The dark castle loomed like a dormant beast, crouching before their eyes. The warm and humid climate of the Caucasus seemed to vanish on the spot, replaced by an indescribable chill that emanated from deep within one's heart, even threatening to seep into everyone's very bones.
Caesar observed the desolate castle calmly, proud and aloof in its stance upon the plain. The aura of kill emanating from it eroded people's resolve bit by bit.
"Is this Damarlinsk Castle?" Caesar's lips twitched slightly, his gaze fixed on the castle's ancient door, as if trying to sift through the dust of history on the weathered lintel.
"Yes, Damarlinsk Castle, the symbol of the Caucasus, an ancient castle known as the Magic Castle." Lorenzo sighed softly, "Today's battle will inscribe it into history."
"Damarlinsk Castle, it indeed has a certain flavor. Lord Noyola, have you sensed anything?" Caesar tilted his head slightly and asked.