Chapter 60 Offering Incense

The campfire crackled in the night, sending sparks drifting with the wind into the damp coastal air.

Chromie, the bronze dragon disguised as a gnome, gave a start, stood up while clutching her head, and then collapsed back down, rolling around as she muttered, "Damn it, those bags of bones are starting trouble again. Oh, Time above, the Battle of Dalaran, demons again, mountain climbing again. Even Elune's rotten tree won't be safe this time."

Onyxia raised an eyebrow. "Demons again, Elune again—it all sounds terribly complicated." She toyed with a lock of her long black hair. "Are the good days coming to an end again?"

Dren picked up his wine glass and took a sip. "Shall we stick our fingers in and keep them from pulling off their little scheme?" He wiped his mouth. "How about that?"

Chromie's eyes lit up instantly. She bounced to her feet, hopped over to Dren, and looked at him pleadingly. "Quick, tell me, what's the trick to sorting out Dalaran's mess?" As she spoke, she wrapped her arms around Dren's in a fawning manner, shaking and rubbing against him ingratiatingly!

Dren was shaken so hard his wine was about to spill. He sighed helplessly, holding up two fingers. "There are two ways to stop the undead from summoning the great demon." His voice suddenly dropped to a whisper. "Otherwise, we can't beat the great demon."

He didn't even dare utter the demon's name, terrified that mentioning it out here in the wilderness might draw the attention of some unspeakable presence. Truly, he was the man who could be called the "King of Cowering" in all of Azeroth.

"What two ways? Tell me, tell me!" Chromie pressed, stamping her little feet on the ground incessantly.

He first extended one finger. "Can you steal that book from Dalaran? Without that book, the undead won't be able to perform the summoning. That solves the problem at its root. Of course, they might think of another way, but that would certainly be harder to pull off than attacking Dalaran to grab a book."

Dren had always wondered why summoning Archimonde required *The Book of Medivh*. Did the book contain the essential knowledge required to summon a demon, or was the book itself a mediating artifact necessary for the summoning? Logically speaking, the demons of the Burning Legion—the masters of the Scourge—should know best how to summon themselves.

If *The Book of Medivh* was a necessary medium for the summoning, and a divine artifact to boot, didn't that mean there was some possibility that any random belt or sock peeled off Medivh was also a divine artifact (Medivh's Belt, Medivh's Sock?)?

Chromie's little face twisted into a knot, deflated like a punctured ball. "No way, not to mention that Dalaran is heavily guarded and the risk of stealing the book is too high." She sighed. "Besides, if I step in personally, there's no way I can fool the dragonflights. Right now, Nozdormu and Alexstrasza have given strict orders forbidding any dragon from interfering in mortal wars."

Dren extended his second finger. "Then our only choice is to find a way to disrupt the summoning ritual."

Chromie grew interested, but a worried expression quickly followed. "What way? The undead will definitely deploy heavy guards by then. It will be extremely difficult for you to break through."

Dren made a silencing gesture, then pulled the two female dragons closer until the three of them were pressed body to body, face to face, forming a single cluster. Only then did he say in a low voice, "We launch an attack from high altitude. When the time comes, Dalaran's forces will surely throw everything they have into attacking the undead to disrupt the ritual, and the main strength of the undead will be drawn to the perimeter."

He paused to make sure they understood this point. "I'll have Ony drop a massive bomb from high up. If all goes well, it will instantly obliterate all the undead, the demons, and the book within the ritual grounds. One shot, dead on target, and we call it a day."

"This—" Chromie was stunned, her mouth wide enough to swallow a dragon's egg. Bombarding with a dragon had no precedent in the history of Azeroth. If planned well, it might just quietly prevent the descent of Archimonde without anyone knowing.

Onyxia, meanwhile, wore a look of yearning, her golden slit pupils shimmering in the firelight. "This is so much fun. I love this conspiracy style." She licked her lips, as if she could already picture the magnificent spectacle of the explosion.

Dren added, "Chromie, you just need to hang around nearby and help cover up the timeline so nobody finds out. After the fact, there'll be no trace to follow. We can come back and carry on singing and drinking."

Chromie made a gesture indicating everything was fine. Then a crucial question struck her. "What about the bomb itself?"

Dren thought for a moment and said, "We need a master blacksmith to forge the bomb casing so Ony can carry it easily." He thought further and shook his head with distress. "A blacksmith capable of crafting such precision weaponry won't be easy to find, though."

He paced irritably around the campfire a few more times, his boots crunching on the sandy beach.

Chromie and Onyxia remained silent. Breaking down walls and tearing up buildings were specialties of theirs, but swinging a hammer at an anvil was truly beyond their skill set.

Just as he was muttering to himself, a dazzling arcane flash tore through the night sky, and Jaina stepped out of a portal.

Seeing the group who had just been eating, drinking, and making merry, she said with displeasure, "I'm worked off my feet every single day, from dawn till dusk. And you lot? You're hiding out here eating and drinking. Theramore is supposed to be your concern too, you know!"

Onyxia half-reclined with elegant laziness and replied lazily, "It's *your* Theramore, my dear."

Chromie also defended herself, "We've been busy saving the world, too! Just to save you from having to guard some hilltop."

Jaina narrowed her eyes suspiciously: What hilltop?

Her gaze then locked onto Dren. "What have you been up to?"

Instead of answering immediately, Dren glanced at Jaina's staff, his eyes suddenly lighting up. He walked into the cabin, and the sound of rummaging through boxes and cabinets echoed out. A moment later, he emerged holding three slender, incense-like sticks.

Amidst the bewildered gazes of the others, Dren walked up to the campfire, lit the three "incense sticks," held them respectfully with both hands raised to his chest, and began chanting in an ancient and solemn tone:

"Grant me, Lady Aza, a mighty boon,
Let a smith drop into the sands by morn's tune.
May a single bomb strike true on the mark,
And banish all demons back to the dark."

He bowed toward the east, south, west, and north in turn, then thrust the smoking incense into the sand.

"What's wrong with Dren? What is he doing?" Onyxia whispered to Chromie, her face full of confusion.

The little gnome propped her chin in her hand, thought for a moment, and said uncertainly, "It seems to be some kind of prayer ritual."

Jaina walked forward, her brow furrowed. "Dren, what are you doing?"

Dren smiled mysteriously. "I'm praying to Azeroth to send me a blacksmith tomorrow."

Jaina gasped in shock. "You can do that?"

Chromie put on a knowledgeable front, pacing back and forth with her hands behind her back. "You're just making a fuss over nothing. This is an authentic Pandaren mystical ritual used to submit requests directly to Azeroth." She secretly winked at Dren.

Onyxia pressed a hand to her forehead, feeling that either she had gone mad or the world had lost its mind.

"Why ask Azeroth for a blacksmith when Theramore has plenty?" Jaina asked strangely.

Dren rubbed his chin and said offhandedly, "We're going to build a giant bomb and blow up Dalaran."

Hearing this, Jaina turned pale with fright. "Dren, have you lost your mind?"

Dren waved a hand dismissively. "Don't worry about it yet; you'll understand when the time comes."

Jaina crossed her arms, too angry to speak. She felt treated like an outsider, which left a bitter taste in her mouth. But long experience told her that Dren wouldn't do something like this without a reason. She decided to stay and see how it all played out.

"I'm staying here tonight," she announced, walking straight into the cabin and rolling out her sleeping bag in a corner. The others filed in to rest as well, leaving the three sticks of incense burning quietly in the night, their thin curls of smoke rising to merge with the starry sky.

In the darkness, she heard Dren and Onyxia whispering back and forth on the other side, punctuated by muffled laughter and breathing. It left her feeling restless and unsettled.

Jaina didn't sleep well that night. It wasn't until dawn was approaching that she finally drifted into a deep sleep.