Chapter 653

Chapter 653: Dragonmaw Warlord

As the orc officer led Jesse deeper into Grim Batol, he felt relieved he hadn’t described the place to Greed using the game’s map.

The game’s dungeon map showed only one level, but Grim Batol actually had many layers and rings with complex connections. Without the officer guiding him, Jesse would’ve gotten lost for hours. He could only hope Greed would figure it out.

It was still daytime. Jesse didn’t dare check his pocket watch among the orc crowd, but it felt like noon or early afternoon. He sensed no imp presence yet—Greed and Vereesa probably planned to sneak in at night.

That was a safe choice since Jesse expected no progress that afternoon.

His main goal was reaching the prison holding the Red Dragon Queen. Once inside, Nekros would surely accompany him and bring the Demon Soul. If visiting Alexstrasza’s cell, he’d definitely carry the artifact.

This relic was Nekros’s sole claim to leadership over Grim Batol’s Dragonmaw orcs. He likely kept it on him always, especially near the Red Dragon Queen.

Even enchained by the Demon Soul, Alexstrasza remained one of the world’s most powerful beings. Though talented, Nekros wouldn’t risk facing her wrath without the artifact’s protection.

Jesse guessed her prison lay in Grim Batol’s deepest section, probably the lowest floor. Crossing an abyss bridge, he spotted two more levels below.

He formed a rough plan: enter the prison with Nekros carrying the Demon Soul, defeat him to seize it, then destroy the artifact before Deathwing or Grim Batol’s forces reacted.

If destroying it proved difficult, they’d barricade the prison door. With the red dragon’s help, they’d hold off invading orcs while continuing their attempts.

Once they controlled the Demon Soul, the Red Dragon Queen and all Grim Batol’s red dragons would abandon the Dragonmaw orcs.

But Nekros wouldn’t take him there willingly. Jesse needed to earn his trust with an irresistible offer. If that failed, he’d try having Molofeel charm Nekros into compliance.

Time was short. Every hour in Grim Batol increased the risk of Jesse, Vereesa, and Greed being exposed.

Jesse also decided against sleeping there—no sleep meant no dreams, no conversations with Deathwing, no nightmares. He calculated he could stay sane for three sleepless nights, giving him four days to succeed.

But would avoiding sleep stop Deathwing’s influence? He recalled the black dragon’s mark flaring at Grim Batol’s entrance, the faint whispers…

Now wasn’t the time for doubts.

After the orc officer guided him through a narrow tunnel, they emerged into sudden openness—a vast circular hall centered around a massive furnace surrounded by black anvils. This had to be Grim Batol’s heart.

Though Greed hated all things Dark Iron dwarf, Jesse felt this place resembled Shadowforge City’s core more than Ironforge—especially the fire-elemental-guarded zone in Blackrock Depths.

Whether like Shadowforge or Ironforge, Grim Batol’s center was breathtaking. Jesse fought the urge to gawk like a tourist. Keeping calm, he followed the officer—a warlock from Blackrock Spire wouldn’t marvel at such sights.

After climbing several staircases, they reached a stone door carved with unfamiliar Dwarven runes. Based on Aerie Peak lore, this might’ve been a sage’s home during Wildhammer dwarf rule.

The orc officer thumped his chest. "Enter, warlock. The Warlord awaits."

Jesse ignored him, nodding curtly before ducking through the low entrance.

Inside, a pitch-black upward slope greeted him. At the top, he entered a dimly lit hall where several orcs stood conversing. They turned in unison as he appeared.

High-hung braziers revealed their faces—varied ages, mixed armor, short weapons ready. They moved aside for a gray-haired orc at the center.

The old orc had a bull-like torso and bulging belly, pouches and a spiked hammer dangling from his waist. He looked every inch a savage gladiator, making Jesse’s disguised form seem scholarly.

Where was Nekros? The warlock?

Then Jesse noticed the old orc’s missing leg—a prosthetic replacement.

"Hail, Blackrock Spire’s envoy," the orc rasped, hostility thickening his gravelly voice. "We haven’t met. I am Nekros. State your name."

This was Nekros? A brute more barbaric than any warrior… yet rumored as the Dragonmaw clan’s most gifted shadow-wielding warlock?

Jesse suddenly recalled his surname: Skullcrusher. Seeing him, it clearly wasn’t metaphorical—especially with that spiked hammer. Warlockcraft must be his side pursuit.

No wonder the Dragonmaw orcs followed him as Warlord, not some spellcaster advisor.

"I am Yulok." Jesse touched his chest, chin slightly raised. "Honors to you, Dragonmaw Warlord. Great Chief Rend deeply values your defense of Grim Batol."

"Does he?" The old orc grunted. "I doubt that."