Two hours later, the battle was over. The fighting here had not affected the Molten Core, so the gates covered in magma had not opened at all.
Arthas panted heavily as he drank a unique flame spirit in the bar area. This was a special brewing technique of the Dark Iron Dwarves, using flame vegetation found near the magma to create a liquor. A single gulp felt like fire—stinging, spicy, and very easy to get drunk on.
Brigitte and Jaina were responsible for dealing with the surrendered Dark Iron Dwarves. They had to settle these prisoners, as they were to be packed up and taken away later. Dark Iron Dwarves were excellent craftsmen, especially the golems they constructed, which performed decently in battle.
Though somewhat clumsy—some could even be pushed into the magma with a simple shove, making their impact on combat negligible—they were exceptionally effective for hauling and manual labor. They were inexpensive, far cheaper than magical constructs, and much more practical.
Jaina was also tending to the wounded, looking exhausted and drenched in sweat. However, her expression remained excited and thrilled; this was a kind of stimulation she could never experience in the royal court. A real battlefield experience, seeing life and death, feeling the accelerated heartbeat and the surge of adrenaline—it all made her exceptionally exhilarated.
Magni and Muradin arrived as well, both looking somewhat dejected.
"The war is over. From now on, the Dark Iron Dwarves will no longer be a threat. Our mission is complete. Next, I will deal with Ragnaros and drive him back to the Elemental Plane. Our home must never be allowed to be destroyed by him!" Arthas poured a cup of wine for the two of them.
This battle had been more alarming than dangerous. Aside from the intense heat which the army found difficult to adapt to, causing many non-combat casualties, it hadn't actually been very difficult.
The number of Dark Iron Dwarves was not large. The environment here was too harsh; while survival was possible, it was not conducive to population growth, often barely maintaining a replacement rate.
The Dark Iron Dwarves were a dark grey color—not an unpleasant black, but a luster similar to steel. Although they were dark, the appearance felt natural.
"Arthas," Magni said, stroking his beard with a somewhat embarrassed expression, "can you help me talk some sense into Moira? I didn't realize that boy Dagran was so fragile."
Good grief, he had launched a sudden sneak attack, blown his son-in-law's head off, and then complained about how weak the man was. This approach left even Arthas at a loss. How was he supposed to handle this?
"I've never met her. It might not be easy for me to persuade her," Arthas said. He didn't really want to do this. If it were fighting, killing, or finding a way to eliminate a target, he could do it. But as for persuading people, he felt he had no talent for it.
"It's fine. Muradin says you're very capable, even the Dragons listen to you. Just try to talk to Moira and get her to come back to Ironforge quickly. We're preparing to leave immediately.
The Dark Iron clan still has a huge grievance against us. Sigh, I didn't think things would escalate to this point," Magni sighed. He wasn't without a shred of regret, but regret was useless now; the current problem had to be solved first.
"I'll stay behind to fight alongside you, Arthas. The Firelord won't be easy to deal with, but a true warrior never shrinks back!" Muradin was more than happy to support his student. Challenging the Firelord would be an interesting tale to brag about once he returned.
"Alright, I'll give it a try. If she's willing to go back, she goes back. If she still has reservations, we might as well let her stay here to lead those Dark Iron Dwarves who still refuse to leave.
She can return to Ironforge whenever she changes her mind in the future. Time heals all wounds; once she understands, she'll move on." Arthas wouldn't make any absolute guarantees, keeping his words ambiguous.
"That works, that works. Your help is the best answer I could ask for." Magni still had great trust in Arthas. "Once I return, I'll select two thousand craftsmen to help you cross the sea and establish your territory. They are all skilled artisans, and their forging skills are second to none in Ironforge."
"Then I thank you. I'll go have a look. Muradin, thank you as well. Once we've finished recuperating, we'll set out." Arthas finished his drink and stood to leave, with his captain of the guard and soldiers following behind to protect him.
Deep within Blackrock Spire, there was a relatively cool area. It used ventilation ducts to draw in outside air and expel the scorching air, resulting in a lower, less oppressive temperature.
Thick stone pillars stood tall, surrounded by silent stone golems—statues guarding the palace.
Arthas explained the situation to the palace guards. Upon seeing him, the captain didn't dare be negligent; many of her kin had already joined this human prince. Even some of her relatives had gone over, and she couldn't afford to offend a major benefactor.
Before long, the guard captain emerged and gestured for Arthas to enter. "I am truly sorry. Please come in, Your Highness. The Queen has only agreed to see you alone."
"It's fine, I understand." Arthas didn't mind. He could see that the guard captain's name was green, representing a friendly disposition.
"Lakan is a very good blacksmith, and he's well-liked. In the future, even if he doesn't work as a smith, he can be a teacher, passing on his forging skills. I will establish a school that doesn't discriminate by race. Anyone who wants to learn can attend. We will teach craftsmanship, combat, priesthood, and magic."
"That would certainly be a great undertaking." Knowing he was speaking of her younger brother, the guard captain whispered, "The Queen is very grieved, but she holds no personal enmity toward Your Highness."
"Thank you." Arthas nodded with a smile; she was indeed sensible.
Entering the palace, the so-called palace was merely a few built-in rooms. Compared to the rugged style outside, the decorations here were more refined, though it was still somewhat muggy. There were marble pillars and many finely crafted weapons hanging on the walls.
Beneath a wall hung with swords and shields, Moira was cradling her child, rocking him. she looked at Arthas coldly. "What are you here for?"
"I am only here to relay a message from your father. Blood is thicker than water. What's done is done; all you can do is restrain your grief and accept the change. If you wish to return to Ironforge, then return. If you don't, then stay here and continue being your Queen.
Only, you will continue to be enslaved by the Firelord!" Arthas's expression was indifferent; he had no intention of coddling her. He could coax his own women, but why should he care about someone else's wife?