Chapter 57: Moriel’s Lair

"Hmm?" Lancelote suddenly stopped in his tracks, startled.

At that moment, the massive elemental disturbance from Shaman Timmah's powerful spell rippled through the air. Stog knew the battle had begun, so he urged Lancelote, "The Shaman has made his move. We need to hurry."

"It's not that..." Lancelote's expression turned odd. "Did any of you hear something strange?"

"Something strange?" Stog was briefly taken aback. He shook his massive minotaur head. "No."

But Lancelote wasn't asking him—he was addressing the six temple knights. The knights exchanged glances, then also shook their heads.

"It sounded like someone screaming... a woman..." Lancelote's expression remained peculiar.

Upon hearing the paladin's words, the expressions of the other temple knights also grew strange. This didn't seem like an appropriate question to ask at this time, in this place. More importantly, the fact that Lancelote was the one asking made it even more unusual.

Lancelote frowned, deeply perplexed. He had indeed heard a faint scream, seemingly from a woman, though he couldn't pinpoint its source. It even sounded like someone he knew... For someone like him, it was almost impossible to have sensory illusions or make judgment errors. But if his hearing and judgment weren't mistaken, this situation seemed even more implausible in theory.

"Let's focus on the task Shaman Timmah assigned us. Once it's done, you'll have plenty of women. I hear the dark elves are quite appealing to humans. No need to rush. There will be many." Stog was impatient and even a bit annoyed. If he didn't know he was no match for Lancelote, he would have preferred communicating with his fists or an axe. But for now, he had to use words the humans could understand.

Lancelote nodded helplessly, not bothering to explain. This was neither the time nor the place to dwell on such matters. He continued walking forward. "Don't worry. This is the only path from the dark elves' sacred ground to Othello. No matter what, we won't miss it."

Stog grunted in the guttural tone unique to minotaurs, then turned and barked a few commands in their language to the other minotaurs. The minotaurs' breathing grew heavier, filling the wide passage with the stench of their breath.

In truth, ever since entering this massive passage, all the minotaurs had been breathing heavily, tense with anticipation.

There were fifty elite minotaur warriors and ten minotaur priests, all the finest of their kind. The fifty warriors, led by Stog, wielded not ordinary battle axes but massive steel axes inscribed with magical runes. These axes were uniformly engraved with armor-piercing spells, weapons Shaman Timmah had prepared over many years. Their immense weight, combined with the minotaurs' size and strength, made them seem more suited for smashing city gates than enemies.

The elite minotaur warriors' combat prowess was not to be underesTimmahted. While they might not match the seven temple knights in skill, their raw strength and destructive power far surpassed them. Even a rhinoceros would stand no chance in a contest of strength against these warriors, and with their years of combat experience, they were far more than mere brutes.

Yet even these elite warriors, armed with such weapons, couldn't help but feel nervous as they walked through this unnaturally wide passage. The ten minotaur priests seemed slightly calmer, continuously murmuring what sounded like prayers to their ancestral deity, asking for divine strength and courage to face their enemy.

An enemy they had never met, one that existed only in legends.

This passage was unlike most in the Nigen. It was not only wide but also well-constructed, more like a grand corridor in a mansion. Unlike other parts of the Nigen, where only occasional glowing crystals illuminated the walls, this passage was adorned with many artificially embedded luminous gems. While not as bright as daylight on the surface, it was dazzling by underground standards.

This passage led to the dark elves' sacred ground, the dwelling of their divine representative, the black dragon Moriel. The dark elves worshipped this immense, intelligent creature as a demigod, and it had long helped them maintain their dominant position in the Nigen.

To destroy or completely defeat the dark elves, this divine representative had to be eliminated. This was common knowledge in the Nigen. But everyone also knew that slaying a dragon—a creature that should exist only in legends—was something the inhabitants of the Nigen hardly dared to think about, let alone attempt, as it was an impossible feat.

Apart from the Evil Eye Tyrant hundreds of years ago, Shaman Timmah was the only one who dared to conceive of such a plan and actually put it into action. He had pondered it for over thirty years, then seized a rare opportunity to begin preparations, which took more than a decade. Now, with the help of the Church, he was ready to bring it to fruition.

Moriel's envoy was no longer in the Nigen—a recent piece of information that had solidified Timmah's resolve to act now. The dark elf elders had clearly tried to keep this news secret, but Timmah had learned of it through a human merchant he had dealings with. Initially, Timmah had hoped to use this connection to reach out to the Dehya Valley and enlist their help in this grand plan. However, after the merchant's death, the Dehya Valley seemed to have lost interest in him.

But while the Dehya Valley was no longer involved, a cardinal from the Church had arrived, bearing the merchant's token and message. It turned out the Church was willing to support Timmah's plan, albeit with certain conditions.

To Timmah, as long as the dark elves were destroyed and the Nigen unified, no condition was too great. Moreover, he saw the Church's demands as mere formalities. The alliance was quickly formed, and they swiftly moved to the implementation stage.

The decade-long preparation had not been in vain. Through a maneuver executed over ten years ago, Timmah was certain that Moriel's power had significantly weakened. Every detail had been rehearsed countless times in his mind: the deployment of troops, the covert encirclement of the largest dark elf city, even the magic he would use had been studied and perfected over years.

Although this was the most critical battlefield, Timmah was clearly more suited to the fight elsewhere. Once he made his move, the elite warriors, led by the temple knights, entered the dark elves' sacred ground. The priests and guards outside were no match for the temple knights, dispatched without even the slightest sound.

They were about to face the most terrifying creature on the continent. Not only were the minotaur warriors tense, but even the temple knights and Lancelote himself felt the pressure. However, those who had earned the right to walk this one-way passage were top-tier warriors. For them, tension and fear were not debilitating but rather a source of excitement.

Yet some time had passed since Timmah's spell, and as they walked down the long corridor, they remained on high alert, ready to confront the massive figure they expected to appear. But nothing came—no legendary black dragon, not even a bat.

Even the dullest troglodyte could have sensed the magical fluctuations, let alone a dragon. Yet the corridor remained eerily silent.

Sometimes, silence is more terrifying than noise. Stog quickened his pace. Moriel's lair should be just ahead. He summoned all his courage and resolve, ready to face the continent's most fearsome monster in the name of the Satyr. His blood boiled, his fighting spirit ablaze.

The minotaurs' breathing grew heavier, their grip tightening on their massive axes. The temple knights also grew more anxious. Still, nothing happened. The only sound was the thunderous clatter of dozens of hooves echoing through the passage.

A vast cavern appeared at the end of the corridor. The minotaurs and temple knights stepped into the cavern, mentally prepared for anything. But when they finally saw what lay before them, they were utterly stunned.

Because they saw nothing.

This should have been a dragon's lair. Piles of treasure, gold coins, and magical items were scattered about. A large pool emitted the pungent smell of sulfur. But there was no dragon—not even a dragonfly.

"What's going on? Where's Moriel?" Stog was the first to voice the question, swinging his massive axe and roaring. "Where's the dragon?"

Lancelote and the temple knights didn't venture far into the cavern, staying near the entrance. They were equally baffled by the situation.

"Could Moriel have left her lair and gone somewhere else?" Lancelote asked.

"Impossible, impossible," the minotaur chieftain bellowed. "The Shaman said her body is too weak to leave the lair for long."