The Paladin in the Abyss-Chapter 527 - 551 Arrival at the Foot of the

Chapter 527: Chapter 551: Arrival at the Foot of the Mountain Chapter 527: Chapter 551: Arrival at the Foot of the Mountain “Why are you looking at me?” Lancelot sighed, “I’ve already fallen so low that I’ve killed women; you don’t think I should also fight dragons in a fair duel, do you?”

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“If you ask me, your principle was flawed in the first place, as if women are naturally weaker than men.” Bruto glanced at Lancelot with a sideways look, “Those Zoel Elf males would be very happy to discuss this topic with you thoroughly.”

“Speaking of which, the Fencer Trolls we might encounter up ahead are a race where the females are stronger than the males.” The old Reap, who had been squatting to the side silently eating meat, suddenly spoke up, “Their females are larger and stronger, the heads of the family, while the males have to work hard to prove their value to avoid being expelled by the females.”

“Do Fencer Trolls fear fire like regular trolls do?” Lancelot curiously asked, “Our weapons are all enchanted with flame-related enchantments…”

“No, Fencer Trolls aren’t afraid of fire; they are closer to giants in their bloodline, not regular trolls. They fear sunlight; under direct sunlight, they turn to stone, so you would only encounter these creatures at night or in caves.” The werewolf shrugged, speaking indistinctly with his mouth full of meat, “They’re certainly not as difficult to deal with as a Giant Dragon, but they always appear in numbers and are very adept at using spells. Plus, as close relatives of giants, their strength should not be underestimated—they’re also pretty accurate with throwing stones…”

“I seem to have heard of these creatures…” Kalalin furrowed his brow, “Supposedly they’re native to the plane of Garden of Yser, not inherently evil beings, so how did they end up in the Abyss?”

“It’s said that this tribe committed some sort of sacrilege and fled here with Svafnir,” the werewolf shrugged, “They are actually minions of that ancient White Dragon now, hunting food and pillaging treasure for it. If we want to approach Svafnir’s lair, we are bound to run into these fellows.”

“But we must go there,” Lancelot said with a stern face, “If those Fencer Trolls think of us as targets for robbery, they will be the unlucky ones.”

“Ha! Of course, and don’t even ask if my hammer agrees!” Bruto patted his weapon, “That… Elf, tell us more about dragons…”

“No problem, the night is still young!” Alamir once again passed his empty cup over, “Let’s start with the Black Dragon among the chromatic dragons…”

They talked late into the night, so they didn’t set off until close to noon the next day. The mountain where the White Dragon’s Lair was located was already in sight, but after a full day of racing on the sled, it seemed only slightly closer. The situation the next day was much the same, but at dusk, for the first time, the group saw a flying dragon.

...

They had just found a cave to camp in and had just lit a campfire, when suddenly a loud, wild roar came from the sky. The sound instinctively made everyone draw their weapons and then they ran to the edge of the cave entrance to look outside.

In the high skies, a White Dragon was gliding past, its claws grasping a large wild beast. Although from the group’s vantage point, the dragon’s silhouette was only about the size of a fist, the immense leathery wings, the sunlight reflecting off its scales, and the fierce head still exuded an oppressive aura; one glance and no one would doubt their status as supreme rulers of the land.

“That is not the dragon we saw in the Temple of Moradin.” Lancelot squinted his eyes, scrutinizing the details of the giant beast’s body, “It looks… younger; could it be Svafnir’s offspring?”

“A mature male White Dragon, approximately four hundred years old,” Alamir declared to the group, “a beast in its prime… It’s most likely an offspring of that ancient White Dragon, otherwise, an adult dragon is unlikely to be active in the territory of another, older dragon of its kind.”

“So Svafnir just sent a son to look after his old den?” Bruto asked curiously, “Isn’t it afraid of… guardians turning into thieves?”

“Maybe it has some other anti-theft measures for its treasure,” Lancelot shrugged, “We’ll find the answer.”

The White Dragon grew smaller and smaller as it flew away, eventually becoming the size of a grain of rice before disappearing into a cave at the peak of that mountain.

“We are now very close to the White Dragon’s lair,” Old Reap, who had been silently calculating the distance, spoke, “By noon tomorrow at the latest, we should arrive at the base of that mountain.”

“Let’s rest well tonight,” Lancelot waved his hand, “Those Fencer Trolls are unlikely to be very hospitable, and it may be a bit difficult to persuade them to let us pass…”

“Remember to use the hammer,” the Dwarf suggested, “Very persuasive.”

As soon as it was light the next day, everyone set off early. The mode of travel remained sleds pulled by wolves, and as they neared the mountain, the weather notably worsened—the howling wind, blizzard, hail, and freezing rain all perfectly matched the scenario described by the Elf Priest.

The harsh conditions also jumbled the nature’s spiritual energy around them, severely impairing Lancelot’s Spirit Perception Sensory Ability. Everyone maintained a high level of vigilance, always ready for battle, but the polar beasts that previously liked to attack travelers had all disappeared, which Alamir believed to be another phenomenon near a dragon’s nest.

When they reached the foot of the mountain, the blizzard was so intense that it was almost impossible to move. Climbing to the dragon’s nest at the mountain’s peak in such conditions would certainly have been a suicide mission, but fortunately, they quickly found an entrance to a cave, and Bruto, just by standing inside and sniffing, confirmed it connected to an extensive tunnel network.

Everyone geared up and headed into the depths of the cave in battle formation. The passages here were quite spacious, mostly because the Fencer Trolls that had excavated them were of larger size. There were the occasional luminous fungi in the tunnels, but they did not provide sufficient lighting, which was not really an issue since Kalalin was the only one in the group who couldn’t see in the dark (Lancelot had stopped pretending to be a normal human), and a Second Circle Night Vision Spell easily solved this problem.

Lancelot and Bruto walked side by side at the front of the group, with Little Isha following closely behind, responsible for spotting any potential traps and mechanisms. In the middle of the group were the spellcaster duo, Kalalin and Alamir, while Werewolf Old Reap took up the rear. Lancelot’s task for him was to stealthily protect the two spellcasters from the shadows as soon as a fight broke out, revealing himself only if absolutely necessary.

The group followed the winding tunnel for several hundred feet without encountering any branches, but after a nearly vertical turn, they unexpectedly came face-to-face with the masters of this place.