I am the Demon King of the Dungeon!

Alsace walked up the mountain alone.

The branches intertwined overhead, blocking out the sunlight. The commotion of monsters could be heard from time to time, but they would dart away as soon as they got close, not daring to approach at all.

After walking for half an hour, stone steps appeared in front of us.

At the end of the stone steps, there is a stone door.

At that moment, two humans in dark blue robes, with hats covering half their faces, blocked Arthas's path.

"Halt! This area is not open to the public..."

Before they could finish speaking, both of them froze simultaneously.

Arthas walked straight through the middle without stopping or even glancing at them.

The two men's eyes rolled back, and they collapsed to the ground, unconscious.

Pushing open the stone door, the hinges emitted a harsh, scraping sound.

Behind the door was a long corridor, with an oil lamp embedded every few steps in the walls on both sides. The base of the oil lamp was shaped like a human bone, and the burning oil emitted a nauseating, sticky smell.

Arthas walked forward expressionlessly.

After walking less than ten steps, three more people emerged from around the corner of the corridor, all wearing the same dark blue robes and the same ouroboros badges, their short knives gleaming coldly under the oil lamp.

"Stop! Any further and you'll be—"

Before they could finish speaking, all three of them froze, as if an invisible hand had grabbed their throats.

The daggers slipped from their hands and fell to the ground. Their eyes rolled back, and they collapsed to the ground one after another, motionless.

Arthas didn't stop and stepped over it.

At the end of the corridor is a black iron door with an image of an ouroboros engraved on it. The snake's body is coiled in a figure-eight shape, and its head is biting its own tail.

Reach out and push the door open.

The door wasn't locked.

Everyone turned around when they heard the door open.

"Who are you?"

"How did you get in?"

"Where are the people outside?"

The two men at the front drew their short knives and charged forward. Halfway there, they suddenly lost their balance, as if hit from the side by something. They flew sideways, crashed into the wall, slid down, and lay motionless.

Everyone else was stunned.

They didn't see Arthas make a move, they didn't see any attack, they only saw their companions inexplicably fly out, some retreated, some drew their weapons but their hands were shaking, and some knelt on the ground and began to pray.

One, two, three, four...

When Arthas reached the other end of the courtyard, he found a pile of people lying on the ground behind him. Some were unconscious, some were still convulsing, and some were rolling on the ground clutching their heads, uttering incoherent groans.

He pushed open the door at the end of the courtyard.

Behind the door was a huge circular hall with a dome so high that the top could not be seen. The walls were covered with dark red curtains. In the very center of the hall was a stone altar with a dark brown surface, which seemed to be the color left by repeated soaking in blood.

A dark green flame burned at each of the four corners of the altar, casting an eerie and terrifying light over the entire hall.

Three people were tied to the altar.

The round-faced youth was tied to the stone pillar on the left, his arms were suspended by iron chains, and his toes could barely touch the ground. His clothes were torn, revealing his chest covered with whip marks.

The man with the giant sword was tied to the stone pillar on the right. His condition was worse; he had been severed below the knees, and the wound was still bleeding. His right arm was also missing.

The female archer was bound to the center of the altar, her hands were fixed to the sides of the altar with iron chains, and her whole body was suspended in mid-air in a large cross shape. There were two dried bloodstains on her face, which stretched from the corners of her eyes to her chin.

Her eyes were gouged out...

The three were too badly injured for any healing spells to be effective.

Arthas stood at the entrance of the hall, looking at the three people on the altar, their fates unknown. He felt no anger, no sadness, no negative emotions whatsoever, only annoyance.

Slow footsteps echoed from the depths of the hall.

A person emerged from behind the curtain, wearing a black cloak with ouroboros wrapped around its edge.

His face was covered by a hood, revealing only his pale chin and slender hands, his fingers adorned with several rings, the gems of which shimmered eerily in the dark green flames.

"I never expected the offerings to come to me on their own."

"Did you do this?"

"What?"

"Who are you?"

"Hehehe..."

Before he could finish laughing, the man in black robes froze, as if a giant hand was pressing him down, and he fell heavily to his knees.

"What are you laughing at?" Arthas intensified his dragon's roar. "I hate that kind of villainous laughter more than anything in my life."

"Who...who are you..." The black-robed man's voice trembled. Although he didn't know who the person in front of him was, he could feel a sense of fear from the depths of his blood.

Arthas did not answer, but instead raised his hand, and hellfire erupted from his palm.

The flames were black with a hint of red, and red with a touch of gold.

It shot directly at the man in black robes.

There were no screams.

The man in the black robe opened his mouth, making a "hoarse" sound in his throat, trying to shout but unable to. His body twisted, curled up, charred, and shattered in the flames.

The entire process lasted for several tens of seconds.

When the hellfire died down, the man in black robes was gone, leaving only a pool of black ashes on the ground.

Nothing was left behind.

a hundred years.

This is the second time Arthas has used magic against humans.

He could crush Lute and his gang with just his Dragon Might, but that kind of death wouldn't be painful enough.

Arthas walked toward the altar.

The round-faced youth's chest rose and fell slightly, and he was breathing weakly, but each breath was accompanied by a wet, rattling sound; his lungs had been punctured.

The blood from the severed limb of the man wielding the greatsword had stopped, his lips were purple, his face was deathly pale, and his pupils began to dilate.

The female archer's eye sockets were empty, the bloodstains on her face had dried and formed black scabs, and she had multiple knife wounds on her chest, clearly indicating that she had been subjected to slow slicing.

"I'm late."

Arthas drew his sword, and a flash of light appeared.

The round-faced youth's brows relaxed.

The next strike.

The man with the giant sword fell completely silent.

Finally, Arthas stood before the female archer, looking into her empty eye sockets.

"Is there anything else you'd like to say?"

"Thank you……"

The third sword strike.

The female archer lowered her head, and two dried bloodstains on her face stood out starkly in the dark green firelight.

Arthas sheathed his sword, placed the three corpses neatly on the altar, and turned to walk deeper into the hall.

Behind the curtain lies a deeper corridor.

A faint light shone from the end of the corridor; it wasn't the dark green glow of a fire, but the warm, golden light of candles.

A solemn voice came from inside the door.

"The Lord says that flesh and blood are merely a shell, while the soul is eternal. Only by sacrificing the body can one obtain eternal life..."

Behind the door is a lecture hall.

The dome is painted with a huge mural of an ouroboros, its body coiled in a figure-eight shape, its head biting its own tail, and the golden paint shimmering in the candlelight.

Dozens of rows of wooden benches were placed on both sides of the platform, and the benches were full of people, all wearing dark blue robes. There were men, women, young and old. Some people closed their eyes to pray, some bowed their heads to murals, and some looked up at the ouroboros mural on the dome with eyes full of reverence.

At the front of the lecture hall was a high platform with a human-shaped statue on it; below the platform stood a middle-aged man wearing a golden robe.

Alsace pushed open the door at the end of the corridor.

The door hinges creaked loudly, and everyone turned to look at the doorway. Dozens of eyes stared, some with doubt, some with wariness, some with curiosity, but no one with fear. They still didn't know what was happening outside.

The man in the golden robe put down the book in his hand, looked at Arthas, and gave him a gentle smile.

Are you also here seeking guidance from the Lord?