Lin Gui followed silently.
The demon man eventually stopped in a relatively open area in the center of the city.
A massive building of wood and stone, simple in form but substantial in scale, stood there.
Its most prominent feature was in the center of the structure.
A gargantuan stone pillar, wide enough to require several people to encircle it and shimmering with a dim, flowing light, pierced through the roof and pointed straight into the night sky.
That was the Demon King Pillar, the core supporting the entire barrier.
The building itself held no sense of luxury.
Constructed of rough logs and gray stone, it featured only a single heavy wooden door.
A crude wooden board hung over the lintel, with three words carved in the Common Tongue:
City Lord's Manor.
Compared to the grand City Lord's manors in the Carter Royal Capital or Shield City, this place was incredibly shabby, looking more like a large private residence or a guild hall.
Just as the demon man reached the entrance, a demon guard, who also possessed bat wings but appeared younger, came forward to meet him.
The guard reported in a low voice:
“Lord Morpheus.”
“The other lords have arrived as you ordered.”
“Including... Lord Aenor, who has been monitoring the edge of the barrier.”
The demon man known as Morpheus nodded, his face devoid of expression.
He reached out and pushed open the heavy wooden door.
His figure disappeared inside.
The door slowly closed behind him.
As soon as Morpheus stepped inside the manor, a cacophony of fierce arguing washed over him.
“Aenor! You lazy bastard!” a gruff beastkin voice roared.
“Three living people crossed the barrier and you didn't even notice?!”
“Is that shitty mirror of yours only for looking at your own face?!”
Another high-pitched voice immediately chimed in:
“Exactly! When Lord Gusion was here, you were always slacking off!”
“Now that the Lord is gone, you still dare to neglect your duty?!”
More voices joined in the accusations:
“What if those three were enemies?!”
“What if they’re demons hunting Lord Gusion, or the Alliance’s hounds?!”
“If Avalon is exposed because of this...”
“Can you take responsibility?!”
Surrounded in the center was a small, thin fellow with pointed ears who looked like a gnome.
This was likely Aenor.
He clutched a dirty bronze mirror, his face flushed bright red, his head hanging so low it nearly touched his chest.
“I... I...” he stammered in defense. “Ac—Actually, Avalon's location hasn't been a secret for a long time... It's... it's just that they can't get in...”
“You still dare to talk back?!”
The angry shouts around him instantly exploded, becoming even louder.
“Is that an excuse?!”
“What good are you?!”
Aenor shrank back under the verbal assault, completely losing the courage to speak. He clutched the bronze mirror like a frightened quail.
Morpheus's blood-red eyes swept over the chaotic scene. He said nothing, simply walking to the main seat and sitting down.
He lightly tapped his finger on the rough wooden table once.
Thump.
The sound was not loud, but it caused the entire hall to fall silent instantly.
Morpheus's blood-red eyes scanned the now-quieted crowd. He spoke slowly, his voice low and clear:
“Enough.”
“They are already inside. Pointing fingers now is useless.”
He paused, his finger tracing lightly across the tabletop.
“What matters now is...” He looked up, his gaze sharp. “...figuring out exactly how they got in.”
Silence fell over the hall once more.
But this silence was different from before; it carried a deeper, almost suffocating sense of confusion and unease.
As Aenor had said, Avalon's location was no secret to their true enemies.
As long as it relied on the protection of the Demon King Pillar to exist, its unique magic fluctuations were difficult to completely hide from other Demon Kings and high-level existences.
Since Avalon was founded, countless demons, demon hunters, and even the Alliance's secret units had tried to find and destroy this nest of “outcasts.”
Most of them had indeed found it.
But in the end... they all became new specters or withered bones deep within the Wailing Corridor.
That deadland surrounding the basin was a barrier more formidable than any wall.
Epic demons lie in wait, and spectral lords roam.
Mists swallowed one's sense of direction, and whispers corroded one's sanity.
Other than entering under the protection of Lord Gusion's powerful concealment magic... all other methods of attempting to “cross” had been proven by enemies at the cost of their lives to be a dead end.
In the dead silence, there was only the crackling of burning torches.
Morpheus's gaze moved across everyone's face, seeing the same disbelief in each of them.
The silence lasted a long time.
A foxkin sitting in a corner, with fiery-red fur and a bushy tail, scratched his large ears.
The foxkin race was famous for its agility and wisdom.
He spoke hesitantly, his voice soft:
“Could it be... speed?”
“Like that Night Elf back then, Shadow Blade Lynn?”
“She also forced her way through using raw speed.”
Hearing this, Morpheus gave a bitter smile.
“That woman was a High-tier Epic, Apex assassin. And she was left at death's door after she crossed it back then.”
He looked at the crowd.
“But those three out there...”
“The strongest among them is only a Low-tier Transcendent.”
The words “Low-tier Transcendent” echoed in the minds of these “old-timers,” all of whom were at least High-tier Transcendents and some even Legendary.
For a moment, everyone's expressions became extremely strange.
Some rubbed their foreheads, their mouths twitching. Others widened their eyes, wearing expressions that said “you've got to be kidding me.”
A beastkin warrior even cleaned his ears, suspecting he had misheard.
A Low-tier Transcendent... crossing the Wailing Corridor?
It felt as if they were being told that the terrifying, despair-inducing deadland had been casually strolled through by a rookie who hadn't even mastered protective qi.
“Could they... be hiding their strength?” the foxkin smacked his lips, guessing again. “Maybe they’ve disguised their energy fluctuations?”
Morpheus shook his head with certainty.
“To be able to disguise one's rank fluctuations so precisely to that degree... even Lord Gusion might not be able to pull it off.”
A deeper, more bewildered silence fell over the hall once more.
The foxkin pondered for a long while, his fiery-red tail swaying gently and his pointed ears twitching.
Suddenly, his eyes lit up.
“Then only one possibility remains,” he said with a slight chuckle, his tone tinged with amusement.
Everyone's gaze immediately focused on him.
“Although the probability is also extremely low...” He grinned. “...compared to ‘a few rookies crossing the Wailing Corridor on their own strength,’ it’s at least... slightly more plausible.”
“Stop dragging it out!” a beastkin hammered the table impatiently.
The foxkin wasn't annoyed and spoke leisurely:
“Lord Gusion's concealment magic is indeed unsurpassed on the continent. But there is one thing that even the Lord himself admitted was superior in terms of pure ‘concealment’ properties.”
He paused and held up a finger.
“The stealth artifact ranked No. 7 by the Alliance Council...”
“The 【Umbral Robe】.”
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