I am the Demon King of the Dungeon!

Ironjaw Fortress is located on the barren wasteland of bones, seventy miles north of Holy Radiance City. Within a radius of thirty miles, it is all barren saline-alkali land, with the ground cracked into dense lines, as if something had sucked the life out of the earth.

Arthas stood on the bank of the dried-up riverbed and looked down. In the very center of the wasteland, the Ironjaw Fortress crouched.

It was a circular fortress made of logs and giant animal bones. The outer wall was made of three layers of logs, with gravel and clay filling the spaces between them. The tops were sharpened, and each log leaned outwards, like the back of a hedgehog that had exploded.

At each of the four corners of the stronghold stood a watchtower made of mammoth leg bones. The bonfires atop the towers burned brightly under the midday sun, casting the orange-red shadows of the werewolf sentinels onto the wasteland.

The main gate is formed by two curved, giant ribs arching against each other, with the surface of the bones engraved with totems, intersecting crescent moons, howling wolf heads, and battle scars torn by sharp claws.

Arthas scanned the area with his senses.

There were thirty-seven werewolves on the outer perimeter, eight at the main gate, three watchtowers at each of the four corners, and a group of new recruits training in the square in the center of the fortress, but these were not the main focus.

There are three powerful magical forces inside the fortress: one is deep inside the barracks behind the main gate, one is in the chief's hall in the very center of the fortress, and the other is not inside the fortress, but fifty meters underground.

The High Chieftain, the High Shaman, something imprisoned underground, and the three captured miners were locked in the second-to-last cell on the left side of the dungeon entrance.

After surveying the underground city, Arthas stepped down from the riverbed and headed towards the main entrance.

He did not deliberately conceal his presence.

"stop!"

At the main gate, a gray-maned werewolf held a spear horizontally in front of him. His left eye was a cloudy grayish-white, and his other eye was amber. "Human, do you want to die?"

"I'm here to pick up three people."

"Three miners. They were captured by your patrol ten days ago. The guild has negotiated with you twice, and the ransom you're demanding is three hundred gold coins per person. The Adventurers' Guild won't pay that, so I've come to pick them up."

The gray-maned werewolf tilted its head back and let out a sharp, short howl, a way for werewolves to send alarm signals to each other.

next second.

Arthas's sword hilt struck its jaw, the force transmitted directly into its cranial cavity through bone conduction.

The gray-maned werewolf let out a muffled groan, its amber eye rolled back, and it fell straight down, crashing onto the saline ground and kicking up a small cloud of white dust.

The remaining seven werewolf guards acted simultaneously, without uttering any unnecessary roars or threats. Seven gray shadows pounced from different angles at the same time, blocking all escape routes.

Two attacked head-on, two flanked from both sides, two cut off their retreat from behind, and the last one leaped onto the archway and swooped down from above, its sharp claws aimed straight at the top of the head.

Arthas knew that the most important thing in dealing with werewolves was to wipe them out completely. Unlike trolls, werewolves were not afraid; they only wanted to tear their enemies apart.

The longsword was drawn.

The sword traced a tiny arc in the air, first slashing horizontally to the right, the spine of the blade striking the first werewolf's temple; then it followed up with a diagonal slash to the left, the blade flipping, the back of the sword striking the second werewolf's nape.

The two werewolves fell to the ground almost simultaneously.

The two flanking attackers had already pounced on them.

Arthas sidestepped, the first werewolf's claws grazing his shoulder, leaving three shallow white marks on the fire dragon scales and leather armor; as the second werewolf missed, the fireball exploded instantly, the shockwave sending the werewolf flying and crashing into the Rib Arch.

The two that circled around seized the opportunity to launch a simultaneous attack, striking from both sides and blocking all escape routes with their claws.

Arthas reversed his grip on the longsword, holding it horizontally against his lower back. He simultaneously struck the spine of the sword with both wolf claws, sparks flying. Using the momentum, he lunged forward, and as he turned, the longsword spun with his body, sweeping out a complete arc. The blade precisely sliced ​​through the throats of the two werewolves in turn, the force controlled to a depth of one inch in the skin.

The two werewolves froze, pressed their paws against their throats, and then collapsed to the ground simultaneously.

The last werewolf, pouncing down from above the archway, was still in mid-air. It watched as its seven companions fell within three breaths, its pupils contracting sharply, but it could no longer stop its attack.

Arthas looked up at the werewolf.

In mid-air, the werewolf's body was suddenly slapped from the side by an invisible hand. The wolf flew sideways and crashed heavily into the pile of rubble next to the Rib Arch. It struggled to get up, but its limbs felt like they were filled with lead and it couldn't lift them at all.

The fear etched deep in its genes seeped into its spinal cord. It didn't know who the person in front of it was; it only knew that its body was issuing the sole command: "Don't move."

Arthas walked through the fallen werewolves, stopping as he passed the gray-maned werewolf. He bent down, took the key from his waist, and weighed it in his hand.

Then, they pushed open the wooden gate under the ribbed arch and entered the city of Ironjaw Fortress.

At noon, the recruit training in the square was interrupted by the sounds of battle coming from the main gate. More than twenty werewolf recruits and a few veterans stood in the center of the square waiting for the enemy, holding all kinds of weapons, spears, battle axes, iron swords, and a few even using their claws.

They watched the humans walk in through the main gate, letting out low moans.

Arthas showed no mercy, and the square instantly turned into a hellish inferno, where all the werewolves were wiped out in an instant.

He crossed the square and headed directly towards the dungeon entrance. The recruits, oblivious to their own mortality, attacked recklessly and suffered the consequences, collapsing to the ground.

The dungeon entrance is in the northwest corner of the fortress, a downward-sloping mine shaft sealed off by an iron fence.

Arthas used the key to open the fence, bent down and crawled inside. Every few steps along the rock walls on both sides, a torch was stuck in the ground, its light flickering in the damp air.

They walked about fifty steps.

The passageway widened into a straight corridor, with several prison cells separated by iron bars on the left side.

The first cell contained two werewolves with whip marks on their bodies; they were probably one of their own who had violated military regulations.

The second room was empty, with a pair of rusted handcuffs hanging on the iron bars.

The third one...

"Someone's coming!"

Inside the cell, a middle-aged man with a face covered in coal dust sprang up from a pile of hay in the corner, rushed to the iron bars, grabbed them with both hands, and stared wide-eyed.

"You were sent by the guild? Just you? No, no, how did you get in? Where are the werewolves outside?"

"I've come to save you." Arthas tried to unlock the door with the key. The lock turned once, and the iron bars were pulled open with a harsh metallic scraping sound.

There are two other people in the cell.

A young miner huddled in a corner, his left leg splinted and seemingly broken; the other was an elderly miner with gray hair, clutching a string of polished mineral beads, his lips moving silently, probably reciting some prayer.

"His legs?"

Arthas looked at the young miner.

"We were hit by werewolves. It's been over ten days, and we have no medicine or splints, so we've bound ourselves with broken wooden boards and strips of cloth."

Arthas crouched down, placing his palm on the young miner's left leg. A soft green light seeped into the skin, and the shattered shinbone realigned and healed under the guidance of magic, with new bone tissue growing from the cracks.

A few breaths later, the green light dissipated.

The young miner carefully moved his left leg, then suddenly looked up, his eyes filled with tears.

"It doesn't hurt anymore! Brother, it doesn't hurt anymore!"

"Help him up." Arthas stood up and tossed the key to the middle-aged miner. "You guys go out of the city first, head south along the dry riverbed, and after you cross a embankment you'll reach the main road. Follow the main road south for half a day and you'll reach Holy Radiance City."

"And you?"

"My mission is not over yet."