Chapter 417 - 401: Duadeng

Chapter 417: Chapter 401: Duadeng

Led by the female Zor Elf, Roland and his party left the Shell Ship and stepped into the Dark Nether Realm, a land shrouded in an eerie fungal glow.

The ground underfoot was soft and damp, carpeted with nameless black moss.

Giant, luminous fungi stood like silent sentinels. As they passed, the ghastly blue or sickly green light from their caps flickered faintly.

A sickly-sweet scent, a mixture of humus and decay, lingered in the air.

The slightly oppressive atmosphere was broken by Viconia, who walked at the very front.

The female Zor Elf slowed her pace slightly to walk beside Roland, her crimson eyes glinting with a scrutinizing light in the dimness.

"With your strength, you could have wiped us out completely."

Her voice was still wary, but it had lost some of its initial iciness.

"Why did you choose to hold back?"

"Just as my friend said..."

Roland replied calmly.

"We only came here seeking information, not for pointless slaughter."

This brief exchange seemed to ease the tension slightly.

During the rest of the journey, the female Zor Elf tentatively asked a few more questions about the purpose of their visit and why they were traveling with the Gray Dwarves.

To these, Roland maintained a candid yet reserved demeanor.

After a winding, downward path, the surrounding stalagmites became increasingly strange and twisted.

Perhaps influenced by the immense power Roland had displayed and the sincerity he had shown, the Zor Elf warrior finally turned her head slightly and spoke in a much more formal tone.

"I am Viconia..."

She omitted her family name.

"I have yet to ask your name, powerful human."

"Roland."

The concise answer echoed in the dim passageway.

Viconia gave a slight nod, committing the name to memory.

The party continued onward in silence, with only the sound of their footsteps echoing through the vast, empty underground space.

In the distance, the sharp-lined silhouettes of buildings grew clearer and more forbidding in the pervasive, faint light.

Following Viconia, Roland and his party passed through a final grove of bone-like stalagmites and truly set foot in the Zor Elf camp.

The scene before him was somewhat of a surprise to Roland.

Unlike the dark and treacherous Zor city he had imagined, this camp exuded a sense of...

Dilapidation.

The outer walls of many buildings were covered in a thick moss resembling black veins. Some of the sharp-spired towers showed obvious signs of damage, having been crudely patched with rough stones.

The fabrics hanging between the buildings, which should have been exquisite spiderweb-like decorations, were now mostly worn-out, some even torn and dangling.

The Zor Elves walking through the camp wore Leather Armor and robes that were mostly dull and frayed at the edges, bearing the marks of time and hardship.

However, in stark contrast to this material scarcity was the spirit of every Zor Elf in the camp.

There was no gloom or numbness on their pale faces; instead, their crimson eyes shone with an almost feverish light.

Their whispered conversations carried an irrepressible excitement, and their steps were brisk and strong.

Even the Warriors patrolling in the Shadows held their backs straight, their sharp gazes filled with a soaring fighting spirit.

The entire camp seemed to be enveloped in an invisible, uplifting atmosphere, as if they had just experienced a grand celebration, or...

Were anticipating the arrival of a major turning point.

This strange contrast made Roland furrow his brow slightly.

The arrival of Roland’s group immediately drew the attention of all the Zor Elves on the path.

Undisguised vigilance and scrutiny instantly appeared on their pale faces, their crimson eyes coldly focused on the uninvited guests.

It was as if an unseen Bowstring had been pulled taut in the air.

However, when their gazes fell upon Viconia at the head of the party, the hostility that was almost palpable was forcefully suppressed.

No conflict broke out. The Zor Elves on the street simply parted in silence, maintaining a cautious and aloof distance from them.

In this near-stagnant silence, they were led to the center of the camp.

The first thing that caught Roland’s eye was a breathtaking, tangled mass of enormous roots.

These roots were like ashen-gray pythons, or perhaps the massive blood vessels of some ancient creature.

They descended from the deep night sky above, a sky dotted with countless tiny points of light, and plunged deep into the ground at the camp’s center.

They intertwined with one another, forming a natural, immense structure that possessed an aura of both the sacred and the savage.

Its scale was so vast that one could feel a heavy sense of pressure just by looking at it.

Roland subconsciously looked up, trying to trace the origin of these massive roots.

The next moment, however, his pupils contracted slightly.

He saw it clearly.

Those tiny points of light, which he had mistaken for distant stars, were not embedded in an endless night sky. They were countless patches of moss emitting a ghastly blue and sickly green glow, clinging densely to...

An impossibly high, yet unmistakably solid, stone dome.

That was no night sky at all, but the ceiling of a cavern.

It was not until this moment that Roland fully and clearly realized.

They were not in some starlit wilderness, but inside an underground cavity of unimaginable proportions.

Beneath this awe-inspiring mass of roots, the Elder’s dwelling that Viconia had mentioned was merely a very plain-looking wooden hut.

It was built from unrefined logs, low and crude, clashing with the sharp-lined, albeit dilapidated, stone buildings of the camp, as if it had been accidentally left here.

Viconia stopped, turned to Roland, and gave a slight bow.

"Roland, please wait here for a moment. Allow me to go in and annou—"

Before she could finish, the space not far in front of them suddenly distorted unnaturally, the light rippling as if seen through agitated water.

Having studied Tricks before, Roland immediately caught this abnormal fluctuation, and his heart grew cold.

’Is this... the ripple of a Magic spell?’

As his thoughts raced, a slightly stooped figure had already stepped out of the distorted space.

It was an elderly Zor Elf, somewhat shorter than Viconia. His pale skin was covered in deep wrinkles, like a parched land.

He wore a seemingly ordinary dark robe and leaned on a crooked Wooden Staff, but his crimson eyes were still sharp enough to pierce a person’s soul.

’That’s right, and it’s... a Space Spell...’

As he confirmed his suspicion, a trace of surprise rose in Roland’s heart.

Although he had long heard legends of Magic since crossing over to this world, had studied Tricks himself, and had even fought to the death against powerful Casters like Witch Demons and Demons, this was the first time he had witnessed a Caster so calmly performing Magic in a non-combat, everyday situation—especially a relatively high-level Space Spell.

Beyond his shock, an even greater question surfaced in his mind.

According to Galvis, even with the gradual resurgence of Magic Elements, the Surface Elves had not regained their Casting Ability.

Why, then, was this Zor Elf Elder, who lived deep underground, able to use such a technique?

While he was pondering, the elderly Zor Elf’s gaze swept over the group, finally landing on Viconia. The corner of his mouth curved into an inscrutable arc as he spoke in a hoarse voice.

"Viconia, it seems you’ve brought... some interesting guests..."

Before he finished speaking, Duraga, standing beside Roland, could no longer hold back.

The Gray Dwarf leader took a sudden step forward, his copper bell-sized eyes fixed on the stooped figure, his voice filled with incredulous shock.

"Duadeng? By the gods... it really is you! You bastard..."

Before his words had fully faded, the Zor Elf Elder named Duadeng finally focused his gaze on the Gray Dwarf leader’s rugged face.

The next moment, the old Elf, who had seemed calm and even somewhat somber until now, had the very same look of astonishment crawl across his face.

His weathered crimson eyes widened abruptly, and the fingers gripping his Wooden Staff even tightened unconsciously.

"Duraga?"

he cried out, his hoarse voice rising a few notches, laced with the same intense disbelief.

"You damn stone-headed bastard... By Rose, you’re still alive?"

Seeing their reactions, as if they had just seen a ghost, Roland quietly released his hand from the hilt of his sword, and his slightly tensed shoulders relaxed.

Although it was still unclear what history the Zor Elf Elder and Duraga shared, judging from their genuinely shocked expressions and the unceremonious names they blurted out...

Roland’s expression became somewhat peculiar.

’Looks like... at least they’re not enemies.’