The Paladin in the Abyss

"The witches’ wealth? Whether we like it or not, that depends on what we see with our own eyes..." Bruto grinned while lifting his warhammer, "As for these here... brother, should we handle them as we did last time?"

"No," Lancelot shook his head, "Even if released, these souls can’t head to the Domain of the Vague. Let’s collect them and hand them over to... our friend."

Still wary of Medusa, he did not mention Cranvo’s name. Then, Lancelot silently activated his mental method, and a bright green sword aura appeared in his hand. Though the sword aura was less than half a foot long, it sliced through the crystal-embedded wall as easily as cutting tofu. The room contained more than ten thousand soul prisms, even if nearly half were empty, their value was still astonishing.

At the same time, Bruto swung his hammer, smashing the other fixtures in the room into pieces. Although the Medusa captive couldn’t see her surroundings, from the sound alone she knew what was happening around her. She stood coldly in place, showing no reaction.

After thoroughly destroying this level, they continued to the top floor of the tower. It was a narrow attic where even the tallest of them, Lancelot, couldn’t stand straight, so they hadn’t noticed it from outside earlier. Apart from a crude bedding, the room was mostly occupied by a blood-red magic formation with no other furnishings.

"Wait a moment..." Kalalin said suddenly, "Let me copy this formation, it’ll only take a moment..."

"This is the witches’ trick..." Bruto wrinkled his nose in disgust, "Are you going to learn even this?"

"Knowledge itself is neither good nor evil, what’s good or evil are the methods to gain it and the intentions behind using it..."

Kalalin spoke as he pulled out a bundle of blank parchment from his bag. He briefly chanted a spell, summoning a cone of mystery light in his hand. As he swept the light cone across the ground’s magic formation, the same pattern appeared on the parchment.

While the Scholar was busy making his research records, Lancelot approached the dirty bedding and squatted next to it. It emitted a strong, offensive stench, a mix of dead rats, rotten fish, and excrement, which was very unpleasant. Nonetheless, Lancelot sensed Medusa’s lingering presence, indicating she had been lying there not long ago.

The Scholar had finished his transcription by then. As Lancelot stood up, ready to destroy the magic formations, an inexplicable impulse caused him to lightly lift the bedding with his toe. A horrendous stench assaulted him, like a fist of flies hitting his face. An ordinary person might have fainted, but Lancelot, with his extraordinary physique, withstood the direct hit.

"Father God above!" Bruto exclaimed, covering his nose tightly and roaring in a muffled voice, "Brother! What are you doing?!"