After discovering Grommash's camp, I didn't get any kinder; if anything, it was the opposite. Because now, my duties as a Surveyor included nightly monitoring of the situation at the Fel Orcs' positions and demonstrating them to anyone interested via the tactical table. And "anyone interested" meant from both armies. And then listening to bickering until late at night about the best way to attack the place. And not just between Orcs and Humans—it was clear they had different perceptions of tactics—but also between those of the same kind, which was frankly infuriating. As if I had nothing better to do. My reactor blueprints are unfinished!
But I don't interfere here; tactics are not my business. My job is small: when given the demand "send recon to this sector," I send it so the image updates, and then I go back to my own business. Grommash's forces are great, but it's still one Orc clan against two armies, even if they've taken a good defensive position. They have enough strength to delay our troops, but not to destroy them. My job here, as Lady Jaina Proudmoore said, is just to switch the map. They'll handle the rest themselves.
And then, after working with the map, I have to suffer through nightmares all night or magically exhaust myself so that there are no dreams at all. The thing is, as part of the reconnaissance, I have to study the south of Ashenvale as well. Where the Fel Orcs clashed with the Night Elf Sentinels under the leadership of their demigod, Cenarius. At first, the Elves were winning, but then the Orcs injected Fel into their veins and wiped out both the Elves and Cenarius.
They killed them with extreme cruelty, gutted them, and hung them from trees as a demonstration. Many were gutted, some were eaten. And not just the military; they destroyed civilian settlements in their path too. And since I have to control the birds, I... saw enough of this even before direct contact.
I didn't tell my superiors; I'm the main operator of the tactical map here, they might remove me, and I have to save Grommash. Though, to be honest, after seeing that, I'm plagued by vague doubts about whether it's even worth doing, or if he should just die. Because this isn't what I wanted to see in my life. But I have to. I really want him to die. In agony, not as a free Orc. But I can't let that happen.
Aerial reconnaissance has difficulties that only I can reliably handle. The Orcs have Mgalekgolo. These are marksmen who, using darts, short spears, or bows, can shoot down flying targets. Literally hunters, except trained to track and kill not just normal prey, but two-legged prey as well. For my mechanical birds, they are the biggest problem, as the Mgalekgolo notice anomalies in the birds' behavior and break them.
The Fel didn't make them worse shots; on the contrary. They started throwing missile weapons even more accurately, further, and faster. I lost five birds that way during the three days we marched to Grommash's camp. I had to adapt, moving them carefully so they looked more or less realistic, perched on tree branches. Or circling in a way that seemed even remotely natural. For example, over corpses, like scavengers. And yes, that means close-up observation of everything those monsters did. All those days we moved toward their camp. The nightmares are getting worse; I hope this ends quickly.
I had to spit on everything and silently endure the entertainment provided by the corrupted Warsong Clan, taking Alchemy in small doses. These "fans of creativity" were lunatics even in peacetime. Now they've turned into maniacs, ready to hang dead Elves on walls, making garlands out of intestines. Sacrificing prisoners with extreme cynicism to summon demons. Gutting and killing, slowly, optionally devouring them in the process. Even worse than the "meat embroidery club"; those at least worked with corpses, while these work with the living.
I've seen too much shit that I don't want to see. Animals, what animals. It's unpleasant, but I have to endure. In the end, the others endure it. Jaina herself saw Stratholme and can still sleep at night. There are plenty of people who went through the First and Second Orc War. They're holding on, and I will too. I'll manage because I have to. I hope Veni doesn't end up in a situation like this.
I recall Alleria Windrunner saw things like this and managed. I'll manage too. There are no psychologists in Azeroth; I'll manage with the methods at hand. Work so I don't think about all the shit. And when I grow up, other stress-relief methods will open up. Like Venidan has. Well, what, I'm not blind; moreover, I have Manhacks tuned with "long-range vision."
The officers treated the "girl with the switch" normally. Both ours and the Horde's; to them, I'm just an attachment to the tactical map. This approach suits me perfectly. It's a bit annoying when they start arguing too actively, but not much. If it gets too much, it attracts the superiors' attention. And Thrall can deliver a blow with his hammer; Cairne can ensure an instant concussion with a fist, possibly a severe one. Jaina is kinder—she'll put you in an ice block and leave you there for the night. So everyone is polite to the point of nausea. When the superiors are around.
I just don't care; my thoughts are occupied with something else. Something entirely different. I need to turn the TOKAMAK prototype into an ICF reactor with minimal resource waste; they are expensive, after all. I know who to turn to for the hull parts; Bomrek's forge is ready to work even with Adamantite. The Gnomes of Cold-Solder will handle the electronics and control plates; I'll make some of the parts myself. Yes, I'll have to outsource a significant portion of the parts to other workshops, but I'd be messing around for too long on my own. And that means I need to finish the work so that upon returning, I can quickly place the orders and start the work. Archimonde won't wait.
"Move to C2," an officer called out, "Hey, girl."
They're constantly distracting me.
"Executing," I switched the image to the required mechanical bird and, moving my fingers, began giving it text commands. But my thoughts were far away.
The search for Veni hasn't led to anything yet. The main problem is the huge territory with tons of trees and wildlife. A continent is a continent, even on Azeroth. Even if you accept the fact that Azeroth is several times smaller than Earth, the territories are still colossal. The Barrens are full of the most diverse fauna of all degrees of aggression, and they are huge. Really huge; you can't see the end of them.
By the way, I accidentally found the construction site of the future Orgrimmar, and it's about ten kilometers from the coast, not the three hundred meters it was in the game. And failing to notice a few humanoid figures hiding from unwanted attention is easy.
The Horde territory is patrolled, including by Orcs on Wyverns. And I don't even have a precise direction in which the survivors from the Pepelats went. North toward us, or south to make a detour and head toward Theramore? Or maybe west into the depths of the Barrens or the mountain forest valleys. And they're clearly being cautious to avoid meeting the Horde's aerial forces. Veni's group is doing this well enough that not only the Trolls, but even I can't find them.
It's all unpleasant; I hope you guys are alive out there. Still, despite the fact that I consider my decision correct, guilt is felt. And it weighs on me. Adding the burden of another important task in the future.
"Shift B-6 to B-5."
"Moving."
And no, I don't idealize Grommash. Not in the least; he's a monster. Over these days, I've seen enough of him and his subordinates. In their "natural habitat," so to speak. He's a cruel and aggressive lunatic, no two ways about it. But at the same time, he's the most reasonable of the available lunatics, whom other lunatics listen to and obey. Not to mention that he and Thrall are blood brothers. And his rescue specifically by my hands, the reconnaissance system using relatively small mechanical birds—all of this is reputation. The Orcs and Humans will remember this, which will make working with them easier in the future.
Just like the fact that I know, and other Humans don't, that Thrall is reasonable, and if you aren't rude to him, he would have answered anyway. Nothing but pluses from the situation, whichever way you look at it. I just remembered Varian Wrynn's kidnapping and his behavior at the negotiations with the Horde. The King of Stormwind, in my humble opinion, isn't much further along the scale of reasonableness than Grommash, especially after his soul was split by Onyxia. What kind of people I'll have to work with!
It's worth remembering that Orgrimmar will be built relatively close to Theramore. And when the Systems Alliance, through the Night Elves, begins indirect conflicts with the Horde, using Theramore as a transit port, a neutral status and normal relations with the Horde leaders won't be superfluous. Not to mention the future incident with the demon... what was his name. I don't remember. The one who pitted Theramore and Orgrimmar against each other.
In short, reputation is important when you have no proof other than meta-knowledge. My word will carry weight, the reputation of a well-known Elf who knows what she's saying and what she's doing. And we'll prepare for war anyway, just in case.
"Varian Wrynn, hm."
This time he at least sent humanitarian aid to the north, even if he didn't help with troops. Through Vereesa. I recall that any troop movements toward Lordaeron were blocked by Katrana Prestor, also known as the Black Dragon Onyxia. She and her brother Nefarian have Blackrock Mountain nearby, so they decided to eliminate the threat to themselves through a complex scheme and a power grab. Although the lizard didn't get absolute power; Palpatine is still cooler. She bet on suggestion and control of the kingdom's nobles, but she couldn't handle Varian. And the King of Stormwind beheaded her. The nuance is that Jaina and Theramore participated in those events; perhaps I will have to as well.
"And how should I act in this situation, hm?"
I don't think it's worth going to Stormwind at all until the situation with Onyxia is resolved. She'll easily sell me out to her kin. Or she might just try to screw me over, like the Defias Brotherhood, then still the stonemasons' guild. Or she'll try to subjugate me using the powers of the Void. After all, she's an important lizard, and her lackey-nobles. And I'm not; I can be screwed over, undermining the Wrynn's power with the population's dissatisfaction.
Hm, what do the officers want?
"Move bird seven from B-3 to E-7. Seems like there's something there. An ore vein?"
Let's see. Something seems to be glittering.
"Looks like it. We need an image of that zone," the second officer said, seeing the same thing I did.
I nodded, actively typing commands.
"Moving. Stand by."
Admittedly, I don't know what to do with the Syndicate, the Defias Brotherhood, Onyxia, and the rest. In terms of trade relations, not raiding, I mean. For now, it looks like trading with the Horde is simply easier and safer than with the Eastern Kingdoms. With the Horde, reputation matters; Thrall won't be particularly bothered by the complaints of Stormwind nobility. Neither will Jaina. I described everything to her in detail in a private conversation; she understood. Goblins don't care at all; they have their own Cartels and their own squabbles. However we agree, that's how it will be, though my trade organization will still need a security block. You can deal with all of them, one way or another.
Unlike the inhabitants of the Eastern Kingdoms. It's better to communicate with them with a kind word and a flying dreadnought, and until the dreadnought is ready, contact them as little as possible. The chance of running into trouble during a routine business meeting is too high.
And I'm still wanted, by the way. Thanks to the efforts of my own Elven nobility, they want to detain me in the Seven Kingdoms for questioning. No thanks.
In short, I'll work here and gain experience in business. And I'll start by trading specifically with the Horde. I can imagine what they'll need during the construction of their new capital, Orgrimmar, and automatic factories will be able to produce it. Once we find the resources, I'll be able to. Yes, I'll definitely have to invest in the mining business. Fortunately, golems can handle that too, if there's a will. What can we start selling immediately?
Lumber; the Horde and Goblin syndicates will always be at war over construction and shipbuilding timber with the Night Elves. After all, in the Barrens, timber for a large medieval city is scarce. Especially when you have a huge, continuous Elven forest to the north covering a fairly large state. Inhabited by Greenpeace types who are sharply against logging. Conflict is inevitable. And the profit from such supplies is too, heh.
Turning a barren steppe into a thriving multinational city is quite difficult. How convenient that I have access to many documents from the Theramore Chancery. After all, a Surveyor is a logistics inspector, among other things. And I can see firsthand how much and what materials it costs to build a house. Or a city. Mama and Lady Jaina are starting to suspect something after such questions.
I laughed to myself. Of course they know; I don't make a secret of my plans. And I even brought a presentation to Lady Jaina. All to convince her—I know what I'm doing. One could consider such an appointment as official approval of my actions. Like, give it a try. I won't let them down.
"Give me a view of the portal."
"Coming up," let's see what caught their eye there.
Black-and-red demonic gates. Looks somewhat like obsidian and glows with red and green runes carved on the doors. A neat square door, inside—a red-violet vortex from which demons emerge. We'll remember, record, recount. Right now, demonic men are coming out of the portal. Doomguards—classic devils with wings, horns, hooves, and large blades glowing with green fire, in armor.
"I see, looks like reinforcements are arriving. Let's see where they go."
And the main headache—a global control system for all of this. Reconnaissance, hives, golems. Well, I won't be able to pull off a full-fledged satellite system. At least not until we rob Ulduar. Managing every mechanism manually isn't even funny. And Ulduar, by the way, is an army of Titan robots, Titanides, mechs, huge tanks, and an orbital laser. All at once, yes. And that's just at the entrance. Modern warfare in every sense. It's just too early for me to go there in the coming years.
The demons, meanwhile, left the portal and headed north toward the forest. Which the owner of the white armor commented on:
"They're heading into Ashenvale. Record it. And what a stupid name, Ashenvale?"
I spread my hands.
"How should I know? I didn't live there."
I'll have to create beacons, just like when we bombed the Sunwell. Who would have thought that "long-range vision" as a spell could be used specifically as a vector. After all, the logic is simple—you "look" in the right direction. Literally. And three vectors, if you calculate the distances more or less accurately, are enough to create coordinates. That's what we'll do.
What makes the situation particularly ironic is that radio communication in Azeroth actually exists. Just not among Humans. Dwarves definitely have it, Gnomes and Goblins—I'm ninety-nine percent sure. And the Humans are left with the old-fashioned way—shouting. Unless you're a Mage, of course; there are options there. This is important because access to such technologies means the possibility of technical sabotage through knowledge of the hardware. Or the detection of my toys, simply by being able to track them.
"Move the bird here..."
"Hm? Done."
How complicated all of this is... I'm just overwhelmed by the number of details that need to be worked out even at this stage. What's even more entertaining is that I automatically expect sabotage from my neighbors on the planet, even from allies in the Systems Alliance. Especially from them. Although that, precisely, is logical. We live in Azeroth; here, even belonging to a faction doesn't give guarantees—just ask the Defias Brotherhood.
And so my evening passes. And then another long day's march across the endless steppe and another evening. And on the third day, we finally arrived. Ahead are cliffs, behind which, and also behind the forest, Grommash's camp begins. The Systems Alliance and the Horde began deploying their base, and I set up my tent next to the headquarters. Yes, I now know how to set up a tent. For coordination, an intermediate headquarters was set up between the faction bases. I'll stay here, along with the tactical table, to conduct reconnaissance.
"Surveyor Davilinia," a Systems Alliance officer approached, "your task is to keep the map in working order. Enter combat only in the event of a direct threat to the headquarters."
Nothing new; I've heard all this before.
"Yes, Commander," I nodded.
I know what my orders are, but I see no point in arguing. If he thinks he needs to repeat them—that's his right; he's the superior. The main thing is that he doesn't sabotage anything. Looking at the back of the departing man, I went through the curtain into the building with the tactical table.
I recall that in the game, the meeting place for the faction leaders was just an empty clearing. Here, they deployed a full-fledged barracks-type structure. Characteristically—an Orcish one; it has more space. A large circular building made of a spiked wooden frame, wooden plates, and hides so the wind doesn't get in. It's assembled quickly, disassembled just as fast, if you have the workers.
Except instead of a fire in the center—a tactical table. This was a joint decision by the faction leaders: the Systems Alliance provides the table and me, the Horde—builds a hut around it so it doesn't get drafty, and well, there's some protection, just in case. A large map illusion was deployed in the center of the room so the military leaders could coordinate their actions, and it began.
Jaina and Thrall spoke, outlined the tasks: stop the Orcs of the Warsong Clan, place Grommash's soul in a soul stone, bring it to the Theramore camp, where his body will be cleansed of Fel to restore his sanity. Everything was as it should be. And then they went back to their bases, and it started.
The battle itself was difficult, actually. I wasn't allowed to fight; I spent the whole battle in the headquarters, switching the map. However, by operating the mechanical birds, one could see the battle from a dozen different angles. Often—from a fairly close distance, so I was able to "enjoy" the process fully.
And there, on the battlefield, absolute carnage occurred. First, it quickly became clear that Orcs under Fel influence become about three times faster. And they start hitting with such force that they simply smash through infantry armor without noticing it. Not enough? They also don't feel pain.
Not once or twice during the battle did I see how, even after receiving mortal wounds, the Fel Orcs continued to strike, break, and hack until they destroyed the "normal" orcs or humans. And then they would simply collapse, exhausted, bleeding out, and die without medical assistance. And this straightforward madness hits morale quite hard. Our soldiers are not so impenetrable. Watching an orc with a ripped-open belly frenziedly hacking at your friends, showing no intention of dying, is quite terrifying. From all angles.
In the end, such a crowd of "mad Jedi" simply smashes into the formation in close combat, and either everyone is killed, or they run out themselves. They do not retreat, they do not hesitate, they spare no one. The commanders had to spend time and effort to adapt tactics to this brutal enemy.
And then the sky turned red, split open by the holes of portals, and from them, green stone men began to pour onto the battlefield. Infernals. With a roar, they struck the ground, leaving craters, toppling trees; Fel explosions caused several fires.
I won't lie, when I saw ordinary burning five-meter golems falling from the sky, I exhaled. Because I remember exactly that Gul'dan used to drop Fel Reavers, aka Fel Reavers, from the sky. And if those Giant Humanoid Combat Robots the size of a five-story building had come for our asses, life would have become very painful and likely very short. No, I think we would have broken through. I would have unsheathed my weapon, and Thrall and Jaina aren't exactly amateurs. But even a pair of Fel Reavers would have caused simply Outland-level damage.
Though the Infernals created plenty of problems as it was. Living artillery, as much as a Fel golem can be called living. A sentient high-explosive shell like that falls on your head, explodes, unfolds into a golem, and goes to beat the humans who survived the blast. Strong enough to break the protective towers of both humans and orcs. And to cause second-degree burns with the explosion.
And this is where my main influence on this fight manifested. By the flashes of Fel magic, we managed to find the Biotics users who were summoning this filth. A group of red-skinned warlocks, draped with the heads and skulls of elf women. Freaks. I hate them!
"Calm down, DaVi, calm down, they will die. Calm down."
I passed this information to the riders; they paid a visit and slaughtered the summoners. The horror in my life decreased just a little bit. And my mood improved. I think I'm starting to enjoy the process of righteous slaughter.
Well, after that, everything went according to the script. The soldiers more or less got used to the orcs' actions, and with heavy losses, they finally broke through the Warsong Clan's defense. Especially since the leaders of The Horde and Jaina were doing their job with axe, Affliction, and hammer, crushing the skulls of demons and the corrupted. The Wizard helped a lot; her ice, while not always stopping them, slowed the enemy down well. This allowed the soldiers to fight the orcs on equal terms. And to win.
As for me... it's getting harder and harder to hold on. So many corpses. So many mutilated bodies, terrible wounds. I tried with all my might to maintain composure, to preserve myself. But it's so hard to see this... To see catapult shells tearing bodies apart. To see skulls being crushed and heads flying off. How these beasts tear, disembowel, destroy, kill.
How fire devours their bodies. How they die, crushed by the steps of Infernals, for the golems are indifferent to all of it. How sentient beings perish under rubble and bleed out, for there is no one to provide help. They are doomed, and I know it. I see it. I saw it.
And I cannot help but look, for I must control the battlefield, and the number of birds is limited. The orcs realized we were watching them and began to seek out and destroy them. And I have to guide them in manual mode. And see. See all the horror they commit. Orcs and demons, and I see no difference.
These orcs. Pitiful, doomed creatures. Pawns of their master, to be discarded, sent to their deaths in this carnage. Betrayed by those who gave them the pact and the power. Merely expendable material for the Burning Legion, cannon fodder for all our wars. Aggressive trash, fit only to lubricate our swords. No, not now! I am in the rear, I am at the console. It is high time for their death. The doomed shall fall. So it was predicted by me.
"Not now!"
I jerked, disconnecting the map control. I see too much; the "Demon Vision" transmission goes straight into the helmet. I see how both sides furiously hack through each other. How the demons cackle, enjoying the slaughter. How the orcs with a roar tear apart screaming humans, how they fall dead after receiving too many wounds. The expendable material is fulfilling its purpose, as it should. They die, lonely and useless. Trash. Enough! I need to go out, check myself, disconnect. Think about the doomed. Their death is useful to the plan. The Warsong Clan has done its job; they are spent material that must be destroyed. Their souls are all that is needed next.
Damn, what bad timing. Someone grabbed my shoulder and jerked me sharply. An officer, his irritated, dissatisfied mustachioed face. Looking at me as if at a servant. Nonentity!
"Hey, switch the map, move it."
At what moment the blades were extended from my gauntlet, the gauntlet lighting up purple, almost slamming the officer's head into the wall, I didn't even realize. The wood crunched as his helmet bent from the impact against the wall, clinking against the metal of the gauntlet, the plume crumpling. The man, viewing the blades through the gaps between my fingers, stared in shock, his eyes wide. He is afraid of us. Holy shit! A trickle of blood ran down the blades. And it seems from the back of his head too. It's dripping onto the man's armor.
"Just die," what? "No! Just don't come near me!"
I let go, causing the officer to slide down the wall, not even trying to stand. I retracted the weapon, clutching my helmeted head. With his death, it would have become quieter. No, out of the question. I am not in control of myself. Enough of this! No, I need to leave. Now. Turning around, I noticed the privates who had been guarding the entrance. Now there were slanted triple gashes on the armor of both; one soldier was helping the other remove a blood-soaked breastplate, drenched in blood. Did I do that? No-no-no-no! I need to get out immediately, let them die. They dared to doubt.
"I'm going out. I can't snap. I can't," I walked past the frightened men, ripping through the tent fabric with a jerk, stepping out into the fresh air.
All these corpses. Mutilated corpses. These beasts. No longer sentient beings. Just animals. Yes, no, shut up!
Let them stay behind. Just like her. I won't leave them, for they will die alone, betrayed by everyone. No. I will help them, they will live, everyone. Just as I abandoned her. Left her in the barrens and loneliness. Because it's easier that way. To betray. To leave behind.
I didn't leave her. Not exactly. I am not a traitor. I won't abandon them. I just have no idea where she is. In the barrens with sparse groves, you could search for her for weeks. If I go in there, it's dangerous for both of us. These beasts, they staged a massacre. And they summoned demons, who also staged a massacre. The Warsong Clan. Butchers, in every sense. They can be used. No, it's none of my business. No, we'll do without aggressive psychos.
Raising my eyes to the soldiers at the entrance, with fear darting in their thoughts, in their eyes, I extinguished the purple magical flame still burning on the wrists of my gauntlets. Which had left scorched marks on the wood. I need to calm down. Otherwise, this won't end well. My fingers ran along my belt, where Alchemy sat in flasks and containers. I need to calm down, lots of sedatives. I can't snap, not now. Healing potions—not it. Stims—not it.
No, I need a sedative. And I have that too. So as not to feel the pointlessness of my actions. An injector for administering the potion through the helmet is a useful thing. After all, most alchemy is meant to be drunk. The effect of tablets would take a long time to kick in. Magical alchemy took effect in just a minute. The voice and obsessive ideas didn't disappear, but they became quieter. Now I can at least work. The battle isn't over; there's no time for self-pity.
I returned to the building more or less normal. The officer had already left, as had the wounded soldiers; the battle continued. No one said anything to me, they just keep their distance now.
"Looks like the battle is coming to an end."
More precisely, it's almost over; without the Infernals, those tough boulders, the orcs could no longer realize their qualitative advantage so well. Moreover, the mages with freezing, the marksmen, began to do their job. The enemy was immobilized, disarmed, and beaten with everything available. With damage, with losses, but this is one clan, albeit a strong one, against two armies. There are simply too few of them. Blood continued to flow, but now the Balance shifted in our favor. We are winning.
We destroyed the demonic gates, and the demon reinforcements stopped entirely. The combined forces, taught by the first attacks, conducted the cleanup with total thoroughness. Without the orcs from Outland, the clan will be, if not destroyed, then seriously battered. Useless. Calm down, DaVi. We won't snap. I'll have to apologize later anyway.
I think I not only almost broke that officer's face, but also lashed out with my claws at the soldiers who were breaking us up. I'll deal with that later. I dislike these flashes of rage and voices in my head just as much as everyone else does. But all that will be later.
What's more important now—Thrall successfully put Grommash into the soul gem Jaina gave him. And his carcass, as well as his soul, is being dragged to the Human Camp, where a magic circle for purification is already prepared. Which means it's time for me too, while I am still "me." When I left, the soldiers were stealing glances. I feel their stares, how their thoughts tickle with sweet fear. I feel their apprehensions, their limited minds that lack knowledge. And it's good they lack it. They'll be safer.
And I need to get to the priests and witch doctors who will be purifying Grommash. Get there early, intervene. Kill the useless animal. No, save it! Fine, I'll be honest with myself: I would love to finish him off. After everything I saw—I really would. I would very, very much like to sink my claws in and perform a full drain. And burn the body so even the priests couldn't do anything. I won't do it. Whatever the case, Grommash might be the solution to the problem with Garrosh. Even if an "accident" happens to him later, I at least tried to solve the problem.
Jaina, seeing my actions, will clearly decide I know something, and so I do. In any case, better with the priests than just watching. Before leaving, I set the birds to circulate; the image, albeit chaotically, will update. If the orcs shoot down a couple, I don't care. Now I need to finish the job. And not snap in the process. What butchers you all are, eh? Pawns, created as such. Just shut up! There are things more important than my momentary desires!
***
We tumbled onto the clearing at the same time. Thrall with the carcass of his kinsman and the soul gem in a bag. And I in a not-quite-sane state, trying to convince myself not to attack. I wasn't noticed or wasn't given importance, they were too busy with the chieftain. Thrall immediately dropped his brother's body into the magic circle, around which the witch doctors and priests had gathered.
Grommash doesn't look his best. Dirty red-green skin, massive muscles with bulging burgundy veins, armor drenched in blood. Magically, Fel is actively circulating in his body; it's in his blood.
It took considerable mental effort not to decapitate him on the spot. Now, when the orc is defenseless, when I can absorb his Mana and his soul. Which I won't do. A bright green brute, in armor soaked with the blood of Cenarius and elves, with tangled hair. I am here to save him. Not to kill him on the spot. Save him. It must be done, even if I really don't want to.
Meanwhile, Thrall placed the soul gem on Grommash's chest and took a step back. And Jaina appeared in the clearing.
"Everything is ready, we can begin."
Right. Let's begin. Claws—drain mode. Da Vinci Code—launch. Analysis. Fel. Executing. With a clang, the claws extended, the crystals. On the outer side of the palm—the personal dome projector. Around the forearm—additional analysis blocks. Because of this, the gauntlet sharply increased in size. Okay, let's get to it. The main thing is not to overdo it.
"Blink."
I was instantly in the circle, causing the priests to recoil, giving me room to maneuver. And silently I drove my claws into Grommash's chest, piercing the right lung. Deploying a Mana Shield around myself. Right now he's not quite alive, so nothing terrible happened; they'll heal him.
"And now—drain," it looks beautiful, greenish streams being pulled into the claws. I like it.
The shield almost shattered from a blow from the side; looks like the Doomhammer was applied. Doesn't matter. What matters is that the analysis module, deployed like a skeleton around the gauntlet, is glowing steadily, and the shield crystal has switched entirely to an external power source. Fel. Even better, I needed somewhere to put the energy from the storage. And even the fact that the priests joined in, either to heal or to attack, and are burning Fel energy, suits me.
I don't care what they're saying. The pumping process is going well. Of course, I won't be able to suppress the curse, but we'll remove most of the symptoms. And the claws in this freak's chest look good, that can't be denied. I could even drive them deeper... no, not worth it. You are a monster, Grommash, but I am not. And you are needed to maintain order. Hm, did the others realize what I'm doing?
They stopped hitting too, and that's not good.
"Hit it a couple more times, I need to bleed off the excess Fel through the shield."
Thrall fulfilled the request; a mighty "thump" arrived from above and shattered against the Mana Shield. But a dissatisfied Jaina remarked:
"You could have told us about this. Instead of lunging as if you wanted to stab him."
I winced. The whisper in my head is still present. And yes, I did want to stab him. I still do. But I can't.
"Forgive me, Lady Jaina. The Darkness in my body... reacted. I saw too much of what the orcs did under the demon blood. It was a repeat of what happened with the murlocs. In any case, I've pulled the Fel out of him as much as possible. Now it's your turn."
With a click, the suction stopped. I pulled the claws out of the orc's exposed part with effort, examining the crystals. They had darkened, become sharp, chipped. Like stone Fel claws. I'll have to change them. Stylish, I won't deny, but completely unsuitable.
I was saved from a lengthy discussion of my actions right on the spot by the fact that Grommash began to move. He surveyed the whole crowd that had gathered around him, found Thrall with his eyes, and winced. Hurts, does it? Your own fault. I think I'm becoming imbued with this spirit of sadism.
"Thrall, little brother... I'm sorry," the leader of The Horde offered a hand and Grommash stood up. He looks very guilty.
And while they are there discussing and reconciling, Jaina pulled me aside. All but by the ear. Fortunately, my head is in a helmet and my ears are protected. Generally, if you think about it, it's incredibly hard to whip a mage. Mana Shield is not the simplest, but not the hardest spell, increasing physical defense manifold. Thrall, when he hit with the hammer, was clearly being careful not to kill Grommash along with me. If the claws had gone deeper, there would have been problems.
"How bad is it?" the Wizard clarified with clear threat in her voice, "on all counts. The attack, your condition. Why did you even look at that, you already did this in Silvermoon. Somehow you avoided such a reaction; you said this started recently. What changed? And why, in the name of the Holy, did you keep silent?"
Well, not good, but not terrible. I'm not planning to lose my mind just yet. But I'm afraid at this rate I might end up who knows where.
"I'll live, the voices in my head are almost silent, Lady Jaina, thank you for the concern. And as for the control—the hunters notice and shoot down the mechanical birds. I lost several; I had to try hard so the orcs wouldn't see them. It wasn't the smartest decision, Lady Jaina, but it was the right one so we would have reconnaissance. My nerves or the success of the operation—the choice is obvious. The winners are not judged—your words. Forgive me."
The woman sighed. Heavily, judgmentally, but then simply waved her hand.
"Fine, let's assume so. I'll send you to Theramore if nothing critical is planned. You'll rest, recover, get some treatment. Your mother won't forgive me if I don't. We won't miss anything important, will we?" I shook my head. Not yet. "Good. And Grommash? What did you do to him?"
I sighed.
"Drained the Fel from his body. Unfortunately, there's little I can do about the curse, only ease his condition. To gain freedom, they need to kill the demon who made the blood pact with the orcs. Fortunately, they understand this themselves."
Laughter rang out from the side. It was Grommash, who had risen from the ground and accepted Thrall's hand, looking at us. With glowing red eyes. In his gaze was only the mockery of a sadist seeing another toy.
"I won't forget this, Little One. Nor the scars inflicted on me today."
It sounded threatening, but I can do something too. Not in terms of bloodthirstiness—competing as a warrior would be stupid. But I have something to say to you.
"You two are going after Mannoroth, right? To deal with the blood curse devouring the orcs," and now everyone is looking at me. Jaina disapproves but remains silent. "Then here's a bit of important information. The wings on a pit lord aren't for show; he can use them to withstand a direct hit from a charged Doomhammer. That's the first thing."
Thrall nodded silently. Grommash, who had previously looked with mocking superiority, now clearly expresses interest.
"And what will you tell me, Little One?"
I snorted.
"Two things at once, old man. First—your son, Garrosh Hellscream, clearly needs a father's heavy hand. He's sitting in Outland with no upbringing at all, suffering from stupid thoughts. And second—after the demon dies, he will explode. The demon, not Garrosh. If you want to see your son, I'd worry about fire protection if I were you. And even better—don't absorb a magical explosion with your face, standing in front of him with your chest puffed out. It's better to jump to the side from the blast. Or back, covering your head with your hands. Having acquired an amulet in advance."
You are repulsive to me as much as you like, but since I'm saving you, the job must be finished. I was a bit pleased by the bewildered look on Grommash's face, who, it seems, had completely forgotten about his "precious son" over these years. And he expected me to say anything, but clearly not this. A small victory.
***
I was placed under Alastir's supervision, where I sat until evening. And then we split up. I with the cargo—home, to Theramore. Alastir stayed in the camp. They are entering the Night Elf forests; a tiny chance to negotiate with them is better than none. The Druid immediately warned—the chances of success are low; the Sentinels won't listen to a renegade Druid. But he agreed to try.
Two days later, a message came with a messenger—Grommash was burned but survived, Mannoroth was killed. He sent a gift of a necklace made of three demon teeth on a string. I'll even wear them, because I can and I like to shock those around me.
Theramore... met us in all its splendor. Remembering the game's Theramore, I never liked it. It wasn't a city; it was a castrated base from a strategy game. Now Stormwind—that's a city. Yet in the lore, no fewer than ten thousand souls lived in Theramore, but there wasn't a single house in that "city." Although there was exactly one house for the whole city. And it was a tavern. But actual houses, farms—there were none.
Stormwind, yes, even Orgrimmar, the main Tauren camp—different matter. There are houses and utility buildings there. But in Theramore—there was nothing. No-thing. So I waited with sincere curiosity to see what it would be like—Theramore. Especially considering the fact that I myself had put effort into its construction. And I'm not just talking about the sewers. And I wasn't wrong.
The city before my eyes—a completely different matter. This Theramore—fills the entire island; it's cramped on it. Dense two-to-three-story buildings, and with flat roofs—hydroponics are built on them to ease the growing of available food. Greenhouses are located on them, making the city look very green and beautiful from above. Even from the Tower of Magic in the center of the city, Jaina's abode, all this greenery looks magnificent.
The city is divided into several districts. The Elf district, the Human district, the inventor district where Gnomes and Dwarves live. The workshop quarters and the military quarter. Separately—the city center with a small park and Antonidas Square. Yes, I have no idea if he died this time, but Lady Jaina decided so, and no one argued. Administrative buildings are in the center, including the castle with the Tower of Magic and the Chancery building where my mother works. Well, and me too, under her supervision, dealing with bureaucracy.
As in Stormwind, the quarters differ in their style. The Human ones—it's a literal human hive. Narrow, albeit stone-paved streets, houses looming over them. The first floors are occupied by shops, all sorts of little stores. And above—housing. And hydroponics on the roof, thanks to the Druid. It's built densely; I know for a fact a couple of very narrow alleys where not just a cart, but my "Crane" wouldn't squeeze through. Not exactly slums, but very dense construction. They say you can find anything here, any entertainment, just pay. I haven't checked.
The Elf district is becoming like a branch of Quel'Thalas. Buildings soar into the sky, many balconies and galleries looming and flying over the streets. Often—literally; launching various flying structures over the city was immediately designated as something very Revered. By the way, our future office will be there too, it just hasn't been built yet. Elves with a much lighter hand go into the heavens, building towers, which makes part of the city slightly resemble Dalaran.
But it turned out to be a good solution to the density problem. Although they too had to squeeze in, which is why the streets themselves, at ground level, can be in darkness thanks to the balconies blocking the sun. And effectively adding a second floor to the street, where all sorts of restaurants and shops for the wealthier members of society are located. Well, the poorer ones move in the darkness. Though they too live in comfort; no one built tiny rooms, there's enough space for everyone.
The Dwarf block goes not up, but down, into the gloom of the dungeons. Good thing they are reasonable enough to coordinate their own buildings and the city infrastructure; they could have dug into my base. Generally logical, Theramore island is a bit small for everything to fit. So where possible—we dig in. Workshops in a hundred percent of cases have underground floors. Some buildings have one or two above-ground and up to ten underground floors. The above-ground serves as a shop or office. The underground—everything else.
Also, the Dwarves took over part of the agriculture, growing mushrooms in underground caves. I tried them; the taste of mushrooms grown on pipes is... specific. Also, the Dwarves brew beer from these mushrooms. Mushroom beer, yep. I haven't tried it.
Naturally, an important part of the city is the port and the infrastructure on the "mainland" reclaiming territory from the jungle. There are also above-ground and underground, hermetic levels there.
Against this background, my unfinished bunker looks sad. Soon I will fix that. I started fixing it the very next day after returning. Immediately upon arrival, a day with the family—that's important.
A difficult moment, heh. You come home; our family has a small but private house with decent magic protection. Two floors, looks like the house we had back when we lived in the Quel'Thalas village, but having a tower in its construction where you can look at the city from a height, out of reach from the noise and chaos of the city. The house itself is larger, of course, but not by much. Moreover, both the first and second floors have exits.
The first is just to the street, the second—to a gallery through which you can reach the market stalls nearby. The neighborhood isn't poor, the neighbors are good, though I don't know anyone. By the way, the second floor includes a little shop; after all, my father is, like it or not, a baker. And finding himself in a new city, he didn't change his habits. So he bakes and sells various bakery products to our neighbors and just those who come by. All sorts of city dwellers.
But what needed to be changed—was the soundproofing. After all, a city isn't a village; there are more sources of noise at any time of day. The roof is blue, more characteristic of Silvermoon, and quite neat, even beautiful.
I came home through the shop, where Vilgeriy is behind the counter: a human teenager, about my age. Tall, skinny brunette, looking like he'd been hit with a sack. I don't know where father found him, but he found him and took him as a salesman.
"Uh, Davilinia?" the guy, charging a Dwarf at the counter, noticed. "Oh, you're back!"
I snorted, ignoring the customer's gaze. The Dwarf turned and grumbled:
"I'm standing here."
I measured the Dwarf with a look through my helmet. Well-dressed, in a suit, beard combed and braided. I didn't threaten him, just shifted my gaze to the clearly nervous guy.
"And I live here. Vilgeriy, is father home?"
The guy nodded briefly.
"Yes, of course. There, in the bakery. You..."
"I know the way. Work, don't dawdle."
Excellent. It's been a long day. And I still have to surrender to my family. I walked past both under the guy's nervous gaze and the Dwarf's suspicious one. Behind me, the customer's question rang out:
"Who's that?"
But I didn't stay to hear the answer. I closed the door, walked down the familiar corridor. It's a bit empty here, after the move... we took almost no things with us. We had to find most of it on the spot. Or make it on my assembly complex. So there's a full set of furniture. Good, wooden, polished, and smelling faintly of wood. And here, immediately to the left, right there is the bakery.
Inside was father, busy mixing fruit filling for buns. Hearing the door open, he turned and froze. After which he demanded:
"Wait outside. A minute."
Naturally, I wasn't offended and fulfilled the demand. I'm fresh from the street, dirty. Trampling around the kitchen would be...
The door swung open and I was squeezed hard. It's very pleasant, of course, but because of the gauntlets, it's a little bit painful. So, not resisting and even sincerely enjoying the moment, I murmured:
"You'll crush me..."
The elf let go and took a step back, smiling.
"You're okay. Come, I want to know everything."
I took off the helmet and smirked.
"Let me wash up first and I'll come to you myself. Okay? I won't distract you from work."
If there were doubts, there are no more. Both father and mother were very glad I was okay, and upon my return, they threw quite a celebration. Of course, I had to, while omitting details, tell about my adventures. About simple and difficult choices.
In response, I heard all the gossip from our neighborhood. Many of those who arrived are refugees from different regions and are just getting to know each other. Establishing relationships, including personal ones. To be perfectly honest, I don't know all these elves, so I'm generally not interested. But... it's mother. And, to please them, I lay in the chair by the fireplace and listened. And it's very, very pleasant to be in the family circle; for complete happiness, only a cat is missing. There was hot herbal infusion, a fireplace fed by magical flame, and talk about nothing. A magnificent evening.
The next two days were spent making new orders and canceling current ones. Yes, expensive. Yes, the inhabitants of both the workshop and the forge were not at all happy with "let's start over, it's all crap." We yelled at each other quite a bit. And then the Dwarf pulled out some beer and suggested we discuss it. Parents were unhappy on the morning of the third day. But the project gained quite a few new elements, yes... Lucky that Jaina wasn't in the city and didn't see my new creative outburst. A bit shameful. But that's not important! What's important is that we decided how to do it all!
And already on the morning of the next day, I descended into the dark dungeon and a big construction of a new reactor began. Dismantle the frame, dig new rooms for capacitors and processors. Now the reactor needs additional rooms in all directions. During an explosion, the energy, to maximize the rate, will be collected from all sides. Which means it makes sense to place the storage units around the active zone on several floors so that the assimilation of the explosion happens faster.
As an energy collector, the same principle as my claws is used, only it's greatly scaled up. Each spike, more than a meter long, will absorb energy, using runes to convert it directly into Mana. A kind of "inward hedgehog." Ninety-six storage units of half a cubic meter, inside which crystallized Mana will be located. Yes, crude. Yes, impractical. Yes, Goblins make much smaller batteries. But these crystals can be hit with a hammer or ground into powder and taken that way so they dissolve. Though internally—that's for experienced mana-eaters.
Children, remember: blue stuff is evil. Even if it's Mana, an elf can get an addiction from constant absorption. But I believe in myself. Here it's just me and my creations, and nothing will stop me from creating what I desire. I will make this damn reactor. After all, the Gnomes have a nuclear reactor in Gnomeregan, why am I any worse? And I think I'm not.
The silence of the dungeons calms and sets a working mood. The thud of mechanical golem legs and mechanisms, the grinding and hissing of machines. The rhythmic clatter of the assembly complex, bending and soldering parts for my new reactor. It's almost music, specific, but having its own rhythm.
Out of interest, I practiced absorbing magic from an object like a classic Blood Elf. To remove the Enchanted strings on the "donut" frame, as it really didn't want to be dismantled, resisting disassembly. That is, simply, without the help of claws. It didn't work the first time, but success makes one think. The very possibility... The strings, when part of the spell is sucked out, can lose stability, and the magic dissipates. This must be taken into account in the future.
I recall Valeera pulling magic from a Naga trident. Perhaps this technique will come in handy in the future. Though, it's Mana that will mix with mine. I'll pick up all sorts of things. No, I'll leave it only for an extreme case. If there are other options, it's better not to pull Mana.
Alas, the world isn't perfect; a lot of time has to be spent on the surface. As a Surveyor—I am an inspector sent to the front lines of timber, stone, and metal procurement when a problem needs solving. Usually—by destroying a pack of Kobolds, Murlocs, or some other filth. Less often—by giving a piece of my mind to management that ignores its duties. In a certain sense, I'm even grateful to Grommash—after what I saw there, I almost no longer have problems with killing Murlocs or Kobolds. I saw how it can be. Naturally, I will never say such a thing to the orc himself.
And if I stay in the city—I learn to work with papers. No, no one expects me to become a god of bureaucracy. But I need to at least minimally understand the problem. And on these days, I turn out to be mother's assistant, helping her with documents. Under supervision, of course, but I help.
When I work like this, I do it without a helmet. I keep my gloves nearby as well; they're just too inconvenient for writing. In these moments, I'm just a child brought to work to learn from her parents. The locals are used to this; instead of educational institutions, apprenticeship is practiced almost everywhere. It's when a child is given over to study as a subordinate.
The obvious consequence of this: a general's son will become a general. But, firstly, we have a class-based society and everyone is fine with it. And secondly, if you show yourself to be something outstanding, you can attract the attention of someone important. In short, no one is surprised that a daughter works in direct subordination to her mother; everyone does it. The only annoyance is the dress code. You can't wear a helmet, only dresses, light boots, and gloves. Ordinary ones, not the "contact pair." I have to carry those with me, of course, so there are no issues with soul-binding, but they don't fit under the rest of my clothes at all. It's a shame, a pity—I have to be a modest loli.
But the rest of the time—that's a different story. I can look very stylish and mysterious. I really liked the look of wearing a cloak that hides almost everything, with elements of plate armor peeking out from underneath. Gloves, a helmet, heavy metal-shod boots. It looks very stylish; I just adore myself in those moments. I have two such robes—a gray-yellow-orange one, steppe camouflage. And a black one, which I did end up dyeing, for concealment. When worn inside out, it works like an invisibility cloak at night, and during the day, like a black cape. Just whistle, and it appears! Hee-hee.
Mom promised to give me another one, yellow-red or yellow-violet, in the style of the armor. Of course, I'll wear that too.
Also, while working in the Chancery with paperwork, I manage to get access to news from the front lines. They've got the butterfly effect going on in full force over there. The demons are in no hurry to appear; they're just not there. Not at all, actually—ever since Mannoroth was dealt with, a lull has set in. On the other hand, there are some incredibly angry Night Elves whose demigod was whacked by the Orcs. I can understand the Nathrezim: why jump into a fight when the mortals have started brawling entirely without your help.
I don't know if Tyrande is there, but the Night Elf Sentinels looked at the absolute disaster Grommash caused in his blood frenzy, saw him alive… with The Horde. I can understand their reaction. Just as I understand the reaction of the higher-ups, who didn't appreciate the attacks from these gooks.
And so it began:
"DaVi, we need equipment. And shells. Build more actively; production is idling. The front needs shells! And you had that Hive project—get on that too."
I even snorted at such a demand.
"Without capacity, the workshop won't be able to produce. And without materials. We're low on resources!" I almost blurted out "minerals."
The irritated captain snorted:
"No excuses! Results! Resources will be allocated; you know the consequences of failing to meet the norms."
Results for him, pff. Though it really is a problem. What was previously one square hall and one storage hall has become a square hall surrounded by four storage halls. And potentially—there will be twelve of them, across three floors. All to maximize the absorption of the reaction energy. And the amount of materials has grown accordingly. I need parts for the reactor, parts for the storage units, "Cranes," mechanical birds, Hacks, and now I have to fulfill orders for my beloved superiors too. The queue is getting longer and longer.
So, without any unnecessary showing off, I had to distribute orders to a bunch of workshops in the city and focus on assembly, earthworks, and quality control myself. Otherwise, we'd be digging for another year before I finished building everything.
At least there are no problems with funding. My share turned out to be large enough to start production, place the necessary orders, and still have a little left for myself. No more, but no less.
And in the gloom of the dark dungeon—for I have no need for light—in solitude, among the clattering mechanisms, magic was being made. And Mechanics too. I like it here. Dark stone corridors, twilight, and no one extra. Flashes of welding, the clatter of golem limbs. This place is a paradise for a loner. And I don't have to worry about accidentally frying someone's brains. Or ruining my reputation with my behavior by picking fights with trading partners.
Except for work with documents and the way home, I don't see living people at all. I honestly apologized to those men I wounded in a fit of rage, even if I didn't state the reason why I was so triggered. Now Jaina knows it… and the Magister.
The Teacher arrived in Theramore. As we expected, he opened a portal in the Night Elf lands, using a crow as a beacon. If his pursuers want to, let them negotiate with the Sentinels. The Magister brought a whole container of chests with expanded space and settled into a magic tower with levitating verandas and rooms. It resembles a flower with bees circling around it. It turns out he had managed to negotiate, order the construction, pay for it, and upon arrival, he simply took possession of the already finished housing. I was just floored.
"Wait, you could do that?"
The Teacher laughed.
"That is the difference between an experienced Mage and an apprentice, young lady. An experienced Mage prefers to do everything with maximum comfort. And is prepared for it."
But after laughing and settling in a bit, the Magister caught me and demanded I show him all the blueprints, everything I had built here. And tell him what I hadn't told him before. After which he held a major "debriefing." Overall, he was satisfied with the design of the base, but as for the decisions in the field… he tore into them with gusto. And he promised:
"As soon as this is all over, we will immediately begin full-scale training. Right now you are an apprentice and have the right to make mistakes. But as a leader, you will not have that right. And as your mentor, I will see to it that it doesn't happen. Regardless of your desire to commit follies due to your age."
And, great news—the Teacher promised to help with the search for Venidan. Using his familiars—crows. Considering those damn Trolls have taken to trying to find and shoot down my mechanical spies, it's a welcome addition. By the way, the Magister decided to search "in reverse." Not from the point where the ship crashed, but conversely, where they might emerge. So far unsuccessfully, but I'm still glad for the Teacher and his help. Especially since he decided to help with the construction by talking to the city leadership. He even came to the reactor room to help with "terrain creation" and some fast-building techniques.
"I won't take your glory. But our time really is limited. Watch, remember, and repeat."
By the way, a question occurred to me:
"Teacher, I thought you were a combatant, not a builder."
The Mage replied boringly:
"Versatile training, apprentice. It is always useful," just like that—he said something, but gave no new information. Stingy.
Actually, I don't know exactly what was driving the Magister, or why he decided to be here instead of there. Maybe care, or maybe calculation. Maybe he wants to make his mark on the world's important events. In any case, the Magister is here; with him, we can do a lot.
And so the game of "do as I do" began. I must note that turning on magical vision and repeating after the Teacher is quite simple. Especially when the result is right at hand. The Magister was dissatisfied and even said:
"I dare say, apprentice, that knowledge is much better absorbed when effort and interest are applied. Repetition backed by nothing is usually ineffective. However, there is no time for anything else, so proceed. I will simply conduct an exam afterward. I recommend you prepare; I have no wish to be disappointed in you."
"Yes, Magister."
With the Teacher's help, the construction process went significantly faster. Of course, the process of creating territory is still limited by access to parts produced up in the city. So we have to take breaks while the next batch of spare parts leaves the forges and workshops. The Magister remarked on this:
"A perfectly normal work process, apprentice. It is naive to assume that all processes will be completed by you personally and in the shortest possible time. Delegate authority to specialists and use their labor. This is wise."
I sighed.
"I know, Magister, it's just the waiting… a lot has to be redone."
The Mage nodded.
"Of course. Costs are an inevitable part of production during the setup process. Accept this; this aspect is not subject to elimination."
The reactor block itself turned out to be very large, partly due to the rooms around it. It's a good thing I built it deep down from the start, below the level of the other base sections. So I can afford to expand as much as needed. The sphere is in the central room. Around it are three levels of narrow rooms with magic storage units. Processing heat is too costly, so a magical processor is located right around the sphere, converting thermal energy into Mana immediately. This makes the structure resemble a Trade Federation donut-ship, only with a sphere of larger diameter than the block around it, which is connected to the storage units.
Moreover, thanks to the creation of magical glowing ball-lamps, I managed to make a very stylish display. The fuller the storage units are, the more complex the pattern on each of them will be. Considering the rest of the indicators will only be on the console, this won't be redundant.
The reactor began to take shape. The sphere, full of opened hatches, outlets, pipes, and holes, grew that very "donut," and then equipment was loaded into the hatches, which were then sealed and covered with spells. Lazors covered the surface of the sphere like "spikes," hidden under numerous casings, connected to cylinders of hydrogen, which this weapon uses as fuel.
Of course, "Terrain Creation" at all stages. For reinforcement, to give logic to the device. If the reactor chamber is under Territory Creation—then I can just load a deuterium+lithium-6 charge into the unit. First, the lithium, hit by neutrons, will decay into tritium and helium during deuterium combustion. And then the deuterium-tritium will react.
And assembly is significantly eased by "terrain creation." We found this out clearly; apparently a gift to my body from Caster class skills. Or just an adaptation of the spell for specific tasks, since I use it that way all the time. The important thing is that it works. By pouring in a flood of Mana, the mechanism is assembled faster, the machine is sturdier, and it performs its functions better. In the end, the "spiked sphere with a belt" was ready. It took just over three months of intensive labor.
A separate quest was obtaining fuel for the fusion reaction. Deuterium plus lithium, mix and freeze it all into a "pellet." Despite the fact that the freezing point of hydrogen is minus two hundred sixty. But we are mages, we are cheaters! I had to tinker quite a bit and consult with many people, but we assembled the refrigerator. All that was left was to get the deuterium and lithium.
The first is a stable isotope of hydrogen, found in seawater from which I produce hydrogen in general. I need it in large quantities, including as fuel for ships. And to separate part of the fuel for the reactor—it takes a bit of chemical perversion. More like a lot of chemical perversion. So a deuterium production block had to be added to the main distillation plant. In short, I've already realized that I'll have to outsource a lot to workshops and alchemists. At least for now. It worries me: what if there are defects or inaccurately manufactured parts? But we use what we have; I have to double-check everything on-site.
Fortunately, I understand how to do the process of industrial hydrogen rectification myself. The essence, overall, is simple—it's the process of separating liquid mixtures into pure components with different boiling points. Specifically: evaporation and condensation, countercurrent exchange, enrichment, fraction separation... In short, it's like multiple distillation of moonshine, where vapor rises up a rectification column and liquid flows down, while components with different boiling points separate, leaving a high-purity product at the outlet, free from impurities and aromas of the raw material. It's a bit more complicated, of course, but I think the principle is clear.
Actually, a rectification column is needed. And it's no surprise that the locals are familiar with such a device, even if they call it something else. Alchemists, Gnome and Dwarf chemists—when I explained what I needed, they themselves suggested a generally correct scheme, which only had to be adjusted for work in specific conditions with a specific gas. It's easier for me; less of a headache with production. I just had to watch as they, flexing heavy sweaty muscles in the hot workshop, forged metal, their hammers ringing merrily and machines humming, while sparks made their sweaty skin shimmer.
Well... Anyway. I have to revise the underground base toward expansion. And if we were building on the surface, I'd have to take up an island the size of Theramore for all my wants and abilities. Yes, I am ambitious! It'll come in handy for the future. Dig! Fortunately, I have golems, and Dwarf diggers too, recommended by the guys as builders of high reliability and low talkativeness. I have to make compromises to get everything done, alas. I didn't let them onto the fifth level, but on the second—let them be. The faster we dig, the faster we build.
And yes, I also need lithium-6. From which radioactive tritium will be produced in the reactor, which is already needed for the main reaction. Here, again, the Dwarves were very helpful. They were also recommended by the guys from the workshop. But I have no complaints here: they have thousands of years of experience in geodesy, underground mines, and working with Azeroth materials. And I have—less than two years. Better to turn to specialists and not show off. Of course, I had to explain in general terms what I wanted and why…
In short, I potentially have new personnel for the chemical industry. It really worries me that by the end of construction, half the city will be involved in the process. Half of the important specialists, for sure. And everyone will be interacting with production in the underground complex somehow. In any case, the Dwarves know what lithium is. There are salt lakes somewhere around here from which lithium salts can be evaporated. They shared with me that they've been fighting with Goblins over a deposit, and if I don't want the deposit to be lost, it makes sense to get involved. I agreed to think about it; it's an important problem.
And the Dwarves agreed to sell me lithium. Moreover—immediately of the required material type, the isotope. I agreed, though I'm thinking of moving production "inside" in the future. Somehow. Because vacuum distillation of metals is not something I'd like to deal with myself right now... I've had enough headache with hydrogen. For now, it's easier to just buy it, fortunately there's a source. And then I'll decide what to do; right now the priority is to launch this whole thing. And to learn more about the process myself; it'll come in handy. Expensive, how expensive it all is!
"How difficult it is to conduct negotiations. Why can't I just sit in a dungeon and build for my own pleasure, huh?" Silence was my answer.
On one hand, negotiating is the right thing to do. It's naive to think I can manage on my own. On the other—I've never conducted so many negotiations. I've never been so much in the spotlight. And I never even imagined I'd have to be. And you have to look right, behave right, so that you're listened to. Dwarves expect one thing from you, Gnomes another.
And an Elven lady of quite noble blood, working as an enchanter, expects something else entirely from a girl-Surveyor, and very specific behavior at that. And yes, I could just leave… but there's no alternative; there are simply no other enchanters of that level in the city. And Velieris doesn't care that I'm just another client. I'm an Elf, and I have a rank—kindly behave as is fitting! And the hen knows that I won't back down, won't ask Mom. Pride won't allow it, because I can do it. Gr-r-r-r. By the fifth time, she was satisfied. I don't understand!
And yes, these are negotiations, so you can't go there in combat gear. You can with the Dwarves; for them, having a drinking bout in ceremonial plate is something perfectly normal. Gnomes also treat eccentricity with understanding. But Elves and humans are a different matter entirely. I had to talk the Magister into it, taking advantage of the fact that "the apprentice's achievements are the teacher's achievements." I've never talked so much. In short, Dartaola, listening to my lamentations, said:
"As I said, the upbringing of a proper girl won't hurt you at all. Dancing, the ability to present yourself correctly, the culture of other races. All of this will be useful to you. I can teach you some things; for the rest—turn to your perpetually drinking friend. She is very good in matters of grace. When she returns."
When she returns. I felt the presence of a foreign hand on my helmet. Dartaola looked genuinely sympathetic.
"She will return. Do not doubt it."
I nodded. I hope so. Very much.
But overall, the negotiations didn't go so badly. Apparently, seeing the seals of the Theramore Chancery, my interlocutors decided to make allowances for my age and looked at the blueprints. And here I had something to say. Blueprints, data, calculations, results. Perhaps in the future I'll be able to do everything myself, but right now I'm using the city's resources, fortunately finances after the raid on that palace allow it.
And the process continued to move. Parts, mechanisms, and specialists capable of both assembling and tuning the equipment appeared. It turned out that Gnomes know how to insulate pipes and containers from radioactive elements and aggressive chemicals. They have rich experience. And Dwarves are well-acquainted with both chemistry and chemical protection. And they are also ready to buy chemical products for their own projects if we are ready to produce them. I promised to think about how best to implement that.
All so that the reactor assembly would take months, not a year. And this is important; the front needs resources. The Night Elves rejected all offers of negotiations. The parleyers sent by Jaina were returned decapitated. Not nice. You don't want to do it the nice way? I'll send Grommash a batch of axes. And yes, I didn't just get hit by a fit of bloodlust for no reason. Soldiers are arriving in Theramore for rest and rotation. And they tell many interesting things.
In short, the Night Elf Sentinels certainly don't commit atrocities like Orcs under berserk, but they pepper everyone who doesn't look like a Night Elf or an animal from their forest with arrows. I also managed to read the interrogation protocol of a female prisoner. And she flatly called us savages. That's very funny. A Night Elf, literally living in the forest, using primitive equipment left over from an ancient empire, hiding among ruins that no one has repaired for thousands of years. Calling others savages!
I just have no words. No polite ones. But a lot of profanity. Since you consider us savages, experience for yourselves all the charms of mass production and modern weapons. And no, Grommash is still a crazy butcher; it's just that reality seems to have set itself the goal of explaining to me that killing is a method and a solution to all problems. At least in Azeroth. And that everyone does it—get used to it, DaVi.
Fine then. Maybe I don't have the strength to endure such a slaughter, but the workshops can produce weapons. And the soldiers will figure out how to use them themselves.
"If the world gives you lemons, give it a lemon-grenade in return. As the gods, Titans, or whoever else see. I'm trying to be kind, but the world is against me! Everyone is against me!"
Apparently, I'll have to learn, to become better. And I will learn. Patience. And then we'll see. As they said in my homeland, my first homeland: if you can't solve a problem with overwhelming fire superiority—you're shooting in the wrong direction.
And the first step was the reactor launch. In the city, it was an ordinary day. No thunder or lightning, ominous omens, or anything else. An ordinary sunny day, like many others; sentient beings hurry about their business, the city lives as usual. Just beneath it, by a huge metal sphere entwined with mechanisms. At the main console, which I naturally placed under the ceiling, a small coalition had gathered. Me, the Magister, Dartaola, Father. All for this moment. The Paladin appears in the city regularly to look after me. And to help with advice during negotiations. What can you do—I have zero experience here, I have to learn on the fly. And I'll be glad for any help. Especially with Velieris, who apparently decided to check my preparation for social conversation every time! Gr!
But she isn't here. Only the most trusted Elves are here; if Mom didn't have a mountain of work in the administration, she would have come too. I'll please her later with a bottle of concentrate. From this very first batch.
For now… the final check. Storage units? Normal. Converters? First block, second, third. Normal. Integrity? Order. Inside? Vacuum. Won-der-ful. I pulled the strings, but they too are folded into a bone-crunching but perfectly ordered pattern. A smile appeared on my face of its own accord. It works.
"Prepare for the shot. Fuel feed."
As they say, one pellet is enough. The very one that is now being fed into the sphere through a tube at the top. A light came on. Recorded. Status? Order. We can continue. I'm practically shaking with excitement. Everyone is silent, no one interferes, they just wait. Father's hand rested on my shoulder. The Elf gave a short nod; it became easier. I exhaled:
"Conditions… normal, indicators in the green zone. Proceeding to the shot. Check."
Right now, there is absolute silence in the reactor room. Only the quiet hum of mechanisms. No golems, nothing. The Elves stand silently, looking at the lamps and the console displays. As the emitter, we have multiple Death Lazor modules. Now the hum of the emitters accumulating charge can be heard. Assembling them from Goblin blueprints was difficult. But it's not my first time working with a Lazor. The Chill-Solder Gnomes helped. All for this moment. Check complete, excellent.
"All… in the green. Ready. So, three, two, one, launch."
And silence fell. Apparently, the soundproofing is very good; no one heard the explosion. Most of the lights went out, except for the indicators from the inner space of the sphere. The Magister, who had been standing behind my shoulder all this time looking like a stone statue, took a step forward to the edge of the railing.
"Well, apprentice. This is definitely a success."
And true enough. Nothing is blinking, glowing red, or wailing a warning of damage. And, more importantly, the magic storage units began to be colored by the light of magical balls, forming a whimsical pattern. The storage units are filling. I smiled.
"It seems we have energy and Mana, ladies and gentlemen. This is definitely a success. How about we go to the condensers and have a glass? Let's see what nuclear fusion tastes like."
Dartaola smiled politely, diffusing the atmosphere. She inspected the numerous glowing storage units lit up with magical patterns and nodded.
"Agreed. Let's have a tasting. Lead the way, Master."
Father smiled; the Magister nodded.
"Excellent, apprentice. You have taken the first step toward a new life. Toward the greatness of this city. A man-made magical source. I suspect when the nobility finds out, they will be furious."
I smirked.
"Thanks for the compliment, Teacher."
But the Mage just shrugged.
"Not a compliment, but a warning. Those wishing to get to you will increase by an order of magnitude as soon as they find out. And yet, congratulations. Today—this is a success." True, Teacher. We'll solve problems as they come.
The silence of the hall filled with noise and movement. The tension finally let go. We achieved success. Now the hardest part begins—converting Mana and energy into a product. Finding personnel. Sales markets. And a lot, a lot of work. But we've taken the first step. And the road appears under the steps of the one walking.
***
***
Read early on Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/Granulan