The Paladin in the Abyss

"The greatest obstacle standing before you is that you are merely a mortal, and a Human at that, one of the races with the shortest lifespans," the robed Cultivator leaned slightly forward, his tone laced with endless allure. "When we corrupt Cultivators had just established ourselves within Kai-Oine, Mogrondale City hadn't even laid its first cobblestone."

"Thousands of years have passed, and we have always been here, monitoring the state of the Abyss and rumors, amassing countless lost knowledge and magic. Wish for a longer life? We have plenty of ways for that. Transforming a Tanari into a Bartez is quite startling to hear about, but turning a mortal into a Tanari is not so difficult. You could even retain your own form, at most growing organs such as antlers, a tail, or wings that signify your new race, all transformations not repugnant to a Succubus..."

"And all I have to do to share these secrets is to become a Lord of Withering?" Lancelot's voice sounded genuinely interested, but not in the way the corrupt Cultivator had hoped for, "The Lords of Withering rule over the lower Mogrondale, while you hold a small section of Skeleton Tower. Even if you possess the ability to use the Eye of Sarezdon, which is vital to maintaining the prosperity of Mogrondale, I find it hard to understand why the Lords of Withering have not brought you under their rule. After all, from what we can see, those so-called Governors wield greater power, so why do they tolerate your exalted status?"

"Is that question really so important?" The hooded figure seemed somewhat surprised by Lancelot's query, "If you think the Cultivators are weak, then you are mistaken. At least within this tower, no Lord of Withering would dare to misbehave."

"Your way of dealing with those two burly Demons was quite impressive," Lancelot shrugged, "But that still doesn't explain why you offer such staunch support to the Lords of Withering."

"If Mogrondale were an apartment building, and the passing merchants the tenants, then the Lords of Withering would be the apartment managers," the Cultivator's leaning body slowly recoiled, "This manager must be strong enough, terrifyingly so, to ensure that the tenants promptly pay up their rent."

"If the Lord of Withering is merely a manager, then who is the real landlord? If all the rent is being collected by the manager, what does the landlord want in return?"

The robed Cultivator fell into a brief silence before reluctantly and vaguely responding:

"Lords of Withering come and go, but we have always been here."

"Then my answer is quite clear," Lancelot responded with a smile, "Becoming a Lord of Withering binds me more than it benefits me. I only want a map that marks the current positions of the lower plane Portals. After retrieving the black Bead for you, it is not excessive to ask for such a reward, right?"

"Of course, that is very reasonable, but are you really aware of what you're missing out on..." the disappointment palpable in the robed Cultivator's tone, but seeing Lancelot's resolute decision, he no longer insisted, "We will still grant you the honorary title of a Lord of Withering, as we promised before. We will soon appoint a new Lord of Withering to fill the vacancy left by the former Governor of the Mist Plains, do you have any suggestions for the candidate?"

"That Halfling called Pakos isn't bad."

"...Heh, I think Mr. Pakos might find other things more intriguing," the Grandmaster Cultivator stood up gracefully, gesturing farewell, "I will begin making the map immediately. I won't escort you down, so please return the way you came. You may wait in that lounge, and someone will soon bring you the completed map."

Lancelot said no more. He stood up, bowed to his interlocutor, and started down the steps leading to the lower levels. He felt the Grandmaster's gaze fixed on his back until he was completely out of sight.

Shortly after, he rejoined his companions. Facing their inquiring looks, he simply shook his head and pointed to his ear, hinting that they might be eavesdropped upon and that now was not the time for discussion.

They didn't have to wait long. About half an hour later, another Cultivator, enshrouded in robes, handed over a thick roll of scrolls to Lancelot, then politely but firmly requested the group to leave.

Passing through a Portal once more, they found themselves directly at the bottom level of Skeleton Tower; the narrow path of Blood Abyss lay beyond its door.

"Where to now?" Standing at the entrance of Skeleton Tower, Bruto crossed his arms and asked. His face was covered by a mask, making him look like a shoddy Dwarf bandit. He had used it previously to cover up his beard when he transformed into a Succubus, and now he used it to conceal the fact that he didn't have a beard.

"We need to find somewhere to rest, study the map, and prepare for our journey to Androlina," Lancelot shrugged, "How about we stay at Tears of Lazaka for another night? At least we know the owner's 'true face'."

Everyone laughed upon hearing this; they all had seen 'The Immortal' Pakos's real form: an impressive Giant Dragon. As strange as it might sound, there wasn't a safer place in all of Mogrondale City than Tears of Lazaka, even though they had been attacked there not long ago. Continue your journey with My Virtual Library Empire

The group set off down the narrow street of Blood Abyss, heading towards the Mist Plains where Tears of Lazaka was located. Unlike on their way in, the guards now displayed a complete change of attitude towards them; they all stopped and bowed to the Human Knight upon seeing Lancelot, addressing him respectfully as 'm'lord'.

Upon reaching the Mist Plains, their ostensible shift in status became even more exaggerated. The District Guards, upon seeing their nominal superior, flocked to him, eagerly inquiring if the new Governor needed any services. Even though Lancelot made it clear he had no use for them at the moment, these Maizeros Demons still followed him closely, competing for a spot near Lancelot.

On their way to Tears of Lazaka, they had to pass through the Grand Bazaar of the Mist Plains, and their group quickly attracted more guards and civilians. As the crowd became so thick they could hardly move, Lancelot knew he had to do something.

He looked around quickly, leaped up, and landed on the pedestal of a statue depicting the valiant figure of a Barlow Flame Demon.