Translator: CinderTL
Under the guidance of the female drow, Roland and his party left the shell ship and stepped into the eerie, fungus-lit Underdark.
The ground beneath their feet was soft and damp, carpeted with unknown black moss.
Massive, bioluminescent fungi stood like silent sentinels, their caps emitting faint blue or sickly green light that swayed slightly as the group passed.
The air hung thick with the cloying, sweet scent of decaying organic matter.
The somewhat oppressive atmosphere was broken by Viconia, who walked at the forefront.
The female drow slowed her pace, moving to walk alongside Roland. Her crimson eyes gleamed with scrutiny in the dim light.
"With your power, you could have easily eliminated us all."
Her voice still carried a hint of wariness, but the initial coldness had softened.
"Why did you choose to spare us?"
"As my friend said," Roland replied calmly. "We came here only to seek information, not to engage in needless slaughter."
This brief exchange seemed to ease the tension slightly.
As they continued, Viconia tentatively asked a few more questions about their purpose and why they were traveling with grey dwarves.
Roland maintained his characteristic frank yet restrained demeanor.
After traversing a winding, downward-sloping path, the surrounding stalagmites took on increasingly bizarre and twisted forms.
Perhaps influenced by Roland's display of power and sincerity, the female drow warrior finally turned her head slightly and spoke in a more formal tone.
"I am Viconia..."
She omitted her family name.
"And I haven't asked your name, human powerhouse."
"Roland."
The concise answer echoed through the dim passage.
Viconia nodded slightly, acknowledging the name.
The party continued through the silence, their footsteps the only sound reverberating in the vast underground space.
In the distance, the sharp silhouettes of buildings emerged with increasing clarity and menace through the pervasive twilight.
Following Viconia, Roland and his companions passed through the final grove of stalagmites, which stood like a forest of bones, and truly entered the drow encampment.
The scene before them surprised Roland.
Instead of the sinister and eerie drow city he had imagined, the encampment exuded an aura of...
decay.
The outer walls of many buildings were covered in thick, black, vein-like moss, and some of the sharp towers bore clear signs of damage, crudely patched with rough stones. The fabrics that once hung between the buildings as delicate spiderweb decorations were now tattered and worn, some even torn and dangling.
The drow walking through the camp wore leather armor and robes that were mostly faded and frayed at the edges, bearing the marks of time and hardship.
Yet, in stark contrast to this material poverty, the spirit of every drow in the camp was vibrant. Their pale faces showed no gloom or numbness, and their crimson eyes shimmered with an almost fervent light. Their whispered conversations carried an irrepressible excitement, and their steps were light and vigorous. Even the warriors patrolling in the shadows stood with straight backs and sharp eyes, radiating an indomitable fighting spirit.
The entire camp seemed enveloped in an invisible, uplifting atmosphere, as if they had just celebrated a grand festival or... were anticipating a major turning point.
This bizarre contrast made Roland frown slightly.
The arrival of Roland and his party immediately drew the attention of all the drow elves on the road.
Their pale faces instantly revealed undisguised wariness and scrutiny, and their crimson eyes coldly focused on the group of uninvited guests. The air seemed to tighten, as if an invisible bowstring had been drawn taut.
However, when their gaze fell upon Viconia, who walked at the head of the party, the hostility that had almost taken on a tangible form was forcibly suppressed.
No conflict erupted. The drow elves on the street silently retreated to the sides, maintaining a cautious and distant stance.
Thus, in a near-frozen silence, they were led to the central district of the camp.
The first thing that caught Roland's eye was a breathtaking, intricately tangled mass of colossal roots. These roots resembled gray pythons or the massive veins of some ancient creature. They descended from the deep night sky above, dotted with countless tiny points of light, and plunged deep into the ground at the camp's center. Intertwined, they formed a natural structure radiating both sacredness and primal wildness.
The sheer scale of it was overwhelming; even a visual inspection conveyed a heavy sense of oppression.
Roland instinctively looked up, trying to trace the source of these colossal roots.
But the next moment, his pupils constricted slightly.
He saw it clearly.
Those faint points of light, which he had mistaken for distant stars, were not embedded in the boundless night sky. Instead, they were countless mosses, glowing with eerie blue and sickly green light, clinging densely to...
a rock dome of unimaginable height yet solid as the earth.
This was no night sky at all, but the ceiling of a cave.
Only then did Roland fully grasp the truth:
They were not standing in a wilderness under starlight, but within a vast, cavernous space of incomprehensible dimensions.
Beneath these awe-inspiring roots, the elder's dwelling that Viconia had spoken of was merely a simple wooden hut.
Built from unhewn logs, it was low and crude, a stark contrast to the camp's stone structures, which, though dilapidated, still retained their sharp lines. The hut seemed as if it had been carelessly dropped here by accident.
Viconia halted, turning to Roland and inclining her head slightly. "Lord Roland, please wait here a moment while I go in to announce..."
Before she could finish, the space before them suddenly warped unnaturally, light rippling like water.
Having studied magic, Roland immediately sensed the anomaly, his heart growing cold. "This... is a magical fluctuation?"
As his mind raced, a slightly stooped figure stepped out of the distorted space. It was an elderly drow, shorter than Viconia, his pale skin deeply wrinkled like parched earth. He wore an ordinary dark robe and leaned on a gnarled wooden staff, only his crimson eyes remaining sharp, as if they could pierce the very soul.
"Indeed, and spatial magic at that..." Roland's mind filled with surprise.
Although he had heard tales of magic since transmigrating to this world, practiced tricks himself, and even fought生死 battles against powerful spellcasters like Liches and demons, this was the first time he had witnessed a spellcaster casually cast such a spell, especially a relatively advanced one like spatial magic, in a non-combat setting.
Amidst his astonishment, a greater question arose. According to Galvis, even with the magic element's resurgence, surface elves had yet to regain their spellcasting abilities. How could this elder Drow, dwelling deep underground, wield such power?
As he pondered this, the old Drow's gaze swept across the group, finally settling on Viconia. A inscrutable smile played on his lips as he spoke in a raspy voice, "Viconia, it seems you've brought some... interesting guests..."
Before he could finish, Durga, standing beside Roland, could no longer restrain himself. The Gray Dwarf Leader took a sudden step forward, his bell-like eyes fixed on the hunched figure, his voice trembling with disbelief. "Duar'den? By the gods... it's really you! You bastard!"
Before the words had fully faded, the drow elder, Duerden, finally focused his gaze on the Gray Dwarf Leader's rugged face.
In the next instant, the old elf, who moments before had appeared calm and even somber, was instantly covered in identical astonishment.
His weathered crimson eyes widened abruptly, and the fingers gripping his wooden staff tightened unconsciously.
"Durga?" he cried out, his voice cracking as it rose, thick with disbelief. "You damn stone-headed bastard... By Lolth's grace, you're actually alive?"
Seeing their ghost-like reactions, Roland quietly released the hand that had been resting on his sword hilt, and his tense shoulders relaxed.
Though he didn't yet know the specific history between the drow elder and Durga, their genuine shock and the unceremonious way they addressed each other...
Roland's expression turned subtly complex.
"It seems... they're at least not enemies."
(End of the Chapter)
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