The Paladin in the Abyss

Lancelot's heart raced with urgency. As a knight, protecting the weak and helpless was his fundamental creed.

The demons seemed unsatisfied with the outcome, the magicians confused and urgently communicating among themselves, and the suppression applied to the Coward Devil seemed to have loosened.

Some Coward Devils quietly slipped away from the arena, while others set their sights on the recently arrived creature.

This newcomer wore neither metal armor nor scales or sharp fangs, clearly an easy target to bully.

The Coward Devils, like a pack of wild dogs baring their teeth, crowded around the man, who seemed to still be in a dream, staring blankly around, unresponsive to the looming threat.

Several impatient Coward Devils even started running, hoping to be the first among their peers to taste this tender flesh.

Lancelot clenched his teeth and drew his great sword, leaping out fiercely.

The Coward Devil in the lead had already stretched out its claws, about to touch the man's body. At that moment, a dark shadow fell, and with the momentum of his descent, Lancelot's great sword cleaved the overly bold Coward Devil in two with a single strike.

The feel was surprisingly good, like chopping into a fat, plump pig on a farm.

Like startled sparrows, the Coward Devils scattered in all directions. They were accustomed to seeing their kind sliced in half, but it was the sudden appearance of this iron-clad figure that had truly taken them by surprise.

Lancelot, his great sword in hand, stood protectively by the man's side and turned to say,

"Stay behind me, I'll protect you!"

The young man in the white robe appeared utterly unfazed, the stark and brutal scene of dismemberment doing nothing to alter his expression, now looking at Lancelot with curiosity.

Noticing Lancelot's gaze, he even smiled back in response.

What kind of dark eyes were they! Just a simple exchange of looks, and Lancelot felt as if the other could see right through to the bottom of his heart.

He wanted to continue interacting with the stranger, but the sound of approaching footsteps forced Lancelot to refocus his attention on the enemies at hand.

His abrupt descent from the sky had been brief, the demon magicians by now had regrouped, casting spells once more to control the Coward Devils, sending them flood-like towards Lancelot.

Lancelot swung his great sword, its gleam whirling over his head back and forth, whipping up waves of blood.

From a distance, he resembled a high-speed juicer, pulverizing the approaching Coward Devils into shards.

Lancelot was no stranger to being deep in enemy lines, his great sword in hand performing brilliantly against the Coward Devils' sharp teeth and claws effortlessly carving through creating a vast array of severed limbs and flesh.

But there were simply too many enemies; he could only defend with all his might and not advance a step forward.

As time ticked away and his stamina ebbed, his sword's arc inevitably slowed, and one or two claws found their way through his once impervious defense, leaving only a faint scratch on his armor before swiftly being severed from their bodies.

Knights were formidable, half due to their long-term military training, the other half owing to their expensive armors.

The morale of the Coward Devils finally shattered; fear utterly overwhelmed them, rendering the demon magicians' mind-control spells ineffective. Collapse came swiftly, the Coward Devils vanishing as though shadows under sunlight, gone without a trace.

In the world of the Abyss, no one ever expected Coward Devils to win with sheer number. The mission the demon magicians entrusted to them was simple: deplete the target's stamina as much as possible.

In this, the Coward Devils had excelled.

As he stopped the frenzied dance of his great sword, fatigue surged over Lancelot. He now felt the soreness and swelling in his arms, a possible strain on his left shoulder; there was a cut on the back of his right thigh, burning painfully where his armor had not protected him.

He turned to look once more at the person he was protecting, the civilian in the white robe.

The man seemed just fine, not a scratch on him. He seemed to have grasped the situation and nodded at Lancelot, then spoke in a strange accent,

"Thank you."

At last, someone who could speak his language. Lancelot felt like he had been in this world for half a month, though it had only been half a day.

"My name is Lancelot. Introductions and all, let's save that until we've survived this," he said.

The giant demon wielding the great axe was approaching step by step.

The demon magicians had by now retreated to the outskirts, dancing a strange dance like cheerleaders.

Eerie light emanated from the giant's body surface, and his stature visibly grew larger, making the great axe that once required both hands to wield now fit comfortably in one. Clearly, the demon magicians' dance served more than just to cheer on.

The situation worsened as the giant produced another two-handed great axe from behind his back.

Lancelot now faced a near thirteen-foot-tall war monster, dual-wielding great axes and snorting smoke from its nostrils.

As the monster charged at Lancelot, it roared in demon tongue,

"Foolish mortals! How dare you thwart Euric's plans! I shall roast your souls on the Eternal Volcano for ten thousand years!"

Lancelot had once read a satirical novel about someone who dreamed of becoming a knight. He vividly recalled a segment about battling against a mill; chuckling until he was breathless then, he could hardly envision what it was like to fight a windmill. But now, he had a slight comprehension.

If a mill's windmill turned at a hundred revolutions per minute, plus it actively charged at you, cursed you, and even spewed fire at you, that indeed would be a terrifying adversary.

Lancelot's mind raced, pondering possible strategies.

Going head-to-head with it was unrealistic; maybe he could use his agility to dodge around a bit; when that demon had grabbed the axe before, its right hand had been higher up, which likely meant it was right-handed, and perhaps there were many flaws on its left side; he had to be like a bee circling flowers, darting in every now and then to sting, but he shouldn't expect to kill it with a single blow—if he got hit even once, he would be done for...

This was Lancelot's greatest strength: no matter how powerful the enemy he faced, he would calmly think of strategies and look for an opportune moment to act.

Just as he was bracing himself for the imminent attack, he suddenly heard a powerful voice from behind him say one word:

"Chicken!"

What chicken?

This was his last thought before his brain shut down.

A streak of emerald light shot out from the person behind him, wrapping around the charging demon several times in an instant, before splitting into several smaller beams of light that struck the surrounding demon magicians.

The demon in front was still charging forward, but the speeds of different parts of its body were inconsistent. Its body had been sliced into countless thin layers, like a stack of chips that had been toppled or a deck of cards waiting to be drawn by gamblers, spreading out across the ground in the direction it had been charging.

The demon magicians at the periphery melted away silently like snowmen under the sun, turning into puddles of blood and flesh on the ground.

Lancelot turned around in shock and saw the green light spiraling around the young man in the white robe before it receded and flew back into his hand.

It turned out that the green light was actually a small sword, its body completely emerald green, looking like jade or bamboo, with tiny golden threads inside, like the patterns of thunderbolts.

The young man in the white robe gave Lancelot a slight smile:

"Thank you, fellow Taoist, for your help. May I know what this world is, and why I was summoned here?"

Lancelot swallowed hard and his first words were:

"What chicken?"

Upon hearing this, the young man in the white robe smiled again and explained:

"I was saying 'swift,' meaning quick and fierce, just a spur-of-the-moment exclamation as I was controlling the Green Bamboo Flying Sword to attack."

Lancelot's brain finally returned to normal operation, and he roughly figured out the situation—the demons' attempt to summon a powerful being hadn't failed, in fact, it was very successful. It's just that this powerful being happened to be a human.

Suddenly, he felt unsure. Could humans really be this strong? Had they accidentally summoned a deity instead? And what did this peculiar address of 'fellow Taoist' mean?

However, now was not the time to dwell on these questions; this powerful being had just asked him something, and he had not yet provided an answer.

Lancelot quickly began to explain the situation of this place, revealing everything he'd learned from the Elves about planes, the Abyss, and demons.

"It's unexpected that such a world exists, truly vast and wondrous indeed. But why are you here? Could it be that our Human Race also flourishes in this land?"

When he heard the other person also referring to the Human Race, Lancelot couldn't help but marvel. How did he manage that?

"I do indeed come from another world. Due to certain reasons, a portal to the Abyss world was opened by a group of evil beings. To prevent demons from entering our world, I had to step in to destroy the passage, but the price is that I can never return."

Throughout the conversation, the young man in the white robe stared into his eyes, and Lancelot felt that the gaze could see right through him, as though all his secrets were laid bare.

"I see," the young man in the white robe nodded. "I can feel that this space is beginning to reject me, and I am afraid that I will have to return to my original world soon. It's a fate that we met here— Is there anything I can help you with?"

"Can you take me with you when you leave this place?" Lancelot asked with full hope.

"I'm afraid not," the young man in the white robe shook his head. "Your Spiritual Sense is too fragile to withstand the impact of crossing barriers, and even if I protected your body, it would be of no use."

Lancelot felt dejected, but then a flash of inspiration struck him, and he quickly asked:

"Then can you teach me how to become as strong as you?"

At this, the young man in the white robe laughed:

"You want to pursue cultivation in this world? Interesting, very interesting! Hahaha..."

As the laughter died down, the young man in the white robe spoke in earnest:

"If you wish to be like me, you'll have to endure loneliness, withstand solitude, remain unswervingly dedicated, and never forget your initial resolve—can you do this?"

"I can!"

"Cultivation is like rowing upstream, you cannot slack off at all. Each breakthrough in strength invites Heavenly Tribulation, and any lapse could lead to Five Thunderbolts Striking the Top, annihilating your soul. Are you willing?"

"I am willing!"

"It will be a lonely path. No one in this world can help you. I can only point you towards the Dao. You'll have to explore and attempt on your own. You are destined to face countless failures. Can you persist?"

"I can persist!"

"Hahaha! Good! Good! Good! If that's the case, why not pass on the Dao to you?"

Lancelot knelt down, showing the most solemn obeisance he knew, as if he were in the presence of the Emperor.

After the ceremony was complete and he looked up to rise, he saw the man place his hand on the top of his head, give him a smile that seemed like a sigh, somewhat like talking to himself:

"The Immortal touches my crown, my life is bound to long existence!"