Chapter 12 In the Shadows

"The space here is a bit too cramped," Anub'Rekhan said cautiously, controlling his body with extreme care to avoid damaging the surrounding items.

His size was comparable to Anub'arak's, and having recently undergone an undead enhancement, he was now even slightly larger. The catacombs, which would have been spacious for a mortal human, made it somewhat difficult for the Crypt Lord to move freely.

Gandling replied somewhat awkwardly, "Apologies, I did not know that a Crypt Lord like yourself would be coming to our aid."

"The summoning ritual is already concluded. You may descend directly into the depths from here, and we will handle the aftermath."

Anub'Rekhan waved his sharp claws and shook his head, emitting a low buzzing sound. "Very well, I shall depart first."

Accompanied by churning earth and shifting bricks, the Crypt Lord's massive body completely vanished into the summoning chamber within just a few breaths, leaving behind only a pitch-black, bottomless pit.

The Darkmaster summoned a cluster of skeletal laborers to begin filling the massive hole and efficiently re-laying the flagstones.

"Skulls always make remarkably useful laborers, no matter the place," Gandling said with a smile.

Ogrim paid no mind to the Darkmaster, walking out of the room on his own and leaving Lothar behind to converse with Gandling.

"Please do not mind him; that is simply how this fellow is," Lothar said, offering Gandling a standard, polite smile in explanation.

"There is no need for that whatsoever, Lord Lothar. I am deeply honored to fight side by side with such, ah, magnificent Death Knights." Having spent many years navigating various circles, Gandling naturally possessed a certain set of social skills. "However, when dealing with a black dragon, it is best to be fully prepared. I suspect that Onyxia likely has hidden dragonkin guards in her vicinity."

"We have certainly made our preparations—the Lich King Himself will provide assistance should the need arise."

Gandling was overjoyed. "Is that true? If so, our victory is already a foregone conclusion."

Gandling did not underestimate the power of the Lich King in the slightest, for He was the sovereign who commanded legions capable of sweeping across the entire continent, the supreme master of all undead in the mortal realm.

With the Lich King making a move, dealing with a single black dragon would not be an exceptionally difficult task. The only thing that required utmost vigilance now was Onyxia's identity as a black dragon princess.

Although Lordaeron was very far from the Burning Steppes where the black dragonflight maintained its roost, one still could not rule out the possibility that the dragonflight possessed some form of mandatory teleportation or descent magic for emergencies.

Arthas would by no means look down upon a dragonflight that had endured for tens of thousands of years. They were one of the most terrifying forces in the mortal world, and their heritage and power were far beyond what humanity, with only a few millennia of civilization, could compare to.

"We need to make some preparations to prevent the dragon princess from escaping or summoning reinforcements. Sazzassarian and I will handle this matter."

Lothar requested some materials from Gandling and, accompanied by several necromancy apprentices, set off for the island of Caer Darrow to establish an anti-magic field. While this could not guarantee that a black dragon's spells would be rendered entirely ineffective, it would at least hinder or weaken her.

Anub'Rekhan would remain concealed deep beneath the earth, refusing to strike until the crucial moment. He possessed runic chains forged from Saronite; once ensnared by these chains, not even a dragon could easily break free.

The battle on the surface would be left to the four of them: Lothar, Gandling, Sazzassarian, and Ogrim. They needed to deplete Onyxia's stamina, clear out her dragonkin guards, and create the conditions necessary to hunt down or capture Onyxia alive.

To this end, the rune-engraved armor of the three Death Knights had been meticulously crafted by undead master blacksmiths and enchanted by the lingering souls of ancient elven mages to temporarily withstand scorching dragon breath.

As for Onyxia's draconic dread, it posed no significant obstacle to the undead—not to mention that these high-ranking generals of the Scourge all maintained a direct soul connection with Arthas, who shared the collective spiritual power of the entire Scourge legion with them.

The draconic presence capable of breaking the willpower of ordinary soldiers had no effect on Lothar and his companions whatsoever. Almost every possible contingency Onyxia might employ had been accounted for, ensuring that the dragon would not escape Caer Darrow.

Otherwise, should Onyxia manage to flee, while the Scourge might not necessarily suffer catastrophic consequences, Lordaeron would undoubtedly bear the wrath of the black dragons. Arthas had no desire to clash with black dragons upon the soil of Lordaeron.

Taking action against the black dragonflight was actually a necessary step anyway—Arthas could not boldly excavate dragon skeletons in Dragonblight to resurrect them as frost wyrms, so he had to find suitable substitutes.

The skeletal remains of creatures on Azeroth that could be directly utilized as strategic weapons were either dragons or the remains of Wild Gods.

However, the souls of the Wild Gods were bound to the Emerald Dream, which represented the illusory facet of Azeroth. Arthas could not simply wrest their souls away from there, nor did he dare to do so, as that would weaken the power of the Emerald Dream.

Furthermore, the Emerald Dream itself was facing the threat of the Old Gods; plundering the Wild Gods would not only provoke the wrath of the demigods themselves, but also incur the hostility of the Night Elves and the green dragonflight, who were allied with them.

Therefore, Arthas had no choice but to set his sights on the rebellious black dragonflight. Since these creatures had already been corrupted by the whispers of the Old Gods, slaying them and resurrecting them as bone dragons to fight for the Scourge was a thoroughly logical approach.

Of course, besides dragons and Wild Gods, certain specialized Loa spirits could also serve such a purpose, but Arthas temporarily lacked the time and energy to track down the locations of the trolls' Loa.

After all, following the destruction of the ancient troll empires, many Loa spirits had also fallen into a dormant state. In that case, merely finding their physical remains without capturing their souls would amount to nothing more than resurrecting a slightly more powerful skeletal construct.

That would be entirely meaningless, and Arthas would rather have his necromancers forge war golems than exhaust effort searching for the corpses of minor deities.

Thus, from any perspective, the operation targeting the black dragonflight was crucial and vital. On one hand, it would weaken hostile forces on the continent of the Eastern Kingdoms; on the other hand, it would augment his own strength.

Yet, part of Arthas secretly wished that the black dragon prince Nefarian would simply fight a war to the death with Ragnaros the Firelord, allowing him to reap the profits as a third party.

However, neither of those two was a fool. They maintained a fragile truce and coexisted within Blackrock Mountain precisely because they understood that fighting each other to the bitter end would yield no benefits.

With the treaty signed by Nefarian in the name of Deathwing, although conflicts still arose between the two factions, they amounted to nothing more than minor skirmishes, never escalating into large-scale warfare.

Regrettably, the operation against Onyxia could not be framed as the work of the Firelord; otherwise, it might well have served as the weight that tipped the balance on either side.

Arthas and Mograine concluded their brief investigation, knowing they had to return to Andorhal to gather evidence anew before Dalaran would permit them to resume their search operations within the city.

However, constrained by Arthas's status and his persuasive arguments, Antonidas grudgingly agreed to allow the Silver Hand to dispatch paladins and guards to be stationed in Dalaran as an emergency contingency plan against sudden incidents.

"Mograine, take this and go to Ironforge to find King Magni Bronzebeard; he will understand." Arthas handed Mograine a badge engraved with the crest of the Bronzebeard clan.

"Thank you deeply. I will depart from Dalaran immediately for Ironforge." Mograine was profoundly moved. After waiting for who knew how long, he finally saw an opportunity to put that crystal to proper use.

"As long as you return with a world-renowned artifact in hand." Arthas bid farewell to the Highlord, knowing he had to return to Caer Darrow to personally direct the situation there.

After all, Queen Tiffin and Andorin were still vacationing there, entirely unaware that undercurrents were already swirling within Caer Darrow, with multiple factions secretly contending around the manor where the mother and son resided.

Among them were Stormwind's SI:7, Lordaeron's Privy Council, and the minions of both the Scourge and Onyxia.

Upon receiving confirmation from Lothar that preparations were complete, Arthas was already on his way to Caer Darrow.

Countess Katrana, otherwise known as Onyxia, was staying in her temporary quarters when she suddenly felt an inexplicable surge of restlessness and unease. The Countess took several deep breaths, forcing her mind to calm.

'What is wrong with me?' The last time Onyxia had experienced such a feeling was when her father—who had suffered severe injuries from an encirclement by the other four Aspect dragons, yet whose aura had grown increasingly feral—had come looking for her.

At that time, Deathwing had been wounded by the power of the other Dragon Aspects. The alloy armor plates originally used to anchor his physical form had nearly fractured completely, and the surging power of his domain within him had almost cost Deathwing his life.

Driven mad by the whispers of the Old Gods and ultimately corrupted, the powers of the Earth-Warder had likewise been tainted.

When the Black Dragon King completely betrayed the rest of the dragonflight, his blood transformed into magma representing the violent fury of the earth, bursting through his rock-hard skin and scales.

The erupting power nearly claimed Deathwing's life. The constantly venting molten blood subjected him to excruciating pain and torture, while simultaneously causing his power to erupt like a volcano.

Neltharion, the original Earth-Warder, had been the embodiment of calm, wisdom, and steadfastness—much like the timeless mountains and the earth itself.

Yet the maddened Deathwing had transformed entirely into a red-and-black grim reaper symbolizing the domain of disaster; in the shadow beneath his wings, all things were reduced to ash.

When Onyxia had faced her father directly, she had lost almost all capacity for thought, able to feel only fear and panic—the instinctual terror of a weak creature in the presence of the mighty.

The sheer ferocity of Deathwing had left a deep shadow upon Onyxia's psyche, and every move he made inflicted harm upon Onyxia, who stood in close proximity.

After listening to her father's commands and his fury, Onyxia herself had been left battered, and even with a dragon's formidable vitality, it had taken a considerable amount of time to recover.

Yet today, Onyxia had experienced a strikingly similar sensation. A dragon's intuition was far sharper than that of any beast, prompting Onyxia to focus intently on her sensory perception.

Upon confirming that her father had not come looking for her, the black dragon princess let out a slight sigh of relief. Collapsing onto the plush bed, she began to ponder what could have triggered her alarm only after recovering from the lingering shadows of the past.

Could it be that tonight's plan targeting Queen Tiffin and Prince Anduin ran the risk of failure?

Yet even if the plan failed, Onyxia was certain that the matter could not be traced back to her, as her arrival in Lordaeron had been a covert operation. Even Bolvar believed she was merely visiting the outskirts of Stormwind.

And a modest, minor noble estate like Caer Darrow should not be as fraught with peril as the capital of Lordaeron or Dalaran. Logically speaking, there should be nothing here capable of threatening her.

A simple noble domain with no mage tower, no Holy Light cathedral, and not even a proper military barracks—how could such a place harbor anything capable of threatening a black dragon?

Moreover, the servants she had brought along were actually dragonkin guards under the effects of illusion magic. Onyxia believed that even if she did not lift a finger, those dozen-odd dragonkin guards would be enough to purge everyone on the island.

Nevertheless, Onyxia's inherent caution prevented her from completely ignoring the threat signaled by her intuition. She placed a pendant around her neck—a special orb condensed from dragon blood. The moment she came under attack, it would immediately transmit the signal via blood ties to the nearest black dragon.

Having made all necessary preparations, Onyxia remained in her room, while her subordinates marched toward the estate where Queen Tiffin resided.

Onyxia's elite dragonkin guards easily bypassed the outer perimeter of ordinary guards, lurking in the shrubbery beside the manor villa.

In the dark, the pupils of several servants shifted from normal human eyes to the vertical slits of reptiles, and their bodies, wrapped in black garments, began to swell and bulge.

However, just as they dropped the illusion magic and prepared to launch a surprise attack, a subtle sound of air being cleaved reached them. Several dragonkin guards realized something was amiss and immediately swung the blades in their hands, deflecting arrows that came from out of nowhere.

Still, the majority of the dragonkin failed to evade the sudden assault. They had intended to rely on their tough scales and skin to shrug off the arrows, but reality turned out far different from their expectations.

These arrows were by no means ordinary wares; they were expensive anti-magic armor-piercing arrows, and had reinforcement runes explicitly carved into their shafts and tips.

At least ten feathered arrows protruded from the body of each dragonkin guard, and their movements instantly grew sluggish, their consciousness beginning to blur—all the arrows had been coated with a lethal poison. Even for dragonkin, whose physical constitution was terrifyingly robust, an overwhelming dose of poison meant an instant loss of the ability to resist.

The few dragonkin who miraculously escaped being hit had no time to counterattack before a second wave of assault followed closely behind. Daggers and short swords, treated in a special manner to prevent them from reflecting even a shred of light, thrust out from the shadows.

The scales and skin of which the dragonkin were so proud offered no protection whatsoever. Particularly for those dragonkin who had already been poisoned, their throats were slashed in the blink of an eye, or a short blade pierced straight through their eye sockets into their brains.

In the space of a heartbeat, only a pitiful few dragonkin remained standing, while the attackers had not revealed their forms from start to finish.

Yet the prickling, murderous intent that made one feel as though needles were pressing against their back still enveloped the surviving dragonkin, who knew that the assassins hidden in the darkness had not yet retreated.