Pillar of Yita

Actually, Fang Hong was initially stunned before he recognized the place.

Because there had been significant changes since the last time he was there.

Though its layout and location were still the same, the floor-to-ceiling arched windows were still inlaid with colored glass, depicting religious illustrations through which soft light filtered, casting a glow on the somber figure of a Holy Elephant behind it.

The elephant was likely a Saint of Ouli, but Fang Hong did not recognize it; only then did he realize that it was not that the room had changed, but that the timeline had been pushed back much further in the past.

Back then, this was merely a Meditation Room used for the repose of monks within the Holy Temple, but judging by the surrounding furnishings, it was not low in standard.

Before Fang Hong saw the Holy Elephant, there were two shadows.

One tall, one short.

The two of them had their backs to the light, making it impossible to see their faces.

Fang Hong instinctively wanted to walk to the front of the two persons, but no matter how forward he moved, the relative position among the three of them remained unchanged.

The shorter man spoke first, his voice carrying a hint of surprise,

”How dare you come to this place? Don’t you know Yoshude is looking everywhere for you? If he finds out you’re still alive and came to my place, we would both be in big trouble.”

The taller figure responded lightly, ”I played a trick in Golande; he’s convinced I am dead. Besides, even if I were alive, he wouldn’t know what this has to do with me.”

The voice was that of a middle-aged man.

Fang Hong immediately recognized the tone of the other person; there was no doubt the Dwarf was Haggston himself. Haggston was now speaking in a low voice, ”Be careful, you have no idea how formidable that man is...”

”Formidable as he may be, he still let you leave with this thing,” the middle-aged man said mockingly, ”Look, this is the limitation of mortals.”

The Dwarf seemed somewhat reluctant, muttering something under his breath.

The middle-aged man seemed a bit curious, ”It seems you still worship him, so why betray him?”

”He is a true Hero, unlike you—and of course, unlike me. I’ve made up my mind to go with you, but I’ve always understood this.”

”That’s what sets you apart, Dwarf,” the middle-aged man replied, ”but I am different from you all; even a so-called Hero grows old, but I can afford to wait...”

”That’s exactly why I chose this,” the Dwarf said roughly, ”Give me that thing, and you get what you deserve.”

”But I still want this city.”

”You want this city too!?” the Dwarf exclaimed shockingly.

”Don’t worry, it will be a long process, and I will be patient,” the middle-aged man replied, ”By then, you might have already turned to dust.”

The Dwarf seemed hesitant, he looked up at the Saint statue, pacing back and forth.

Eventually, he stopped and raised his head to look at the other person.

Fang Hong didn’t wait for the answer.

Because the scene changed once again, like a stone thrown into the water, spreading into a chaotic swirl of black fog.

However, he just stood there silently, knowing in his heart the answer already.

A city, tens of thousands of souls.

But why would a Dwarf Hero fall so thoroughly?

As the black fog gathered once again, it formed an eerie, mysterious hall that lay underground; the grey walls were damp with groundwater seepage.

Fang Hong stood quietly in the center of the hall.

In the distance, in the darkness, the sound of dripping water echoed, ding-dong, striking his heart.

Glancing around, he saw reliefs of Monsters in niches on all sides, with wings, tails, scaled claws, and Dragon-shaped heads.

These seemed to be the Dragon’s Servants, each different from the other.

Fang Hong recognized this place.

It was the underground dungeon of Hustings, the altar site of the Dragon Worshippers.

A shadow slid out from a corner; it was a woman, clutching her shoulder as if seriously injured. She slowly approached Fang Hong, her face obscured, but her silhouette was clear.

Fang Hong recognized her instantly.

The timeline seemed to have reverted to thirty years ago—

Lady Misu’s shadow passed by Fang Hong, heading straight for the altar behind him, silently observing the corpse of a young girl.

The cold corpse bore a twisted Dagger in its chest, stained with blood.

But she lay peacefully with her eyes closed, her hands crossed and tightly clasped over her chest, the knuckles deformed from the force exerted.

Lady Misu watched for a moment and seemed to notice something, laying her hands on the girl’s cold hands, and with all her strength, she pried them open. With a tinkling sound, a blood-stained object fell from the girl’s hands, rolling down the steps.

Fang Hong then saw clearly, it was a brooch.

Half a Dragon Head, particularly noticeable.

”Again, this Mark,” Misu murmured to herself, ”All these girls, because of this damned thing, look at this young girl, prime of her youth, deceived by these scoundrels—”

It seemed as though she was talking to herself,

But the tone didn’t sound like muttering; rather, it seemed as if she was speaking to someone. Fang Hong almost thought Lady Misu had seen him.

But in the pitched dark hall, a somewhat elegant, wise voice replied, ”Knight, that Mark is peculiar, different from the one you guys found on it before.”

”What do you mean, Aeswyn?”

”Use the power of your Dragon Slayer to feel it.”

Suddenly, Lady Misu exclaimed, ”This is...!?”

”What is it, Knight?”

”It’s Magic information, there’s text left on it—”