I am the Demon King of the Dungeon!

Blackstone Mountain Prison is located in the wasteland twenty miles west of Holy Radiance City, backed by a semi-hollow black rock mountain.

As Arthas stood on the ridge and looked down, the outline of the entire prison in the twilight resembled a skull lying on the ground, the main building being the skull, the side buildings being the shoulder blades, and the exercise yard enclosed by high walls being the flattened chest cavity.

Torches were placed at intervals on the wall, and the flickering flames made the troll's shadow appear to grow longer and shorter.

Arthas scanned the area with his senses.

There were seven trolls on the outer perimeter: two at the main gate, two at the side gate, and three patrolling the walls.

There were more than a dozen magical reactions inside the main building, two of which were significantly stronger than the others, one on the top floor and one underground. The one underground was covered by a thin magical barrier, and probing into it felt like being separated by a layer of water.

That should be the location of the private jail.

The main gate was a heavy black iron gate, with a troll guard standing on each side. Both were over two meters tall, and their bluish-gray skin shone in the firelight. The one on the left was picking at the rust on the door panel with his rough knuckles, while the one on the right was dozing off with a spear in his arms, drool dripping from between his fangs and forming a small dark puddle on the ground.

Arthas walked down the ridge without making any attempt to conceal himself. His boots made a soft scraping sound as they stepped on the gravel. The dozing trolls were still asleep, but the stingy trolls were the first to raise their heads.

"Humans?"

Its common language, delivered with a heavy, guttural tone, as if forced out from the back of its throat, proclaims, "This is not a place for humans, get out!"

Alsace continued onward.

The troll narrowed his eyes, loosened his stingy fingers, and gripped the spear leaning against him. The spearhead was made of rough iron and not very sharp, but it was heavy enough that a single blow could flatten an adult's armor along with the spearhead.

"Are you deaf? I said—get out!!!"

Arthas raised his hand, and a fireball the size of a fist condensed three feet outside his palm. The temperature of the flame's core caused the surrounding air to ripple like water, and the orange-red light illuminated the troll's expression as it shifted from ferocity to terror.

The fireball streaked across the ground and struck the troll three inches in front of his feet, sending up a shower of sparks and debris.

The troll was thrown to the ground by the shockwave, his spear flying far away from his hand. His companion was awakened by the explosion and, as soon as he opened his eyes, saw Arthas standing high above him, a second fireball already forming in his palm.

Who has the keys to the prison?

"Alsace asked."

"In...in the warden's hands!" The startled troll scrambled backward, his back slamming against the iron door with a heavy thud. "The top floor! The warden's on the top floor!"

"fine thanks."

Arthas extinguished the fireball in his palm, stepped over the fallen troll, and kicked open the black iron door.

The door hinges emitted a piercing screech, the door panel slammed against the inner wall, shaking off a cloud of dust. The torches in the corridor were violently shaken by the wind blowing in, casting long, slanted shadows on the mottled stone wall.

At the end of the corridor, three troll guards were gambling with dice around a wooden barrel. Hearing the noise, they all turned around, dropping their dice and rolling them into the corner. The strongest one stood up first, drawing a two-handed battle axe from behind his back, the blade still stained with grease from the previous meal.

"Humans?"

The troll guard grinned, a scrap of flesh clinging to his fangs. "You dare to venture into Blackrock Mountain alone? Don't you know about the adventurers who came here last time..."

It didn't finish its sentence.

Arthas drew his longsword, its tip piercing its open mouth and landing precisely on the softest part of its palate.

The force was just right; any more and it would have pierced the back of the head, any less and it wouldn't have killed him. The troll guard didn't even have time to scream before his eyes rolled back and he fell straight down.

The remaining two trolls exchanged a glance, then simultaneously raised their weapons and charged forward. The one on the left swung his one-handed hammer at Arthas's head, while the one on the right thrust his short spear towards his abdomen.

Their coordination wasn't particularly refined, but they had enough strength to make up for it; the angle of their combined attack almost completely blocked any escape routes.

Alsace sidesteps.

He slammed the hammer against the wall, scraping the back of the troll's head with one hand, sending shards of stone flying. The moment the short spear thrust at him, he reversed his grip and gripped his sword, the blade sliding up the spear shaft. The hilt slammed into the troll's wrist joint with a sharp crack, and the troll's fingers involuntarily loosened. As the short spear hit the ground, the spine of the sword struck its temple.

The second troll guard fell instantly.

The last troll guard had just pulled its hammer out of the wall when it saw its two companions lying on the ground. It paused for a moment, then made the wisest decision.

It threw the hammer aside and raised its hands.

"The private jail is downstairs! The stairs are at the end of the corridor, turn right! The key is with the warden! Don't hit me!"

Arthas sheathed his sword, walked through the three fallen trolls, and headed towards the end of the corridor.

The troll guard breathed a sigh of relief and carefully lowered its hands. Suddenly, it felt a sharp pain in the back of its neck, its vision went black, and it collapsed next to the barrel.

The private cell on the basement level was darker than expected.

Only a few torches were lit. The corridor was lined with cells separated by iron bars. Water seeped from the walls, and the air was filled with the smell of mold and rust.

There were several huddled figures in the cell. Hearing footsteps, some shrank even deeper into the corner, while others raised their heads, revealing numb and empty eyes.

The innermost cell contained a centaur.

His lower body was a dark brown horse's body, his hair was covered in mud and clumps of it, and the horseshoes on his four legs had been removed, with dried bloodstains on the exposed hoof shells.

The upper body of the human torso was draped in a tattered linen shirt, with a newly scabbed whip mark on his shoulder, but his back remained straight. Hearing footsteps, he raised his head, his dark brown eyes shining brightly in the dim firelight.

"Who are you? I've never seen you before."

"Dick Reynolds. Garrod, let me handle this."

Arthas walked up to the iron fence, glanced at the keyhole, and saw that the lock cylinder had a serrated structure and required a specific key to open.

He pinched the lock and tried it; a force of resistance came from inside the lock cylinder—it was a magical barrier.

The entire prison was governed by some kind of rule. Like Dark Hemkas, the iron gate of the private cell was judged by the system as a "level obstacle" that could not be skipped. It could only be removed by defeating the top boss. Arthas loosened his fingers from the lock, and the iron lock fell back onto the fence with a dull thud.

"really."

"What's wrong?" Marcus asked.

"There's a magical barrier on the door; I can't open it. I must kill the warden for the lock to unlock automatically." Arthas took a step back from the bars. "Who is the warden?"

Marcus's eyes darkened: "A troll overlord, calling himself King Omorik, wielding a chained broom. I was ganged up on by them; I might not have lost a one-on-one fight. If you go alone..."

"Wait here."

Arthas turned and walked toward the stairs, but stopped after taking two steps. He took something out of his pocket and threw it through a gap in the fence. Marcus caught it instinctively; it was a small vial of healing potion, still warm from his body.

"Take care of the shoulder injury, I'll be right back." Arthas's footsteps faded into the distance along the corridor, while the echo of his boots on the stone steps came from the stairwell.

Keep moving upwards.