Chapter 683: Technological Reformation

Both mighty chieftains concurred—the mess was Gul'dan's doing.

On the thoroughfares of Draenor, plains once veiled by verdure stood lifeless, vibrant trees withered, the azure sky now blood-red; a testament to the warlocks, their insatiable thirst for power wrought this desolation.

More than just ravaging Draenor, Gul'dan, the puppeteer behind the curtain, was why the Horde failed to vanquish the Alliance, to conquer that world named Azeroth.

It was the warlock's treachery at the eleventh hour, seeking might in the tomb of the damned Sargeras, that broke the front lines!

"What's to be done? You're the wisest chieftain I've known. I may best you in battle, but wisdom is your realm," Kargath confessed, his vulnerability laid bare.

Battle, I fall short?

A dim red glint flickered in Kilrogg's 'Deadeye,' yet it vanished as quickly as it came. No need for verbal sparring with Kargath—Kilrogg knew well the ferocity of this madman, who'd snapped his own arm to escape ogre captivity, cutting a swath through blood and bone.

"We need to forge a new core for the Horde."

"A core!?"

"Yes! A formidable union of clans, compelling allegiance like the once Blackrock. Without a strong core as our standard, those muscle-brained fools, eyes only for the shrinking hunting grounds before them, heed no one."

Kargath pondered, "Blackrock lies in ruins, if only the Warsong were here."

"Indeed! Pity Hell scream is trapped in Azeroth."

Such is the domino effect.

If only Blackrock had succumbed in Azeroth, naturally, a second and third clan would have followed suit. But Duke's decisive action saw Blackrock fall, Warsong trapped, Bleeding Hollow, Dragonmaw, and Shattered Hand crippled, with Frostwolf already exiled—a sweeping evisceration of the Horde's top ranks.

Now, the Horde was akin to a dragon without a head.

Duke, unbeknownst to him, had undermined the Horde in the Second War so thoroughly it delayed N'Zoth's emergence.

Nor did he know, debates over his existence raged in a future timepoint among the Bronze Dragons.

In an ethereal realm of consciousness, voices clashed tumultuously.

"Duke Marcus is a blight upon the timeline!"

"First and foremost, we are guardians of Azeroth, then of time."

"Are you certain Duke stands with the protectors? One possibility we've foreseen is his becoming the Lich King!"

"That's one of 1024 outcomes. Why not mention the 82% possibility of improvement? Or the 17% chance that things remain as they are?"

"No, tampering is tampering, and he must be warned."

"Kairoz, hold! The Bronze Dragon King Nozdormu at that point in time has explicitly refused all intervention from us. Even if you went back, it'd be pointless; your powers would be so diminished, you'd be less than mortal."

"Fine... I concede this time. But next time, I'll act on my own."

Back to Duke, his angering the future Bronze Dragonflight was inevitable, for he had already begun to play with the transition of eras.

If before, Azeroth was a world view with a typical medieval Earth style plus magic, now Duke was single-handedly ushering Stormwind and Ironforge from the medieval into the Renaissance.

Duke yearned to advance Azeroth into the Industrial Revolution, but alas, the three dwarven races — dwarves, gnomes, and goblins — who represented Azeroth's pinnacle of technology, had all bungled their tech talents. Reeling in their various suicidal tendencies wasn't straightforward.

Duke initially intended to promote rifles in the human army, but regrettably, the world's firearm level was still at that of muzzle-loading muskets firing solid bullets.

Cumbersome barrels aside, there was no rapid-fire capability, and the risk of bursting was high. In an enemy charge, archers could loose about three volleys, but a musketeer could barely manage one shot.

Not even the method of volley fire could compensate for this substantial firepower deficiency.

Thus, Duke had to stick to front-line shield and spear formations with mid-line javelin throwers.

The significant change came with Duke introducing dwarven mortars. The mortars of that era weren't standard but more a supportive short-barrel cannon. However, Duke innovated the shells and the gunpowder igniting them.

He switched from solid shot to hollow iron spheres packed with shrapnel, boosting the scatter shot's lethality.

The gunpowder shifted from loose powder to pre-measured packets wrapped in oil paper, only to shorten loading times and effectively increase firing rate.

Duke began training mortar teams, augmenting the soldiers' mid-to-short-range fire support.

Standing at the Sentinel Tower's firing range, watching Duke's mortar crew fire two rounds per minute, each round precisely tearing apart a dozen armored straw dummies, the Alliance high command was flabbergasted.

"It seems we spend ten years raising a knight, only for him to fall in a minute on the battlefield. Not as good as your three-month-trained mortar team, eh?" Anduin lamented, hands on hips.

Duke shrugged, "You've seen the Blackrock conflict yourself. Without the dwarven steam tank corps, would we be chatting so leisurely?"

"Indeed! Technology is the primary productive force!" Mekkatorque, the Gnomish High Tinker, parroted Duke's 'proverb.'

Anduin, gazing at the steel leviathan rumbling in from the north, crossing the lowered drawbridge and onto the fortress via the massive iron tracks, sighed deeply, "I was once a skeptic of technology. Though I've visited Ironforge, I still can't fathom traversing the entire Elwynn Forest in just a day. From Stormwind to Sentinel Tower in three."

Anduin Lothar, having spent time in the yet unfinished Sentinel Tower, knew well the miracle it represented.