Chapter 17: Each Takes What They Need

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The morning mist hung over the muddy swamp like a damp veil. Duren stood before the half-finished factory building, hands on his hips, staring at the crooked steel framework. The Broken Horn Black Dragon was carefully dragging a crossbeam with its tail, gently positioning it onto the base, muttering the technical terms Duren had taught it: “Vertical... horizontal... damn, it's off again!”

“Move it half an inch to the left,” Duren called out, waving his copy of *Introduction to Gnome Engineering*, its pages curling slightly in the humid air.

The Broken Horn Black Dragon gritted its teeth and adjusted the angle, tiny beads of sweat seeping between its scales—Duren had never imagined dragons could sweat, but since starting construction work, this group of black dragons seemed to be pushing their physiological limits daily.

“Human!” the dragon finally slammed the beam into the slot, panting, “Why can’t we just weld it with dragonfire?”

“Because we need expansion joints,” Duren tapped the special bolts at the connection point. “Metal expands and contracts with temperature changes; if you weld it tight, it’ll crack.”

The dragon blinked in confusion, clearly not understanding, but obediently followed instructions. Duren couldn’t help but chuckle—just half a month ago, these creatures only knew how to tear buildings down with brute force, and now they were following blueprints.

Not far off, Onyxia leaned against a stone pillar, her silver-white hair casually tied back, the hem of her deep blue robe muddied. She toyed with a gold coin between her fingers—something she had “negotiated” from a goblin merchant the day before. Duren hadn’t dared ask about the specifics, but he knew the goblin had left with his pants soaked.

“Are you sure these idiots can learn?” she asked lazily, her dragon eyes scanning the draconic workers hauling stones nearby. One of them was trying to hold a steel nail in its mouth and ended up piercing its tongue, yelping loudly.

Duren wiped the sweat from his brow and smiled, “At least it’s easier than teaching them to rob.” He gestured westward—several draconic workers were digging drainage ditches with specially made oversized shovels, their movements surprisingly coordinated. “See? They’re already using tools.”

Onyxia snorted softly, a wisp of black flame springing from her fingertip to precisely weld a loose rivet. Sparks flew onto Duren’s sleeve, burning a few small holes.

“My new clothes...” Duren lamented.

“I’ll replace them ten times over.” Onyxia’s tail swept across his back, the scales scraping cloth with a harsh rasp—this kind of “dragon-style care” Duren had long since gotten used to, barely bothering to dodge anymore.

At dusk, after work, Duren collapsed onto a stone bench in front of the wooden hut, gnawing on his standard black bread and jerky. Since starting construction, his diet hadn’t changed—a bread so hard it could be used as a weapon, jerky so salty it bordered on bitter, and occasionally a bowl of swamp lizard soup.

Suddenly the wooden door was kicked open, and Onyxia entered, holding a charred lizard tail. “Eat this.”

Duren raised an eyebrow. “You roasted it?”

“…The hatchling dragon did.” She turned her face away, the tip of her tail impatiently slapping the floor, shattering a tile.

Duren broke off a piece and tasted it—it was surprisingly good, at least better than his “construction worker special.” He was about to thank her when he saw Onyxia frowning over a pile of reactor kettle blueprints in the corner.

“The dwarves still haven’t delivered?” she asked coldly.

“High-temperature equipment takes time,” Duren swallowed the roasted meat. “But Chromie said—”

Before he could finish, a loud bang echoed outside the window. The two rushed out and saw a firework rising from the coast.

“It’s a Theramore patrol ship, something might be happening,” Onyxia frowned and turned away.

Since contact with Jaina, they had tacitly agreed on a communication method. Jaina arranged for a Theramore navy patrol ship to cruise outside the swamp every day. If anything happened, signals would notify Onyxia, and the message would be left on the shore for the black dragon to retrieve, avoiding direct contact. After all, association with black dragons was not a good reputation anywhere.

Night had fallen like ink. Inside the wooden hut by the swamp, candlelight flickered. Duren bent over his desk, using a quill to draft the next day’s work list: “1. Check drainage ditch slope; 2. Debug new pressure valves; 3. Train draconic workers to use wrenches...”

Suddenly the wooden door was pushed open by an invisible force, and damp night air mixed with sulfur scent rushed in. Duren didn’t look up, sighing, “The door hinges were just oiled, don’t use magic to open it.”

Onyxia’s figure emerged from the shadows, her long hair shimmering coldly in the candlelight. She held a letter sealed with golden wax, bearing the unmistakable anchor emblem of Theramore.

“Jaina’s ship will dock at dawn,” she tossed the letter onto the desk. The parchment snapped crisply as it unfolded. “Thrall wants to see you.”

Duren’s quill paused, ink spreading a small blue blot on the ledger. He looked up, meeting Onyxia’s smoldering vertical pupils—emotions he could not decipher swirling within.

“So soon?” He put down the quill, fingers tracing the letter’s edge. “I thought Thrall would take a few days to consider…”

“Jaina’s coming personally.” Onyxia’s tail suddenly curled around Duren’s ankle, the pressure just enough to leave a faint reddish scale imprint. “Seems your human princess holds this meeting in high regard.”

Duren blinked. The black dragon princess’s tone was flat, but he distinctly heard the wooden beams creak as her claws scraped them.

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“She’s just a middleman,” Duren tried to pull his foot free but failed. “After all, Thrall only trusts her.”

Onyxia sneered and suddenly leaned close. Her hair brushed Duren’s cheek, carrying the unique heat of dragons. “Do you know how the nobles of Stormwind describe Jaina Proudmoore?” Her nails traced the signature on the letter, “‘Pearl of the North,’ ‘Dawn of the Alliance’...”

Duren suddenly understood what bothered her.

“You worry I’ll be captivated by the human princess?” He chuckled, tapping Onyxia’s nose. “Please, I’m the one being used as a pillow by a black dragon every day.”

Onyxia’s pupils contracted to thin slits. The next moment, Duren was swept onto a feather mattress by her tail, the black dragon princess looming over him, claws pressing on his throat.

“Human, remember this—” Her voice was as low and molten as flowing lava, “No pearl shines brighter than dragonfire’s passion.”

Duren looked up at her and gently brushed a strand of hair from her forehead. “You know? Like this...” His fingertips traced the curve of her brow, “you’re more radiant than any pearl.”

Onyxia’s scales bristled instantly. She sprang upright, her black robe billowing like storm clouds. “I’ll take you to the shore at dawn.” Turning, her tail knocked over the candlestick, the flame dying before it could touch her scales, swallowed by shadows. “Be late and I’ll burn your blueprints.”

The door slammed shut. Duren rubbed the claw marks on his neck, shaking his head with a smile. Looks like he’d better appease the proud black dragon before meeting Thrall tomorrow.

The morning mist was still thick, Theramore’s coastline faint under the gray sky. Duren stood on the cold, damp sand, his boots sinking slightly, while behind him Onyxia took her elven form. She crossed her arms, silver hair blowing in the sea breeze, her golden pupils fixed on the slowly approaching Theramore patrol ship.

“Remember,” she whispered, her voice laced with draconic menace, “if you dare to look too much at the human princess, watch out—”

“—I’ll burn down Theramore,” Duren finished with a smirk. “Don’t worry, I’m just here to talk business.”

Onyxia’s tail flicked lightly at his calf, the force just enough to stagger him but not hurt. Duren glanced at her and saw her gaze resting on the ship’s deck—Jaina Proudmoore stood there, her golden hair gleaming like flowing gold in the morning light, her robe fluttering in the breeze.

The black dragon princess’s pupils narrowed slightly.

“She came in person?” Duren asked, surprised.

Onyxia sneered, “Seems the human princess takes this meeting seriously.”

Duren said nothing, gently squeezing her hand—the warmth of a dragon’s body far hotter than a human’s, his palm burning like holding a red-hot coal. Onyxia’s fingers tensed briefly but did not pull away.

The ship docked.

Jaina stepped down the icy steps formed by the waves, her gaze briefly lingering between Duren and Onyxia before she nodded slightly. “Mr. Duren, Warchief Thrall is waiting in Theramore.”

Duren nodded in acknowledgment. “Thank you for arranging this, Lady Proudmoore.”

Jaina’s eyes scanned Onyxia, who was quietly scratching her scale belt with her nails, the faint metallic scrape a typical sign of dragon impatience.

“Princess of the Black Dragonflight,” Jaina said calmly, “Theramore’s harbor is not welcoming to dragons, but since this is a business meeting, I can make an exception.”

Onyxia’s lips curved into a mocking smile. “How generous.”

Duren quickly cleared his throat to interrupt the brewing “princess standoff.” “Let’s go. We shouldn’t keep Thrall waiting.”

Jaina nodded and turned toward the ship. Duren followed but had barely taken two steps when Onyxia’s tail wrapped around his wrist.

“Be back before sunset,” she whispered, only he could hear, “or I’ll come to ‘fetch’ you myself in Theramore.”

Duren smiled, grasping the tip of her tail and squeezing gently. “Understood, Your Highness.”

Boarding the ship, Duren stood on deck looking back at the shore. Onyxia remained standing there, her black robe swirling like the night until the ship sailed away. Then she transformed into a shadow and soared into the clouds.

Jaina came to his side, voice calm. “You and her... have a special relationship.”

Duren shrugged. “Partners.”

Jaina’s blue eyes locked onto his. “Black dragons never ‘partner’ with anyone. They conquer or destroy.”

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Duren gazed out over the sea, smiling softly. “Maybe she just hasn’t met anyone worth partnering with yet.”

Jaina was silent for a moment before saying, “I hope you’re right.”

Theramore’s trade guild sat on the edge of the harbor, a plain gray stone building with a brass plaque reading “Neutral Trade Notary.” As Duren followed Jaina down the corridor, the steady clack of his boots echoed quietly—calm, but slightly quicker than usual.

“Relax,” Jaina said without looking back, her staff tip drawing tiny ice crystals in the air. “Thrall doesn’t eat people.”

“I know,” Duren instinctively touched his neck. “I just didn’t expect to meet a legend so soon.”

Jaina stopped abruptly and turned, her golden hair brushing the Alliance emblem on her shoulder. “Remember, here he’s just ‘Merchant Thrall.’” She lowered her voice. “Don’t mention Orgrimmar, don’t mention the Horde. Just think of it as... two farmers discussing fertilizer.”

Duren raised an eyebrow. “Farmers don’t usually use the Doomhammer as a negotiation tool.”

Jaina’s lips twitched into a subtle smile. “Depends on the farm.”

When the oak door swung open, Duren’s breath caught.

Thrall sat at the end of the long table, his broad back like a green wall, braids resting on his shoulder guards. He wore a simple brown leather jerkin instead of his signature blackrock armor, but the war hammer by his side still radiated an invisible pressure.

“Ah, our fertilizer expert.” Thrall looked up, his voice low and resonant like a drum. His gaze held Duren’s for two seconds before he smiled. “You’re younger than I imagined.”

Duren stepped forward and gave a formal merchant’s bow. “Duren Larsen, honored to meet you, Warchief.”

“No warchief today,” Thrall waved his hand, inviting him to sit. “Just customers doing business.” He pushed a steaming cup of herbal tea toward him. “Jaina says you can turn even beast horns into treasure?”

Duren emptied a pouch of potassium sulfate onto the table. “This is my sample—it can increase crop yields, especially potatoes. The exact results depend on the variety and soil. But it requires beast hair and horns as raw materials. So I need a large supply. I hope to source from the Warchief.”

Thrall’s thick fingers pinched some powder, rubbing it between them. “You know how orcs deal with this trash? They burn it. Wasting tons every year.” He suddenly leaned forward, his fangs gleaming coldly in the light. “But you have to tell me the truth—”

Duren’s spine stiffened.

“—Does this stuff really grow crops?”

Duren’s fists unclenched quietly under the table. “I can say more, but it’s pointless. You can take these samples and test them yourselves. You orcs have farmers too, right?”

Thrall suddenly slapped the table, laughing heartily, making the tea cup jingle. “Good! Much better than those goblin scams!” He turned to Jaina. “Old friend, this time you’ve introduced someone reliable.”

Jaina nodded softly. “What about the contract details?”

Three hours later, the terms were finalized, and all parties were satisfied.

The Horde: Deliver beast hair and horns weekly to a designated location, handing them over to the goblin transport team.

Barren Land Agriculture Development Company: Deposit funds into Theramore’s municipal treasury, with monthly three-party settlements.

Theramore: Acting as escrow, charging a 1.5% handling fee (Jaina tried to decline, but Thrall insisted, “The Alliance needs to eat too.”)

On the return ship, Jaina stared at the darkening sea and suddenly said, “I still can’t believe how smoothly the negotiation went.”

In the distance, a shadow darted through the twilight clouds. Onyxia was waiting for him at home.