The Paladin in the Abyss

Chapter 300: 304: Lookout Tower

Chapter 300: Chapter 304: Lookout Tower

Everyone shared dinner with the guards inside the main building of the fortress. Although the meal was not lavish, the hosts’ enthusiasm made up for the monotony of the food. Soldiers took turns greeting Elothysia, most conversations being the unremarkable ‘nice to meet you, my name is so-and-so’, but both the soldiers and the Succubus herself enjoyed these interactions.

Many had heard numerous tales about Succubi, a kind of demon that initially appeared only in one’s dreams, stirring primitive instincts before whispering desires of corruption. Only when the target was completely under their sway would the Succubus manifest physically in their life, urging the final step into corruption.

Typically, once the target had fallen, the Succubus would quickly kill them to ensure that their soul would return with her to the Bottomless Abyss. If delayed too long, the victim might come to regret and seek help from the church of their deity. If they managed to atone before death—sometimes merely a sincere confession was enough—it could render the Succubus’s efforts over months or even years worthless.

Thus, unlike other demons who occasionally ran amok in the Prime Material Plane, Succubi almost never appeared before the general public. Along with a plethora of rosy legends, this added a layer of mysterious allure. And now, sitting under one roof having a meal with them, what could be more astonishing than dining with a Succubus?

Of course, demons did not actually need to eat, though it did provide them pleasure. It was the energy of the Abyss itself that sustained a demon’s life; the dining habits of the Succubus Paladin were more about politeness, a perspective held by many present and a common understanding of demons.

However, having traveled with Elothysia for so long, everyone had learned more about demon physiology from her. Indeed, demons did not need food or sleep to sustain themselves, but they could still feel fatigued from continuous battle, and both eating and resting could help them quickly recover their combat strength.

This was also why a demon army would carry a lot of Coward Devils—they were cannon fodder during the start of a battle, and provisions before it began.

“Thank you, it tasted very good.”

As the plump Gnome cook from the kitchen came to inquire whether Miss Succubus was satisfied with tonight’s fish fillet porridge, Elothysia responded thus. This Gnome was the last one to try striking up a conversation with her that evening. The soldiers had been sent back to their bunks or posts by their superior, and Lancelot and his group had each been assigned a room to rest in.

Although they had traveled for eight hours, their plan was to cross the river and continue under the cover of night. It was going to be a long day, so they couldn’t waste this brief opportunity to rest.

The group followed, having to stand more spread out than usual to avoid accidental injuries. But soon, Lancelot realized something was amiss.

“Where are we going?” he asked curiously, “It seems like we are heading to an upper part of the fortress.”

“That’s indeed the case,” Acheron twisted his silvery-haired head around, “Is anyone afraid of heights here?”

“No. Why do you ask?”

“If anyone is afraid of heights, they might need help crossing the river in a bit.” The elf’s dark face showed a mischievous smile, “You’ll find out soon enough.”

They didn’t walk for too long. As a heavy iron door was pushed open, the group found themselves atop the highest watchtower of the fortress. Though it was nighttime, the dim starlight still revealed the swift-flowing Hoffenstan River before them, and above their heads, a huge brazier burned fiercely, casting a light visible from afar on such a clear night.

Hobinson gripped a winch on the wall next to him and began to turn it, lowering a large copper hood with a notch over the brazier. The hood had a smooth interior, reflecting the light into a concentrated beam that shot out from the notch.

The martial monk then started to turn another winch, causing the hood to rotate with his movements, sweeping the light beam across the dark face. Lancelot noticed he was turning the winch in a certain rhythm: a quick sweep, then slowly halved, raising and lowering the hood, then sweeping quickly from the other side. Without a doubt, it was some kind of signal, and there must be someone across the river who could understand it.

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