The Paladin in the Abyss

"Boss," Eckmond's shaking voice arose in Lancelot's heart, "the Succubus seems to have stopped chasing us, should we take a break?"

He continued, "I can't hold on much longer, and the ride is really bumpy."

Upon hearing this, Lancelot slowed down. It had been five minutes since he was shot, and with the power of two Upper Grade Spirit Stones, he had sprinted nearly three miles. Within the range of his Spirit Perception, he could no longer sense Enreyes.

He naturally noticed the magical fluctuations from Oasis Fort; something must have happened there that reminded the Demon's high rank Commander of his duties.

Lancelot hid in the shadow of a huge rock, his chest heaving violently as he spat out another mouthful of green, glowing, foul blood.

The venomous arrow shot by the Succubus was still stuck in his back; he hadn't had the time to deal with it, making him move like a wind-up toy.

"Boss, let me help you pull the arrow out?" The skeleton's skull floated behind Lancelot, "I'm not afraid of the poison on the arrows. That stuff doesn't work on the Undead."

Lancelot shook his head, and he channeled his True Qi, hardening the muscles around the wound like iron, slowly pushing the arrowhead out of his body. He then cautiously removed his blood-soaked back armor from the inside and extracted the arrow stuck in it.

This arrow was exquisitely made; the shaft was crafted from a dense yet flexible wood, with very neat patterns; the fletching used fine, black feathers that appeared as if they grew directly from the shaft; the tip was a cone of precious Mithril, with fine notches for holding poison and vicious barbs, designed to inflict maximum pain on prey that wasn't immediately killed.

Lancelot thought for a moment and then wrapped the arrow in the robe he wore when transformed into a Succubus, stowing it away in the Dimensional Bag. It wasn't in his nature to leave a debt unpaid; he resolved to return the favor to the Succubus named Valtira whenever the opportunity arose.

If there was no chance, the arrow would also serve as a great storytelling prop—a certain Vampire maid would certainly love it.

The wound from the arrow still struggled to heal; although he could not yet clear the toxins, Lancelot fully suppressed their spread. Once he rendezvoused with his companions, he believed Alamir and Vito would have a way to completely resolve his poisoning. Priests with divine arts were specialists in countering these adverse effects.

He wrapped the wound with a bandage, smoothened the punctured hole on the surface of his armor with the butt of his sword, then donned his gear again. To avoid leading enemies to his companions, he had fled in a different direction and had already covered a considerable distance.

With focused concentration, he summoned the warhorse, whose hooves blazed with fire, unseen for some time. The Abyssal creature, forcibly summoned here, instinctively moved to attack its summoner, but a swift slap from Lancelot made clear who had brought it forth.

"Boss, that mount of yours is quite something," Eckmond found a comfortable position in the saddle and settled himself down, "It has a bit of a Death Knight vibe."

Lancelot smiled but said nothing. He looked up to roughly discern the direction to Crackskull Valley, then, a man, a 'horse,' and a skull set off under the dim moonlight.

He was prepared for Eckmond's babble along the way, but to his surprise, the skull, recently met, fell silent, seeming to be burdened with heavy thoughts.

"What's wrong with you?" After a long wait, it was Lancelot who couldn't hold back any longer and spoke up. "You've seemed reluctant to talk since earlier."

"Ah, boss, I'm pondering over a very painful question."

"What question?"

"Who am I." The skull said listlessly, "Not in the philosophical sense of that ultimate question, but more like the queries of a pitiful creature who has lost its memory about its past identity."

"How come you suddenly have this doubt? Didn't you think about it before when you were in that pit of corpses?"

"Sigh." Eckmond let out a sigh, "I did think about it, but back then I had no clues at all, so I simply stopped bothering. But just now, when I saw you fighting with that Enyeries, lots of images suddenly flooded into my mind."

"Did you remember your original identity?"

"Not at all, it just made me more confused," Eckmond said gloomily. "All these meaningless fragments make me feel like I've remembered something, but in reality, I haven't at all."

"Tell me about it, what kind of images?" Lancelot asked curiously, "Maybe I can notice some details you missed from a different perspective." Continue reading at empire

"That makes sense." Eckmond, excited, replied. Then a sequence of images was projected directly into the man's mind through the bond with Lancelot.

Lancelot focused intently, realizing it was a first-person perspective, apparently on a battlefield in the midst of a blood war.

Countless Coward Devils surged like a tide towards the Demon's lines by the riverside, and on the other end of the battlefield, the significantly fewer Beard Demons stood in neat rows, marching out of warships to form rock-solid squares, quietly waiting for the Demons to arrive.

The owner of the perspective looked up, noticing that the battle in the air had already ignited. Several Enyeries continuously showered the Demon army with arrows from longbows and would occasionally swoop down with longswords, carving a bloody wave through the dense sea of Demons.

This spectacular and glorious sight was deeply impressive and perhaps it was the scene of the Succubus diving at Lancelot today that had awakened this fragment of Eckmond's memory.

The perspective shifted to the side, where a group of Blood War Mercenaries, obviously mortals, were making their final preparations for battle. At that moment, a voice from off screen was calling the name 'Eckmond', its cold and bone-chilling tone echoing.

The perspective turned to look behind themselves, only to see a skeleton in a robe staring in the direction of the perspective, after which the image faded to darkness, marking the end of the memory fragment.

"It looks like you were on the side of the Demons," Lancelot commented. "When you turned your head, I noticed that below the perspective was emptiness, clearly you were already a skull at that point."

"Yes." Eckmond said, dispiritedly. "That Lich called out my name; I guess that must have been my previous master, but I have no recollection of that person whatsoever."

"Not necessarily," Lancelot argued. "I've heard that Liches generally have a vast wealth of knowledge, and I find it hard to believe that such a creature would need the services of a Mimir. Also, why are all these images in grey? Is that an issue with your memory?"