In the Emerald Mine of Lordaeron, minecarts brimming with ore rumbled out of the dark tunnels, pushed by busy, grunting Kobolds.
Outside the shaft, a human worker operated a mechanical excavator-like tool, using a specialized magnetic hitch to lift the cart beds and transfer the ore onto a nearby train. The train would then transport the raw materials to a refinery for processing; only after the ore was purified would it be sent to various smithies to be forged into finished goods.
Once an abandoned pit, this mine had seen its veins sink deep into the earth due to crustal shifts. The former nobles, seeing no profit after months of digging, had discarded it. Following the Scourge invasion and the subsequent plague of undead, the area became a no-man's-land.
With Arthas's ascension, Lordaeron began a phase of planned, high-efficiency expansion. The lands of the deceased nobility were rightfully absorbed into the royal demesne, saving the crown the cost of purchase. Today, this site produces ten tons of raw ore daily.
This productivity was largely thanks to the inclusion of the Kobolds. When it comes to the talent for tunneling, their natural affinity surpasses even that of the Dwarves. However, primitive Kobolds, while good at digging, rarely met construction standards; their original tunnels were often too narrow even for a minecart.
The Kobolds here had received a modest "blessing"—a spark of added intelligence allowing them to read blueprints. The brightest among them served as foremen. If the digging went awry, a salt-water-soaked whip was quick to remind the miners of their duties.
As long as they met their daily quotas, these Kobolds enjoyed meat, warm vegetables, and even a bit of pocket change for trinkets. Compared to their former lives of eating raw flesh and shivering in the dark, this was paradise. In the Lordaeron Empire, if you worked, you ate. With no corrupt overseers skimming their rations, the Kobolds worked with fervor.
Goldtooth sat before the mine entrance, legs crossed, soaking in the sun as he watched his kin toil. When Prince Arthas had first recruited them, they had been fiercely resistant. Most humans wouldn't bother communicating with Kobolds due to the language barrier and a general disdain for "uncivilized beasts." In the old days, food was so scarce that Kobolds would consume their own dead to survive. They often dug into human settlements by mistake and were slaughtered on sight. Thousands of years of blood feuds had made them natural enemies.
Who would have thought that one day, Kobolds would sit down and discuss labor contracts with humans? It was as shocking as seeing a Murloc become a renowned philosopher.
"Hurry up, you pups! The sun's going down! How much is left?" Goldtooth barked into a megaphone. He spoke in standard Common—an imperial requirement. While dialects were allowed in private, Common was mandatory for work.
This "Cultural Cleansing" was a deliberate move to overwrite racial heritage. By forcing the use of Common, the empire ensured that new generations of Kobolds would identify as citizens of Lordaeron first, and clan members second. Cut off from their old culture, they had no choice but to remain loyal to the master who provided their livelihood.
Goldtooth's father had been the original "Old Goldtooth," recruited by Arthas years ago. He had worked diligently until his recent natural death. Now, his son inherited the name—a title of "Private Servant to His Majesty," a position of immense honor. If it weren't for the massive surge in ore demand, he wouldn't even be here personally. Lady Onyxia had given the word, and in Lordaeron, you listened to the Black Dragon Princess if you wanted a peaceful life.
"Clan Chief! We're only two tons short!" Shimu, a small-time foreman, pleaded with a lick of his chops. "We can dig out three more if we push. But you gotta reward us with a ham tonight! The vein is getting deep, and paving the tracks takes time!"
Goldtooth glared. He didn't even have enough ham for himself, and Shimu wanted more? But then, he remembered his "Management for Clan Leaders" course and swallowed his refusal.
"You want ham? Fine! If you dig out four tons instead of three, I'll authorize a large ham for the group's dinner! You usually get the medium ones; tonight, you'll taste the big ones." He lowered the megaphone and added in a whisper meant only for Shimu, "If you pull it off, I'll give you four extra sausages for yourself."
Shimu's mouth watered. He snapped a somewhat clumsy Imperial salute. "Don't you worry, Chief! I'll make these pups dig like their lives depend on it!"
After dinner, Goldtooth gathered his people for prayer—not just to the Goddess Azeroth, but to King Arthas himself. As a living god who founded an empire, Arthas commanded a following that was rapidly turning into a cult of personality.
The Cult of the Protector, modeled after the efficient hierarchy of the Twilight's Hammer, accepted all races and ages. Whether you were an old man, a child, an orc, or a kobold, you could become a believer. The more devout the believer, the more feedback they received—a minor cut might heal instantly if one's faith was strong enough.
After prayer, some worked overtime while others sought entertainment. To prevent slacking, Onyxia had implemented "differentiated welfare." Magic detection and random inspections ensured that those who worked hardest received the best perks. Anyone caught cheating the Empire was executed on the spot. Swindling the Empire was swindling Onyxia, and everyone knew the Black Dragon Princess's obsession with gold was second only to her loyalty to her Master.
In the distant mountain pastures, a different group was praying: the Gnolls.
While Kobolds were the miners, Gnolls had a natural advantage in herding. They acted as highly efficient shepherd dogs. Under their watch, livestock remained lean and healthy. They even served as makeshift "veterinarians," performing castrations with a swift, efficient flick of their claws.
The Hammer Clan was the first Gnoll tribe to join Arthas. Today, it was the largest Gnoll clan in the Empire. They were not only loyal but experts at absorbing wandering Gnolls into their ranks. Beyond herding, they served as elite scouts and messengers. Running on all fours, they were faster and had more endurance than warhorses, and they required far less food.
Old Hammer, the retired chieftain, watched his son, young Hammer, lead the tribe. He often spoke of the King's grace. Without Arthas, the clan would still be a few hundred starving scavengers instead of a ten-thousand-strong workforce.
However, loyalty came with strict rules. Stealing livestock was a capital offense. Old Hammer's third son had once "self-stolen" a sheep. When the enforcement squad found out, Old Hammer had personally crushed his son's skull to prove his absolute obedience to the Crown, sparing the rest of the clan from a total purge.
"If the loyalty isn't absolute, it's absolutely disloyal," was the motto young Hammer lived by.
Standing near him was a massive, two-meter-tall Gnoll, towering over the others. Old Hammer remembered him—a refugee from the south who had fled the Kingdom of Stormwind after his pack was slaughtered by human nobles.
His name was Hogger.
Hogger was a formidable fighter, so Old Hammer had recruited him into the clan by having him marry one of his widowed daughters. In the Hammer Clan, males from the outside always married in—a matrilocal system that ensured all pups born belonged to the clan and the Empire. It was a perfect way to assimilate outsiders and prevent splintering.
Those who didn't want to marry in were free to leave, but without Imperial citizenship, they couldn't even register as mercenaries at the Adventurer's Guild.
Rumor had it the Guild's head was also a dragon named Chromie, though few had seen her. Regardless, her "Timewalker Tavern" was the most popular spot in the city, serving ale and wine more mellow than any other in the world.