Chapter 54: Reporting

Inside the Violet Citadel of Dalaran, Ronin stood at the center of the circular council chamber, surrounded by the projections of twelve archmages hovering atop the stone pillars. His red hair was more disheveled than usual, and the hem of his robe was still stained with mud from the port of Theramore—a deliberate choice, having refrained from using a cleaning spell to appear weary and battle-worn, as if he had endured great hardship to complete his mission.

“In summary,” Ronin cleared his throat and adjusted his nonexistent glasses on the bridge of his nose, “Lady Jaina is willing to provide arcane gas but refuses to disclose the formula.”

Archmage Antonidas’s white eyebrows lifted slightly. His projection seemed more solid than the others, and the silver embroidery on his robe shimmered under the arcane light. “Refusal?” His voice was low and gravelly, like sandpaper scraping parchment. “She is cautious indeed.”

“Lady Jaina emphasized that the arcane gas might be addictive, after all, it induces uncontrollable laughter and relaxation. It constantly tempts one to try it again. For ordinary people with weak wills, it would inevitably cause some form of dependency,” Ronin explained. “She believes that if the formula is leaked, not only would the elves abuse it, but humans and even goblins might treat it as a recreational substance, leading to an addiction more severe than magical dependencies.”

The projection of Kael’thas flickered violently; his golden-red hair moved as if stirred by an unseen wind, and a trace of mockery flashed in his eyes. “So Theramore plans to trade our own kin for life-saving potions?” His voice carried the hoarseness typical of a magic addict. “How generous.”

Ronin ignored the elven prince’s sarcasm and continued, “Lady Jaina promises to supply twenty barrels of highly concentrated arcane gas monthly—enough to treat all of Dalaran’s magical craftsmen. If Dalaran requires more, they can be exchanged for elven artisans.”

Antonidas tapped his staff lightly, the crystal atop it striking the marble floor with an ice-blue spark. “What about Jaina’s tactical advisor… that human named Duren? What did he say?”

Ronin was taken aback. He had never met this person. “I haven’t seen any tactical advisor.”

Antonidas squinted thoughtfully. “He planned the last Silvermoon evacuation. To rescue Sylvanas and thousands of elves under Arthas’s siege is no small feat,” the old archmage murmured.

Ronin was stirred by this revelation but knew it was not the time to press further. He quickly retrieved the parchment Jaina had given him from his spatial pouch and unfolded it carefully. The original chemical formula had been transformed into universally recognized Azerothian runes, some parts glowing red to signify danger.

“Nitroglycerin formula. Lady Jaina’s proposed compensation. This is a new type of magical explosive,” Ronin swallowed nervously. “She warned it is extremely hazardous and suggests—”

His words were cut off as Antonidas’s projection solidified into flesh and bone. The aged hand snatched the parchment, eyes gleaming with the familiar fervor of one engaged in perilous experiments.

“L acid… X acid… glycerin…” Antonidas muttered. “Did he not say what these were?”

Ronin promptly took out two large flasks from his pouch, each labeled with a strong acid.

The archmage reached out, and the flasks floated before him. After scrutiny, he exclaimed, “Interesting—a previously unknown strong acid, remarkably pure. Krasus, can you identify it?” Without hesitation, he addressed the red dragon mage present.

A ripple of magical energy passed, and Krasus’s voice answered, “L acid appears related to L-sulfur, possibly a combustion product of L-sulfur. X acid carries the scent of X-stone. Both have been purified and concentrated to a purity and potency beyond ordinary alchemy. They are highly corrosive and extremely dangerous.”

“And the glycerin?” Antonidas pressed Ronin.

“Lady Jaina said it’s some kind of animal or plant fat. It’s still under testing.”

“Fat?” Antonidas frowned but then smiled with excitement. “Ah, a perfect opportunity for testing.”

With a wave of his hand, a rift tore open in the void, connecting directly to his private laboratory storeroom. Countless bottles and jars flew out, arranging themselves neatly in midair. Ronin gaped in astonishment—Dalaran’s stockpile contained over a thousand varieties of fats and oils, ranging from goblin machine oil to night sabre fat, and even a bottle labeled “Black Dragon Saliva (Use with Caution),” a thick, black viscous fluid.

Antonidas’s other hand began selecting materials from the void. Small amounts of the two acids were drawn into test tubes and mixed according to the parchment’s instructions. A pale yellow protective barrier instantly enveloped the entire council chamber.

“Archmage!” Ronin retreated in alarm. “Lady Jaina specifically emphasized the need for a frost environment—”

“Child, I was mixing explosives before your grandfather was born,” Antonidas grinned, the liquid in the test tube beginning to blend on its own. Projections of the other archmages retreated, and Kael’thas even severed communication.

Ronin’s gaze fell on a line of small script on the formula: “Add fat, type undetermined.”

“Let’s begin,” Antonidas said with enthusiasm.

Ronin’s throat tightened. “Archmage, Lady Jaina suggests starting with—”

“Start with number one,” Antonidas interrupted, ignoring him. He dropped a single amber-colored drop into the test tube. Bubbles formed, but there was no reaction.

“This one is useless. Next,” the archmage persevered, testing one after another.

Number one hundred and seventeen.

Boom!

The protective barrier violently distorted, like a crystal ball squeezed by a giant’s hand. Blinding white light swallowed everyone’s vision; the shockwave hurled Ronin ten yards back into the stone wall. His ears rang with a piercing buzz, and the sharp smell of gunpowder filled his nostrils.

When his vision cleared, Antonidas stood where he had been, a hole burned through the ceiling overhead. His white beard curled from the flames, and his robe hung in tatters, yet he smiled like a child with a new toy.

“By the Arcane…” Ronin groaned, struggling to his feet, noticing smoke rising from his left sleeve.

“Perfect!” Antonidas brandished his charred staff. “This power is enough to make Arthas repent!”

He turned to the other archmage projections and declared, “We can give Jaina half of the elven artisans; their skills are nearly equal now, in exchange for the strong acid formula.”

Ronin stared blankly at the clouds drifting outside the hole in the ceiling. He suddenly understood the look of lingering apprehension on Jaina’s face when she said, “This stuff is truly dangerous.”

Antonidas patted his shoulder, eyes shining with rare approval. “Well done, child.”

“But what about Prince Kael’thas? Won’t he have his own ideas? After all, he is their prince,” a councilor cautiously suggested.

“Let him voice his concerns to me. This is Dalaran, not his Quel’Thalas,” Antonidas responded firmly. The elves had all taken refuge in Dalaran, relying on it for food, drink, and supplies. The more capable elven rangers had gone to Theramore, and Jaina promised to dispatch that force to assist when necessary.

“Also, any elves wandering the streets who wish to go should be sent free to Theramore for work. The city is currently developing rapidly, desperately needing population and offering equal treatment to all residents. It’s a perfect solution to keep idle elves off Dalaran’s streets and preserve its atmosphere,” the archmage grumbled indirectly about the elven loafers.

“As you command,” the other councilors agreed without further objection.

Antonidas then turned to Ronin. “Good, you did well on this mission. Do you require any reward?”

Ronin immediately bowed and pleaded, “It’s all for Dalaran! I need no reward. There are reports from Northrend—the movements of the blue dragons are causing concern. I request permission to go there and monitor the dragons and the mana network, to contribute in whatever small way I can.”

The archmage was stunned. “You refuse a reward and volunteer for such a difficult task? What can I even say?” Reflecting on Ronin’s service since joining Dalaran—rescuing the red dragon queen, undertaking various obscure and dangerous missions without recognition or promotion, quietly dedicating himself—Antonidas saw in him a rare honest man, a truly loyal mage of Dalaran.

“Very well, I approve your request. I also promote you to level three mage. Before you depart, you have permission to select items from the level two vault.” The archmage’s impression of Ronin improved even further; he granted many privileges to aid him during his long years in Northrend.

Ronin hastily saluted in thanks.