is a complete moron!"
World-soul: "..."
Her starlight body trembled, as if undergoing intense psychological struggle. Finally, she took a deep breath—though she required no actual respiration—closing her eyes and declaring, "Yogg-Saron is a complete moron!"
"Good! Progress!" Deren applauded enthusiastically. "Continue! C'Thun is spoiled seafood!"
The world-soul's cheeks flushed with concentrated starlight, but she followed along with increasing resignation. "C'Thun is… spoiled seafood!"
Deren's enthusiasm grew with each successful curse. "Y'Shaarj is utterly insignificant!"
"Azeroth" had completely abandoned resistance, shouting with surprising abandon, "Y'Shaarj is utterly insignificant!"
"The Void is absolute garbage!"
"The Void is absolute garbage!"
"The Burning Legion are all brain-dead fools!"
"The Burning Legion are all brain-dead fools!"
"The Titans are control-obsessed tyrants!"
"The Titans are control-obsessed tyrants!"
"Elune is a self-absorbed narcissist!"
"Elune is a self-absor... wait!" The world-soul suddenly covered her mouth with both hands, starry eyes widening in alarm. "This is not appropriate..."
Deren planted his hands on his hips triumphantly. "What are you afraid of? She cannot hear! Continue! The naaru are self-righteous fanatics!"
Azeroth held her breath for a long moment, finally muttering quietly with visible reluctance, "The naaru are... self-righteous fanatics..."
After completing the final curse, her starlight body glowed intensely, as if radiating embarrassment through pure luminescence. Deren nodded with deep satisfaction, finally smiling genuinely. "Alright, now I believe you are truly Azeroth's world-soul."
"Azeroth" sighed with profound relief but then pouted with obvious displeasure. "Why did you verify my identity this way?"
Deren spoke with absolute conviction. "Because Old Gods would never dare curse themselves or the Void with such vehemence, the Burning Legion would never admit being foolish, Titans would certainly not call themselves tyrants—so, only the true Azeroth world-soul could follow along with all my profane declarations!"
"Azeroth" stared at him blankly, never imagining such creative verification methods existed. "You truly are the strangest mortal I have encountered."
Deren chuckled, relaxing his defensive posture. "Now we can converse properly—so, why exactly did you seek me out?"
"Azeroth" made an effort to adjust her demeanor, finally recovering the world-soul's natural majesty. Her starlight form grew slightly more radiant, more commanding. "I came to tell you that your actions bring me great satisfaction. I inadvertently summoned you to my world initially—a response to desperate need. Unfortunately, there was an accident during your arrival. Fortunately, your current achievements exceed my expectations. Continue this path!"
