The servant carried an oil lamp, walking in the narrow and dark passage that seemed to lead to a bottomless abyss.
Fortunately, it was just an illusion.
Soon, by the light of the lamp, he could see a trace of rust and metallic sheen emerging in the darkness.
Before he even got close, the servant already smelled a pungent bloody scent coming from the rusted iron door's seams, causing his hand holding the lamp to tremble slightly, subconsciously recalling the disaster at Arishe.
The cries of countless people before their deaths seemed to echo in his ears.
Squeak, creak—
He tried to knock on the door, but the heavy iron door just slightly touched made a teeth-grating sound as it swung open.
In the darkness that seemed to devour even the light, a cold voice suddenly sounded: "What does your master wish me to do?"
The speaker was a male voice, deep and slow-paced.
