The Paladin in the Abyss-Chapter 763 - 784

"Second, according to the intelligence from the ravens, those three witches entered the Demon’s Domain immediately after capturing Uncle Barrend’s soul. I believe that they are likely able to come and go freely, at least they must have some form of collaboration with the master of the domain,"

"Is it possible that the witches have defeated the original Domain Lord and then took control over Derrick Valley?" Lancelot asked with a frown, "And Peyton Derrick, the original Domain Lord, has become a puppet of the witches?"

"The witches most likely possess the knowledge on how to control a sealed Domain Lord, but I don’t believe they have the power to defeat a Lich, and I can’t think of any reason for them to do so," Kalalin shook her head, "And don’t forget our third clue. Cranvo said that this matter is related to His predecessor, and we indeed found the emblem of that predecessor — right on the weapon that killed Uncle Barrend."

"There are too many questions that need answers, and what we know now is too little," Lancelot sighed, "Can you cast that spell to locate Uncle Barrend again? We need to ensure Bruto’s old man’s safety before we think about how to get out of here."

"No problem," Kalalin immediately nodded, "But just a reminder, doing so will deplete my Fifth Circle spell slots for today, so don’t expect me to be able to provide support with the strongest spells if a battle breaks out later."

"Okay, I got it."

"Good. Bruto, give me some of your blood, ordinary is fine."

This time, the dwarf didn’t joke around. He drew a small dagger from his waist with a serious expression, took out a small flask of strong liquor from behind his breastplate to clean the blade, then lightly cut a half-inch long wound on the back of his hand, from which bright red blood immediately began to seep.

Kalalin quickly retrieved a bundle of thick scrolls from her backpack and unfolded them to catch the dripping blood from the dwarf. After five drops, she gave a look to the Elf Priest beside her, who immediately pressed the bandage they had prepared in advance to the back of the dwarf’s hand. The Scholar then activated the spell stored in the scroll, and a wisp of silver smoke surged forth.

The smoke quickly coalesced to form the image of Barrend. Everyone looked intently and saw that the old dwarf had somehow regained a body; his hands were bound behind his back, his neck was chained, with the end attached to a heavy metal sphere. Compared to before, this time the smoke illusion showed more detail, and everyone could clearly see the wounds on the old dwarf’s face, his back, and under his ribs, clearly indicating that someone had recently tortured him.

Bruto abruptly tried to jump up from the ground, but a hand as large as a mountain kept him in place. Lancelot didn’t turn to look at him, just said softly:

"Watch to the end."

The elderly dwarf in the illusion seemed to sense something, looking around strangely, of course finding nothing. The view gradually pulled back, and they saw a dungeon with dozens of cells, fierce guards, and a building reminiscent of a gang headquarters. The view continued to move, showing dirty streets, an old town, a glittering lake, and pathways through fields and forests, finally dissipating in the dimming shadow of trees.

"That town is roughly twenty miles away from here, and there’s an established road," Kalalin spoke rapidly, "With luck, we could get there in two hours..."

Kalalin hadn’t finished speaking when Bruto had already dashed out like a wisp of smoke. Lancelot did not stop the Dwarf this time, but simply turned to the others and said:

"Mount up, we’re leaving."

Lancelot, Kalalin, Alamir, and Tanya each leaped onto their respective warhorses, while little Isabella transformed into a bat and clung to the Human Knight’s cloak. They easily caught up with the frantically running Bruto. Lancelot stretched out his hand, effortlessly lifting the Dwarf, who weighed nearly two hundred pounds, and with a skilled flip in midair, said Dwarf landed securely on the powerful haunches of his Nightmare steed.

"Lancelot, I..."

"Shut your mouth and be careful not to bite your tongue," the Human Knight said without turning his head, "Also, calm down; panic won’t solve any problems. Our priority is to save people; once we get them out, then we can think about revenge. Later, you must keep a clear head at all times until I say it’s time to act, understand?"

Bruto didn’t speak again, but he pounded his fist twice heavily on his companion’s back, from which Lancelot deduced that he had gotten the message.

The trees on either side of the road twisted grotesquely, their intertwining branches like Guards’ crossed halberds, silently threatening the advancing party and yet indifferently standing by. The wild gallop attracted the attention of some malevolent beings in the forest; sneaky shadows drawn by the noise attempted to pursue the swiftly moving group but were quickly lost in the dust kicked up by the horses’ hooves. Wailing wolf howls rose in the distance, while a flock of black ravens began to circle overhead, as though waiting diners anticipating the chef’s next dish.

About half an hour later, the group left the forest behind, and the road was flanked by clearly neglected farmland, where potatoes, wheat, and swedes grew like wild weeds. There was no sight of any farmers, the only figures were some roughly constructed scarecrows, their forms coated with crows that seemed to be watching a play.

Lancelot noticed that after leaving the forest, the sky overhead was significantly brighter, despite still being devoid of any sign of the sun, the luminosity was now akin to an overcast day. Yet this level of light seemed to have no effect on little Isabella, who maintained her bat form and continued to hang from Lancelot’s shoulder.

As they continued forward, a grey city wall jutted out from the steep cliffs on either side of the road. The oppressive feel of its height, which exceeded thirty feet, was palpable, and in the middle stood a raised iron gate. Above the gate was etched a line of text, worn by rain and the passage of time, yet still discernible as the words ’Derrick Kingdom.’ The only sentinels at the kingdom’s gate were two headless Knight statues, their silent and ominous presence an unwelcome gesture to the newcomers.

When Tanya, the last in line, had passed, a grating metallic sound suddenly rose, and everyone turned to find the iron gate had dropped with a painful screech, severing their way back.

For any ordinary travelers, this eerie situation would undoubtedly have been terrifying, but for Lancelot and his companions, they only needed to exchange a glance to find the strength to continue. Beside the road stood a stele-like signpost, pointing to Bulger Village to the east, and to Barovia to the west – the direction from which they could no longer return.

In the distance, under the shadow of the dark clouds, the outline of a village was beginning to emerge.

(Those who know understand~)