[Boing! Boing!]

  As Seraph emerged beyond the walls of Arkpolis, the first sights to greet him were the rolling meadows and the endearing sounds of docile creatures dwelling near the city. There were even slimes, bounding through the grass with unbridled cheer.

  As he ventured further, he encountered Sentry Towers and Fortresses. Atop each tower, a massive mageia crystal drifted in the air, while within the fortifications, small contingents of ten to a hundred sentries stood watch, safeguarding the surrounding lands.

  Within the sentry towers and fortresses, swift couriers stood ready to deliver missives at high speeds. Their duty was to purge small clusters of demons and signal the grand army should a massive horde descend upon the surrounding villages.

  Laurasia was already besieged, with demon legions encroaching upon every reach. Had it not been for these towers and fortifications established throughout the human realms, this land would have surely fallen, mirroring the fate of the cities that had already crumbled into ruin.

  Beyond Arkpolis lay vast meadows and primeval forests of immense fertility. Upon the face of Laurasia, some forests were so grand they resembled green oceans, harboring the dens of various species of beasts within their verdant depths.

  Any region inhabited by demons became a cursed domain. The Demon Legion perpetually spread curses and demonic miasma across their territories, transforming the land into a perilous expanse littered with skeletons. Lush forests were warped into toxic miasmas; the demon hordes turned every sanctuary they trod upon into a realm of death.

  In the territories ruled by demons, the earth was but a mound of piled bones. Demonic Miasma and the scent of death hung heavy in the air, while corpses were raised by liches and necromancers to roam as undead.

  The demonic miasma reshaped the land into a cursed domain favored by the abyss. Curses transmuted human dwellings into demonic dens, as if the legions sought to forge all of Laurasia into a living hell. Yet, the poisons and curses of the demon lands rendered them uninhabitable for humankind.

  Thus, humanity struggled to defend their lands and territories, employing every means to halt the demon hordes from encroaching further into their homes.

  The highway through which Seraph traveled was lined with sentry towers. Many of these towers had been converted into checkpoints and small waystations to provide refuge for travelers, ensuring the highways within Arkflame remained relatively secure. Along the path, he constantly encountered merchant caravans making their way toward the metropolis of Arkpolis.

  ? . ? . ? . ? . ?

  Before long, the young man arrived at the outskirts of a major settlement—the city of Balyon. It was here that the Lord of Balyon had issued the commission for the undead mission he now carried.

  Balyon was a city of ores and craft, housing numerous mines within its borders. Consequently, the city teemed with windmills and artisan workshops; the sheer scale and abundance of these windmills made them a striking sight, their massive blades churning like the life-pulse of the city itself.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  Desden Cave, the objective of his mission, lay several hours to the west of Balyon. Seraph had no desire to squander time; his sole intent was to complete the task and amass the merit required to ascend to the rank of magis as swiftly as possible. Thus, the young man chose to strike out directly for Desden Cave, bypassing the client entirely.

  Upon reaching the coordinates marked on his map, Seraph found himself at the edge of a sprawling woodland, where a wide river cut through the verdant growth. Deep within the forest, the young man discovered a gorge where a waterfall thundered down—Desden Cave was nestled beneath that very chasm.

  The roar of the waterfall was so deafening it nearly drowned out every other sound in the woods. The young man attempted to scout the falls and the cliff edges, yet he found no path that offered a safe descent into the valley. The precipice had been washed slick by the spray of the falls, turning the stone treacherous and wet.

  The cliffs were so steep they invited a lethal tumble. The terrain below was a jagged sprawl of sharp stones, and throughout this region, slick algae and moss clung to the boulders. The surroundings were a maze of massive rocks, both slippery and razor-sharp.

  Finding no accessible path, Seraph unfurled the sanctus scroll once more. The mission scroll offered no guidance on the descent, merely confirming that Desden Cave lay undeniably at the base of this gorge.

  “And yet, the Sanctus Scroll proclaims Desden Cave to be an ancient mine. If that holds true, there must be a path of descent...” Seraph whispered to himself, a dry smirk playing on his lips. “Unless, of course, the Goddess decided that gravity was all the ‘descent path’ we needed today. Very efficient.”

  Despite circling the perimeter several times in a meticulous search, he found no official passage.

  “Enough searching. I’ll bind these vines into a rope and climb down. I only hope the chasm floor isn’t too deep...” Seraph said, his voice laced with uncertainty. “And if it is, maybe the fall will be faster than dying of frostbite. Win-win, I suppose.”

  Having made his choice, the young man set about severing numerous vines, knotting them together to forge a makeshift line. Once he had secured a length of several dozen meters, Seraph anchored the vines around a massive tree at the cliff’s edge. He then cast the heavy coil into the abyss.

  As Seraph tracked the descent of the vine, he saw nothing. His vision met only a shroud of white mist—a dense spray that veiled the gorge, revealing nothing but a biting chill.

  The thundering waterfall plunging into the depths birthed a relentless cloud of vapor and thick fog at the base of the valley, as if the mist itself served as a boundary, severing the world above from the hollow below.

  Without further hesitation, the young man gripped the vine and gave it several sharp tugs. Satisfied that his temporary tether was strong enough to endure, Seraph began his descent at once.

  As he plunged downward, it felt as though he were piercing through a veil of frost. The atmosphere within the gorge was frigid and sodden; he had not climbed far before his cloak was drenched by the clinging mist. As he continued his descent, the light began to fail, further isolating him from the world he had left behind.

  Trusting in the strength of the vines, Seraph allowed himself to slide down the line with increasing speed. In mere minutes, he reached the very end of his rope—only to be confronted by his first true taste of dread.

  The vine had reached its absolute end, yet he remained suspended in the void. Not even a shadow of the chasm floor greeted his eyes. It meant the tether of several dozen meters was woefully insufficient; the gorge was far deeper than his grim prognostications.

  Seraph gripped the vine with trembling hands. Even at this height, his heart hammered against his ribs like a war drum. The young man felt as though gravity itself were dragging his soul down to the abyss. He had expended no small measure of strength during the descent; he had surmised that even if the line failed to reach the floor, it would at least bring him within striking distance. He never envisioned that peering down would reveal only a bottomless pit.