The Paladin in the Abyss

"Residents of the Misty Plains!"

Lancelot's voice, imbued with True Yuan, overshadowed all the clamor as he skillfully addressed the crowd in the language of the Abyss.

"I am Lancelot, a Human Knight. You may have heard some rumors that I killed 'The Great Arbiter' Satugura." He paused briefly, ensuring even those standing far could clearly hear, "Yes, it is all true, and by the tradition of Mogrondale, the Misty Plains are now mine!"
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After a moment of silence, a loud cheer erupted from the crowd. It wasn't that they had any complaint against the former Governor; they were purely celebrating the manner in which Lancelot had seized the position: through slaughter. This was Mogrondale's most orthodox method of transferring power, and the vast majority of the citizens dreamt of rising from obscurity overnight in such a way. The Human Knight before them had once again proven the viability of this dream.

Just as the crowd was about to start chanting Lancelot's name, the Human Knight drowned out everyone with an even louder voice.

"However! I seek further adventures and have no intention of lingering in this city for long." Lancelot summoned all the True Yuan within him, his voice reaching across the entire Misty Plains, "Soon, the corrupt Cultivators within Skeleton Tower will appoint a new Lord of Withering. Save your cheers for that person!"

Lancelot's speech stunned everyone; they had not expected another oddity to forgo the Governorship of the Misty Plains after a seemingly harmless Halfling had done so. What puzzled them even more was that unlike Pakos, who had called it quits after a while due to 'boredom,' this man outright refused the honor of becoming the Lord of Withering, something completely incomprehensible to them.

Murmurs spread through the crowd as Lancelot had already leaped down from the statue's plinth, ready to leave. But at that moment, a loud shout rose from the spectators:

"Coward!"

That shout was like a spark that instantly ignited the crowd. This Lancelot fellow must have struck it lucky, accidentally killing Satugura, but he was afraid to face any other challengers, so he relinquished the position of the Lord of Withering immediately—it had to be so!

Following that logic, this lucky one's strength must not amount to much. If they could take him out now, wouldn't they become the new Governor of the Misty Plains straight away?

Many Demons, stimulated by this tempting thought, couldn't wait a single moment longer, as their eyes reddened with excitement. They swarmed towards Lancelot, vociferously proclaiming their challenges.

But some eager individuals suddenly recalled the rumors about this Human Knight, the corpses of the Werewolves lifted one after another from the Tears of Lazaka. There was more than one eyewitness, and if the Human Knight was as formidable as the rumors claimed, these eager ones might as well have been signing their own death warrants.

Lancelot looked on in surprise at the unfolding scene, completely unprepared for this turn of events. However, he quickly understood the intricacies, knowing the error lay with him, having not considered the thought process of the Demons. Now he had to prove something tangible, or he wouldn't be leaving today.

"I can forgive your foolishness, but I don't have the time to play with each of you," he bellowed again, his thunderous voice instantly rising above all else and cooling off some of the hot-headed individuals. "I accept your challenges, but only three chances. Let the strongest three come forward, the rest of you shouldn't waste your lives."

With these words, the crowd became even more energized, and those Maizeros Demon Guards quickly sprang into action. Although ostensibly subordinates of Lancelot, displaying loyalty as his lapdogs, they hadn't shown any inclination to step forward when Lancelot was being jeered at earlier. Now, they started using their sharp claws and tridents to push away the spectating citizens, clearing an open space.

The meaning was crystal clear; this was the arena that would decide the next Governor of the Misty Plains. Judging by their familiar movements, this clearly wasn't their first rodeo.

A brief silence descended among the spectators, everyone eyeing each other with doubtful glances. The look in their eyes seemed to ask, "Are you going to give it a try?"

Lancelot's companions had absolute confidence in his strength, but in such a setting, they were, to a greater or lesser extent, a bit nervous. The one with the most tangled expressions was little Isha, who had just been lazing in bed inside the Dimensional Bag. After being abruptly dragged out by her brother, little Isha was so nervous upon Elothysia's explanation of the situation that she couldn't even muster the words to cheer him on.

And, naturally, Bruto was the most laid-back of them all. The dwarf had experienced Lancelot's exceptional swordsmanship and freakish physical fitness countless times and not to mention that peculiar 'Bloodline Power'.

Below the crowd, the undercurrents surged fiercely. The calm scene lasted less than ten seconds before a roar erupted from the mass of people, and an exceptionally burly Meizeros Demon leaped in front of Lancelot.

It stood an astounding twelve feet tall, nearly twice Lancelot's height, and a terrifying scar split its rat-like face from forehead to chin. The wings on its back were more like the webbed paws of some creature, except only the two longest digits were still connected by a thin membrane.

"Dumos, it's the Glutton Dumos!"

"Is he the one who's always boasting about challenging Vagramore, the Governor of Beggars' Cliff?"

"Isn't he, though? Maybe he thinks this human knight is an easier target?"

"He sure is lucky, how can Beggars' Cliff, that slum, compare with the Misty Plains?"

Unlike his fist-loving brethren, this Meizeros Demon wore a not-too-shabby suit of chainmail and held a flail in his hand—a weapon combining the Wolf Fang Club and chain hammer. At the spiky end, three two-foot-long iron chains each attached to a hammerhead the size of a skull, looking like saw wheels.

In Lancelot's perception, the aura emanating from his opponent wasn't weak, but it was at best on par with his own before Foundation Establishment. Of course, Spirit Perception wasn't necessarily accurate. Lancelot himself had learned many techniques for Concealing Breath from ancient bamboo slips—maybe too many—but right then, this Meizeros Demon was in such a blood-boiling, agitated state that it hardly matched the calm necessary for restraining one's power.

The huge demon pointed his weapon at Lancelot, bellowing arrogantly:

"Dumos! Challenge! You! Beg me! Death! Quick!"

Lancelot was taken aback. He had encountered his fair share of demons, but this was the first time he had met one that shouted out words one by one like this.