The Paladin in the Abyss

Lancelot followed Bruto out of the cave where he'd been practicing his cultivation and returned to the edge of the mine.

In just three short days, the place had been transformed into a temporary Dwarven forge. Lancelot saw piles of coal, earthen forges, casting molds dug into the ground, and bellows fashioned from the wings of Demons.

Although the facilities were very simplistic, they had successfully equipped all the Dwarves with Armor and Helmets, and each had a Hand Axe and Warhammer tucked at their sides, fully armed to the teeth.

"Only those who have lost their freedom know how sweet it tastes." Bruto placed the Helmet he'd been carrying on his back on his head. "And those who try to enslave us will either get our corpses or nothing at all."

"What is that on your Helmet?" Lancelot noticed a tall statue of a Berserk Demon that was quite lifelike on Bruto's Helmet.

"Ha, it's a memorial of the first enemy I killed," Bruto answered proudly. "Now everyone calls me Frog Slayer."

"Was that your first battle?" Lancelot asked in surprise, Bruto's calmness and bravery had left a deep impression on him at the time.

"True as true can be, I'm only 35 years old, and before that, I was an Apprentice in my dad's forge," Bruto said, straightening his back. "Maybe I have a knack for being an Adventurer."

Lancelot inwardly sighed at the thought of being only 35 years old. But for Dwarves, who lived past 300 years, one was considered young until the age of 50.

He took another look at Bruto's Helmet and secretly suspected that the main purpose of the toad-like figure was to make the wearer appear a bit taller.

"Oh, Sir Lancelot, you're here. How's the Armor?" Bruto's father, a master-level Dwarven Artisan, walked over.

"The craftsmanship of the Dwarves truly lives up to its reputation. Thank you, Master Barrend, I am very satisfied."

"Ha! These are all makeshift, put together in haste." Barrend laughed. "The conditions here are really poor. When I get the chance, I'll show you what true Dwarven craftsmanship is all about."

Lancelot too smiled. In the company of these cheerful Dwarves, he'd almost forgotten he was in such a terrifying plane.

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The group got their equipment in order and began their march towards the other side of the mountain peak.

Even though it didn't look far, they had to navigate around so many mine pits that they zigzagged along the narrow trails on the edges of the pits, finally arriving on the other side of the Shattered Mountain Range just as the weak sun crested above them.

Lancelot walked to the edge of a mountain pass and looked out into the distance.

The Elves' blessing had already enhanced his vision once, and now, as he channeled his True Qi into his eyes, his sight was further strengthened, allowing him to see far into the distance until his view was obstructed by clouds or mountain ranges.

In front of him lay a red wasteland. The ground was covered with terrifying cracks and holes, with threads of the Stygian River winding through like capillaries. Here and there were black spots, the iron fortresses of Demons and Devils.

Within his line of sight, at least three places were the scenes of massive battles involving thousands of participants, some were Demons fighting Demons and others were Demons clashing with Devils.

The fighting between Demons was chaotic beyond measure, with big guys grappling each other while the cannon fodder clashed indiscriminately. Lancelot wondered how the cannon fodder managed to distinguish friend from foe, or perhaps the Commanders on both sides didn't really care?

The armies of the Devils, however, were easy to identify. They had neat legions, tight formations, and good command—Lancelot watched as hordes of Demons walked right into an ambush set by the Devils, first stunned by a barrage of stones falling from the sky, and then shredded apart by a well-timed cavalry charge.

Seeing those demon knights, Lancelot couldn't help but look forward to the opportunity to match their prowess in the future.

In the distance, a giant demon with double wings on its back and a flaming great sword in hand was single-handedly dismantling a castle. The inhabitants were fleeing like ants that had their nest disturbed, and the destruction of the castle was only a matter of time.

This is the Abyssal Plane, where war and destruction are the main themes. To survive, one must constantly become stronger, Lancelot silently reminded himself.

Barrend shielded his eyes with his hand and looked around, suddenly pointing towards a certain location and speaking,

"There, see it? On that island in the middle of the Stygian River, that should be Twin Bridges Town."

Lancelot followed his pointing hand and looked. It was located to his lower left, not far from the base of the mountain. Twin Bridges Town was built on a huge island in the middle of the Stygian River, with a red castle standing in the center of the town. Two arched bridges connected the island to the riverbanks on either side, which must be the origin of Twin Bridges Town's name.

Lancelot shifted his gaze and started searching back and forth on the Shattered Mountain Range for a suitable route down the mountain. He couldn't help but mutter to himself,

"The way down looks treacherous, I'm afraid it might take two days..."

"No need for two days, half a day at most," Bruto approached, holding something. "As long as you learn to use our dwarven mode of transportation."

Hearing this, Lancelot turned around and saw that the so-called mode of transportation was just a pair of slender metal boards, with one end curled upward and what looked like a place to put boots welded in the middle.

"Uh, what's this?" Lancelot asked, suddenly having a bad feeling.

"This is called a pair of skis," Bruto said, his face filled with an excited frenzy. "Skiing is one of the favorite sports among us mountain dwarves, and skis are simple to use, very easy to learn."

"I know what skiing is," Lancelot swallowed hard. "But where is the snow here?"

"Look under our feet, big guy," Bruto stomped on the ground, kicking up some dust. "Every corner of the Plains of the Abyss is covered with a thick layer of ash that you can treat just like snow, its friction is even less than that of snow. See those smooth slopes? The ash layer there is at least three meters thick."

"But this seems very dangerous," Lancelot insisted.

"That's why we have a full set of protective gear. Well, they're also armor." Bruto handed two ski poles to Lancelot and began helping him put on the skis. "We'll just follow behind the others. The veterans will find a suitable path ahead."

Barrend had already set off with the other dwarves. It's worth noting that skiing is indeed a very simple sport for dwarves, who have a lower center of gravity.

Besides, their bodies were like stone; if they were to crash into something, the one taking more damage might not be these dwarves.

With Elves' blessings and the enhancement of Spiritual Cultivation, I should be able to survive the journey down the mountain, Lancelot consoled himself.

"By the way, your armor should be able to withstand an impact of over a ton, right?"

Lancelot's face changed and he was just about to answer when Bruto pushed him out.

"Bruto!!!!!! Aaaaaah!!!!!!!"

Bruto wore a mischievous grin, then adjusted his helmet and leaped out after him.