Chapter 10: The Goblin’s Big Deal
Page 1/3
The morning mist over Treasure Bay had yet to lift when Derren stood before the headquarters of the Sandsand Consortium. He looked up at the gilded spire that towered far above the surrounding shops. The facade was inlaid with shimmering gems, and even the door handles were made of solid copper plated in gold.
He took a deep breath and adjusted his collar.
—Clothes make the man; if you’re going to put on airs, do it properly.
On his left stood Onyxia, her silver-white hair styled in an aristocratic chignon. A deep blue robe bore the insignia of a Dalaran Archmage—though forged—and her staff’s tip floated a ghostly blue arcane crystal that occasionally sparked with fiery embers.
To his right was Chromie, dressed in a meticulously tailored gnome suit. Behind round glasses, her golden eyes gleamed with sharp intelligence. A golden staff hung at her waist, radiating opulence.
Derren himself wore a finely cut dark-patterned robe, the collar pinned with a badge from the “Barrens Agricultural Development Company”—a wheat wreath encircling an explosion icon, subtle yet ominous.
“Remember,” Derren whispered, “you are my arcane advisors and financial steward. Speak little, but exude authority.”
Onyxia snorted coldly, igniting a wisp of black flame at her fingertips. “Do I look like someone who would mess this up?”
Chromie pushed up her glasses; the lenses reflected a chill light. “Rest assured, when it comes to posturing, bronze dragons are professionals.”
Derren wiped an imaginary bead of sweat from his brow, nodded, and stepped toward the door.
—Let the performance begin.
Two goblin guards crossed their spears to block their path.
“Hold!” One scrutinized Derren from head to toe, exhaling sharply through his nose. “The prince is not seeing visitors today!”
Derren smiled faintly without replying, merely raising a hand slightly.
—Onyxia’s staff paused; the ground cracked with a faint “click,” shadow energy slithered like serpents.
—Chromie flicked her finger; a gold coin flipped in the air, multiplied into a pile, then vanished like a phantom.
The guards’ green faces drained of color instantly.
Only then did Derren begin deliberately, “Now, could you please fetch your steward?”
Within ten seconds, a goblin steward in a silk vest hurried out, sweat beading his brow. “Th-three esteemed guests, please come inside!”
His eyes flickered between Onyxia’s staff and Chromie’s golden staff, swallowing hard. A human merchant accompanied by what appeared to be a high-ranking Dalaran mage and a powerful gnome sorcerer? This trio was no ordinary business.
Derren folded his hands behind his back, voice calm. “Lead the way.”
The steward bowed lower. “Y-yes! The prince is in the reception hall…”
When the reception hall doors swung open, Prince Rivigaz reclined in a leather armchair, idly turning an ancient gold coin. His eyes narrowed behind gold-rimmed spectacles as he regarded the three.
“Ah, rare visitors,” the prince’s voice slick with goblin cunning. “A human merchant, accompanied by…” His gaze swept over Onyxia and Chromie. “Two arcane advisors? Intriguing.”
Derren took his seat with ease. Onyxia and Chromie stood flanking him, one fingertip wrapped in shadow, the other shimmering with golden light—like two formidable guardians.
“Your Highness,” Derren smiled, “I have some business matters I wish to discuss in person.”
The prince raised an eyebrow. “Oh? What sort of business requires such a grand… entourage?”
Derren produced a gilded document from his breast pocket and slid it forward. “These are the supplies I require monthly, long-term contracts, cash on delivery.”
The prince’s pupils contracted slightly—this was no small order. Setting down the coin, he leaned forward. “Forgive my curiosity. What is this for? Sulfur is common, nitrates can be gathered, but hair and beast horns will take time.”
Derren smiled wordlessly, tapping his company badge.
“An agricultural company?” the prince asked, puzzled. “Does that really turn a profit?”
“Are you familiar with Lordaeron?” Derren asked softly.
---
Page 2/3
Derren’s fingers tapped the table in a slow, measured rhythm.
“You, Your Highness, must be more aware than I of the wars in Lordaeron.” His voice lowered, laced with a dangerous suggestion. “The Scourge ravages, fields lie fallow, refugees flee south—the price of grain has already surged.”
Prince Rivigaz’s golden teeth flashed. He leaned back, a shrewd smile curling his lips. “Indeed. But…” He spread his hands. “The Sandsand Consortium started stockpiling grain six months ago. Now the warehouses overflow with wheat.”
Derren was unsurprised. Goblins were keenly perceptive, especially in wartime profits.
“Stockpiling is step one,” he leaned in slightly, “but don’t you think… there’s more behind this undead plague?”
The prince’s green ears twitched. “Oh?”
“The plague came too conveniently, spread too swiftly.” Derren traced a vague symbol on the table—an eye-like figure. “It’s as if someone is deliberately sowing chaos.”
The prince’s gaze flickered. As a goblin, his sensitivity to intrigue rivaled his greed for gold.
“You mean…”
“I’m just a merchant, unfamiliar with politics.” Derren reclined, tone casual. “But I know not to put all my eggs in one basket. If the Eastern Kingdoms become untenable, the farmlands of Kalimdor offer the best fallback.”
His finger swept across a map, from Theramore’s harbor winding to the edge of the Dustwallow Marsh, finally resting on the vast plains of the Barrens.
“Your Highness, this continent before you is Azeroth’s last untapped granary.”
He tapped lightly on Theramore’s port—
“Jaina’s domain, the Alliance’s sole foothold in Kalimdor. All transoceanic trade passes through here.”
Then westward into Dustwallow Marsh—
“This ‘Land of Death’? With the right fertilizer and drainage, it could be transformed into high-yield paddies. After all… my fertilizer is perfect for reclaiming saline-alkali soils.”
But goblins never revealed all their cards easily.
“What about risk?” The prince exhaled a smoke ring. “The Horde’s orcs won’t stand idly by while the Alliance monopolizes food sources.”
He narrowed his eyes, sharp behind gold-rimmed glasses. “Dustwallow Marsh? Let’s not mince words—you do know it’s Black Dragon territory. Are you truly certain the ‘Daughter of Deathwing’ would allow humans to farm so close to her lair?”
The goblin’s intelligence was precise; their worldwide dealings kept them well-informed of various power struggles. He pinpointed the flaws in Derren’s plan.
A sudden stillness filled the room.
Derren didn’t answer immediately. Slowly, he produced a black velvet pouch from his bag, the golden drawstrings gleaming under the light.
“You’re right.” He gently placed the pouch on the table, sliding it toward the prince. “So, we’ve prepared a token of goodwill.”
The prince eyed it suspiciously as he untied the strings—
With a soft clatter,
A large, glossy black dragon scale slid out, the edges glowing with molten-red veins. The moment it touched the wood grain table, wisps of pale blue smoke curled upward.
“This is…!” The prince recoiled, golden teeth clicking nervously.
Onyxia chuckled softly at the perfect moment. Flames flickered at her fingertips, briefly revealing the ghostly outline of dragon claws.
Derren pressed a finger against the scale, slowly pushing it closer to the prince. “A fragment of an adult black dragon’s scale—sufficient goodwill, wouldn’t you say?” His fingernail scraped the scale, producing a grating metallic sound that made teeth ache.
“Now, it proves two things:”
“First, the development rights to Dustwallow Marsh have already been secured.”
“Second—” He suddenly grabbed the prince’s scarf, pulling him close. The black dragon scale’s heat pressed almost to the goblin’s nose. “Our ‘agricultural company’ has dragon investment.”
The prince froze. His eyes dropped to the scale, the intricate energy patterns undeniable. More terrifyingly, he felt the gaze of the “High Elf mage” behind him—like a blade scraping down his neck.
---
Page 3/3
With a gulp, the prince swallowed hard; his scarf creased under Derren’s grip.
Derren’s fingers brushed the golden drawstrings of the velvet pouch with the elegance of handling a work of art. The residual warmth of the dragon scale seeped through the fabric, yet his face remained composed, a calm smile playing upon his lips.
“Business must be negotiated slowly,” he murmured, lightly tapping the table. “Especially ventures like this… long-term undertakings.”
His tone brightened suddenly, as if the earlier tension had never existed. Sunlight streamed through the stained glass, casting a muted luxury over his dark-patterned robe.
Onyxia reined in her draconic aura; the arcane crystal on her staff returned to a simple ornament. Chromie adjusted her glasses, golden eyes twinkling with cunning. She snapped her ledger closed with a crisp clap.
Derren drew from his bag an exquisite glass jar, white crystals shimmering faintly in the sunlight. He slid it toward the prince with the fluidity of presenting a calling card.
“This is our latest experimental product,” he said, voice brimming with measured confidence. “Its yield enhancement is remarkable. Your Highness might like to verify it yourself.”
The gilded label on the bag read—“Kalimdor Agricultural Development · Exclusive Supply”—gleaming under the light, silently proclaiming its value.
The prince’s gaze flickered between the jar and Derren, his golden teeth unconsciously clenching his pipe. His fingers trembled slightly, stirred both by the earlier intimidation and the potential behind this “gift.”
Derren allowed no time for hesitation. He rose gracefully, the hem of his robe tracing a smooth arc.
“The docks at Theramore await your fleet anytime,” he nodded gently, voice warm but firm. Then he gestured toward Chromie. “My financial steward, Ms. Miro, will ensure everything proceeds smoothly.”
Chromie stepped forward, her eyes crescent-shaped behind round glasses. “Accounts, handovers, ongoing cooperation—I’m in full charge.” She tapped the coin purse at her waist, its contents jingling. “Time is money, isn’t it?”
The prince forced a dry laugh; the sweat on his temple had yet to dry, but the instincts of a businessman quickly readjusted his demeanor. Rising, his pudgy green fingers clenched the fertilizer jar tightly, his smile sharpening with renewed shrewdness.
“Of course, of course! The Sandsand Consortium values honest collaboration above all!”
Derren returned the smile, his gaze deep as a still pool. He said no more, merely raised a hand in invitation.
Onyxia’s staff tapped lightly; the reception hall doors slid open silently. Outside, the goblin steward and guards bowed their heads, not daring a sound.
The three stepped out, their footsteps echoing through the gilded corridor. Derren’s silhouette stood tall and firm as a pine; the dark patterns of his robe shimmered subtly, as if concealing innumerable untold secrets.
Only when their figures disappeared around the corner did the prince slump back into his chair, exhaling deeply.
As the doors closed, the sycophantic smile vanished from his face. He ripped off his scarf, golden teeth grinding sharply, and yanked hard on a hidden cord beside the bookshelf.
With a soft “clang,” a panel in the ceiling slid open silently. A goblin elite clad in tight gray-green gear hung upside down like a giant bat. He wore a single-lensed engineering goggle, gears spinning rapidly, clicking faintly.
“Inspect the goods,” the prince muttered, voice low. “Test them on some fields. Keep a close watch. You’re the first to report results to me.”
The elite goblin caught the fertilizer precisely and retreated swiftly into the ceiling. The panel slid shut, and a secret passage behind the bookshelf clicked open. The steward hobbled inside.
The prince slammed his fist on the table; tea cups clattered chaotically. “Triple hush money for anyone who saw those three! If anyone leaks information—” He pulled out a yellowed contract, stamped boldly with a goblin merchant’s bloody fingerprint. “—send the enforcement clause of this ‘accidental insurance’ to his entire family!”
The steward’s face drained pale; he backed out hastily.
Outside the window, Derren and his companions strolled leisurely across the fountain square. Onyxia’s staff occasionally flickered with a wisp of black light, expertly erasing any potential magical eavesdropping along their path.
“Do you think he’ll take the bait?” Chromie toyed with an ancient gold coin stolen from the prince’s study.
Derren smiled without a word.