Paladin's vision blurred for a split second. By the time it cleared, Master had already secured his pack and resumed leading the party forward as if nothing had happened.
The group stood in stunned silence, swallowing the humiliation of the signed pact, and followed.
They hadn't traveled far when they stumbled upon the remnants of yesterday's battle. Severed limbs and broken weapons littered the ground, forgotten. The dead Deep Gnomes' eyes still held a frozen glint of terror.
Their pockets had been turned inside out, picked clean of anything valuable.
The corpses bore gruesome wounds—slashes of varying sizes, though most had only one fatal strike.
The sight drew a collective gasp. No words could match the brutality before them.
Paladin's voice trembled with outrage. "These gnomes didn't just die in battle. Most of their wounds are shallow—some even grazed vital points without finishing the job. This was deliberate torment. They were only granted a final blow once they could no longer fight. These drow methods are vile."
Yoda sighed wearily. "The Underdark is scarce in resources. Every race here fights for survival with far more desperation than those on the surface. Their wars are waged without mercy, as if against lifelong enemies."
"And the drow, being the strongest among them, often use warriors of other races to hone their skills when pressure eases. They sharpen their killing techniques on living enemies. That's one reason they're feared like monsters."
A heavy silence fell. Paladin suddenly strode toward the corpses.
Zad blinked. "Tegal, what are you doing?"
"I'm burying them. They don't deserve to rot in the open."
But before he took three steps, an overwhelming force seized his soul, locking his body in place. Anthony's calm voice cut through:
"Their fate is tragic, but their corpses will be cleansed by scavengers—who'll then be slain and devoured by others. That's the Underdark's cycle. We move forward."
Paladin opened his mouth to ask what scavengers?—then abruptly deemed the question pointless. By the time he processed this, he'd already rejoined the group, marching onward.
Something felt wrong, yet he couldn't pinpoint it. The urge to speak died unsaid, leaving only uneasy thoughts.
"Move out." At Anthony's command, Paladin's musings shattered. His mind emptied save for the order to march.
Anthony smirked in satisfaction.
No wonder devils love signing Soul Pacts. They lavish benefits to coax mortals into scrawling their names—all for this: a tool-man who never sings a different tune, utterly devoted.
Too damn useful.
He just didn't know if the pact would void after returning to the Overdeity's realm. If not… he'd hit the jackpot.
---A dividing line about exploiting free labor---
Though the drow were masters of hiding their traces, their victory had clearly dulled their vigilance. Countless clues littered their path, with occasional splashes of blood still visible.
Most of it belonged to the deep gnomes, but a small portion was undeniably drow. These details proved that last night's battle had not been without casualties for the dark elves.
Following the trail at a brisk pace, the Underdark path gradually widened. Signs of artificial influence grew more pronounced. By the time the party neared their second rest, they even spotted a signpost written in Elvish.
Menzoberranzan—20 miles ahead.
The discovery brought smiles to everyone's faces.
Though the Underdark was treacherous, most in the party were professionals. Their stamina and speed far surpassed ordinary folk. Twenty miles? They'd cover it in two hours at most.
A proper rest would ensure they remained sharp. A bonfire was lit, and the group ate to replenish their energy. Lolo hummed cheerfully, already imagining what the fabled city of Menzoberranzan might look like.
Good food, the promise of success—everything felt perfect. Now, she just hoped the second phase of their mission would be simple, so she could return home soon and enjoy a delicious pie.
As she swallowed the last bite of bread, the little witch discreetly rubbed her slightly rounded belly, willing the unladylike bulge to vanish quickly.
Just then, a backpack appeared before her—held by Yoda.
He handed it over, and Lolo found it odd. The goblin, who hadn't let anyone so much as glance at it for days, was suddenly being generous? Before she could wonder further, Yoda spoke.
"We're about to enter the city. My identity might draw suspicion from the drow. Carry this for me—I'll take it back later."
"Fine." The little witch took the backpack, surprised by how light it was. Even she could carry it without strain. Her curiosity about those mysterious Modron merchants grew even stronger.
Distracted by the backpack, she failed to notice the subdued mood among her teammates. After a short rest, they set off again—and the enigmatic Menzoberranzan drew ever closer.
A 10-mile marker. A 5-mile marker. Only half an hour remained. Just as she glimpsed the distant "sky," where an orange-red stone pillar glowed faintly, Anthony raised his hand. Instantly, everyone but he froze.
The sudden halt startled the little witch. She dropped into a crouch, her first spell being Protection from Arrows.
Nearing a drow city? Guarding against hidden arrows was priority number one.
By the time she finished layering protective magics on herself, Anthony broke the silence. Casting Light on the paladin, he called out in flawless Undercommon:
"Drow ahead, I am Anthony, an archmage who travels between cities. I've come to Menzoberranzan for trade and seek your guidance."
As his words faded, a patrol of five drow warriors emerged from behind the stone pillar.
They rode cave lizards—mid-sized mounts with razor-sharp teeth, resembling velociraptors. Domesticated and enhanced, their three-toed adhesive feet allowed them to scale surfaces, walls, even ceilings like spiders, moving in utter silence.
Their equipment was impeccable. Longswords, scimitars, or compact hand crossbows aimed unerringly at the adventuring party. Regardless of weapon choice, each wore finely crafted, lightweight chainmail—every interlocking ring flawlessly fitted.
The paladin glanced at their own chainmail, then back at the drow's, and felt a pang of bitterness.
Such masterwork armor… and here it was standard issue for drow.
Where's the justice in that?
The lead warrior, surprised by Anthony's flawless Undercommon, remained wary. "Strange archmage. Strange party. I am captain of Menzoberranzan's Sixth Patrol. You say you're here to trade? What exactly are you selling?"
Anthony smiled. "Slaves, of course. Aside from this girl—my handmaiden—everyone here is a captive. All at least fifth level, with rare classes like paladin and monk. They'll fetch excellent prices."
"Oh?" The drow scrutinized the group.
Every member looked healthy, unmarred by bloodstains, and bore full equipment and weapons.
The discovery made him yank his reins back, eyes gleaming with suspicion. "Surface-dweller, you let your slaves keep their gear and go unchained? Aren't you afraid they'll slit your throat?"
Anthony remained unshaken. "The Underdark has dangers at every turn. Even an archmage can't guarantee safety. Their gear is for self-defense. If some died along the way, my trip would've been wasted."
The drow captain wasn't convinced. His grip stayed firm on his weapon. "You're nearly at Menzoberranzan. I can ensure your safety now. Disarm them. Bind their hands. Otherwise, you go no further."
"As you wish." Anthony smiled, then explained the drow's demands in Common—omitting the part about them being sold as slaves.
Seeing the drow's superior gear and how close they were to completing their mission, the party agreed.
This was drow territory. Fighting would only end badly for them.
Their "equipment" amounted to two longswords, a shield, and a few daggers. Anthony took the backpack from the little witch and stored the items in his bag of holding. The drow captain's eyes flickered with greed at the sight.
Once Anthony produced rope from his adventuring tools and bound everyone—including the little witch—the drow spoke again.
"Well-mannered archmage, you've earned some trust. But not enough. A spellcaster's fingers need but a few motions to unleash devastation. To prove your sincerity, bind your own hands. Only then will I permit your entry."
Anthony chuckled sheepishly. He fumbled with the rope, failing to tie himself properly, then sighed. "Captain, I can't quite manage it. Would you assist me?"
The drow captain's lips curled into a cruel smile.
"Gladly."