Chapter 654

Chapter 654: Black Dragons and Blackrock Spire

The old Orc wore a continually serious and tense expression. With several Dragonmaw Orcs standing nearby and coldly staring at him, Jesse felt they might surround him at any moment and stab him to death with their weapons.

The Dragonmaw Orcs’ relationship with Blackrock Spire wasn’t great. Jesse suspected this might relate to the black dragons. Deathwing had mentioned Nekros planned to use the Demon Soul against him, so Nekros surely held no goodwill toward black dragons.

Blackrock Spire was now collaborating with the black dragons, possibly one reason for the tension. But where was the Demon Soul?

Jesse avoided staring too obviously at the cloth pouches on Nekros’s waist, sensing the Demon Soul might be hidden inside one. Each pouch was slightly smaller than an Orc’s fist, made of poor-quality fabric or leather in drab brown or gray—hardly better than beggars’ sacks. If the Demon Soul rested inside, its treatment seemed pitiful.

Moreover, Jesse detected no power radiating from the so-called "artifact." He remembered the arcane surge when Azuresong Mageblade was drawn and the revitalizing energy of Living Ice Crystals. If the Demon Soul could capture and execute Dragon Kings, shouldn’t its power permeate this cramped room?

But Nekros had taught Jesse appearances deceive. He wouldn’t speculate further about the Demon Soul.

“Speak plainly. Skip the meaningless courtesies, warlock,” Nekros said. “Explain that burning dragon-claw mark. Are black dragons truly seizing control of Blackrock Spire?”

Jesse replied, “The Great Chief sent me to say the Blackrock-black dragon alliance is unstoppable. He urges Grim Batol to accept this. Privately? I’d say the alliance isn’t final… not yet.”

“Your guess,” Nekros’s expression darkened. “Or is the Great Chief feeding you lies to create maneuvering room between us?”

“Grim Batol’s strength is key, Warlord,” Jesse countered. “Dragonmaw’s Red Dragons were once the Horde’s mightiest weapon—”

“*Were*?” Nekros spat the word.

“Perhaps they still are, but I see no proof,” Jesse said. “Dragonmaw’s whelps are weak and scarce—too few to secure Blackrock Spire’s position in the Burning Steppes. Your dragon riders struggle to enter Blackrock Mountain and fight Dark Iron firearms on the plains. Reject the black dragons’ alliance, and Blackrock Spire will crumble under Alliance sabotage and Dark Iron assaults.”

“Black dragons offer military aid and enhancements to replace fading demon blood. This mark proves it.” Jesse rolled up his sleeve, revealing the black dragon’s brand. Flaring pain shot through him, but his rigid Orc expression hid it well.

Seeing the scar’s glow, Nekros shut his eyes, unwilling to face its fire.

After Jesse lowered his sleeve, he glanced at Molofeel’s unnerving smile. “You’re a powerful warlock, Yulok—mark or no mark. Black dragons will enslave Blackrock Spire. Unless I escape quickly, I’ll plunge into the abyss with you. They’re stronger than you imagine, and you’ve no leverage against them. Blackrock Spire will become their nest, reducing you to slaves—not allies. Dragonmaw *commands* dragons. We aren’t meant to serve them.”

“You plan to betray Blackrock Spire,” Jesse stated.

“Betrayal is shameful,” Nekros said. “But choosing death over slavery? That’s no betrayal.”

Jesse fell silent. By Orc values, the argument held weight.

But he hadn’t come to defend Blackrock Spire or praise Orc virtues. He needed to see the Red Dragon Queen. To counter Nekros, he pressed on.

“You claim black dragons enslave the Great Chief, yet they obey his every command.” Jesse planted Gorefiend’s staff on the ground, slowly unwrapping its cloth covering. When Gorefiend’s gemstone glinted before them, every Orc—even Nekros—gasped.

“Teron Gorefiend’s staff and gem!” Nekros leaned forward. “How?”

“Gorefiend conspired with the Shattered Hand to overthrow Blackrock Spire. Black dragons cornered him; Alliance assassins finished him.” Jesse raised an eyebrow.

“Black dragons besieged Gorefiend?” Nekros frowned. “Years ago, he sought Blackrock Spire’s aid at Ner’zhul’s request—asked for Dragonmaw’s Red Dragons to retrieve artifacts. The Great Chief refused. *Black dragons* helped him then…”

“True,” Jesse said. “But when Gorefiend later allied with traitors to threaten us, black dragons chose the Great Chief. If that’s not loyalty, what is?”

Jesse gripped the staff’s shadowy gem. “To prove sincerity, they delivered this staff—recovered from Thaurissan’s ruins—to Blackrock Spire. The Great Chief awarded it for my service.”

“Face facts, Nekros. Without black dragons, we couldn’t eliminate Dark Iron forces while blocking Shattered Hand infiltrators. Blackrock Spire might’ve fallen. If it falls, Grim Batol becomes an isolated island—not a foothold. Alliance benefits are clear, while you barely hold on.”

“Isolated… barely holding.” Nekros snorted. “Blackrock Spire needs no empty threats to intimidate a Warlord.”

Though stubborn, Nekros’s attitude shifted. Seeing the mark and staff, he surely believed Jesse represented Blackrock Spire.

“Can Grim Batol fight the Alliance alone?” Jesse pressed.

“Strong, healthy whelps hatch constantly,” Nekros declared proudly. “We’ll mature them into battle-ready mounts within two years. Alliance stands no chance against such dragon riders. Our ranks swell daily—Orcs fleeing Lordaeron and the Badlands join Dragonmaw.”

Jesse recalled the streets. “Those whelps aren’t strong or healthy, Nekros. They’re tortured, feeble, and furious at your men. I doubt their loyalty or battle-worth.”

“Current whelps hatched during the Horde’s darkest hour—you know this,” Nekros retorted. “They were weak, neglected. New hatchlings are different. Given time and patience, our Red Dragon army will bolster Blackrock Spire. Then the Great Chief will see he needs no treacherous black dragons.”

“Watch your words, Nekros,” Jesse warned. “The Great Chief bows to no one.”

“Reality is hard to swallow.” Nekros smiled thinly. “I apologize for poor phrasing.”

“Let *me* show you harsh reality.” Jesse stepped closer. “Even if Blackrock Spire waits, Grim Batol lacks time. Lordaeron, Aerie Peak, Ironforge, and Quel’Thalas gather forces to pluck this nail from Khaz Modan. Dalaran mages and Elf Rangers scout your defenses. Without Blackrock Spire and black dragons, you cannot hold this city.”

Nekros scoffed. “Perhaps Blackrock Spire is too besieged by Dark Iron Dwarves and the Shattered Hand to notice beyond Blackrock Mountain? A year ago, the Burning Legion crippled Alliance forces here at the Dark Portal. That oath-breaker Ner’zhul ‘supported’ us in ways we never imagined. Now, elves won’t aid Lordaeron soon, and the Alliance fractures. My scouts see no troop movements north or south.”

“We know of the Dark Portal. But regarding Grim Batol…” Jesse glanced toward the door. “I’d learn more of your forces and supplies—especially these dragon eggs. Show me what fuels your confidence so I may report to Blackrock Spire.”

“Reasonable.” Nekros gestured to a young Orc warrior. “Moving is difficult for me now. My son Nek’rosh will show you Grim Batol.”

“Yes, Father.” The young Warlord’s son stepped forward. “Come, warlock.”