Chapter 471: Chapter 495: Arriving at the Mountain Pass Chapter 471: Chapter 495: Arriving at the Mountain Pass Although Demons are not beasts, the “Slaughter Decree” is actually effective against any living creature. Some powers consider this cultivation technique a forbidden technique because some evil cultivators slaughter ordinary mortals in villages and towns to practice it, truly a path of demonic corruption. However, Han Tianzun’s view in the small bamboo slip suggests that the technique itself does not change the cultivator’s nature, therefore it cannot be considered a demonic technique. How it is used ultimately depends on the cultivator themselves; he believes Lancelot can use it on the right enemies.

Priests of the Goddess of Ice can protect themselves quite well. As his appearance suggests, Mohoi is a true barbarian at heart, he can summon ice javelins out of thin air, then he would loudly call out Olul’s name and hurl the javelins with twelvefold rage towards his enemies.

Despite not having the best aim, the power is still quite formidable, and once the target is down, his mammoth mount would charge: first using those lance-like tusks to ram the opponent, then crushing the downed enemies into mush with its hooves–a task not so difficult for a beast weighing over 20,000 pounds.

Old Reap lazily remained on his brown little horse, watching the rest cut the enemies to pieces without joining the fight. Oddly enough, the demons seemed to ignore this obvious target as well, as if he didn’t exist at all.

But to be fair, the werewolf was prepared for battle, with two green-glowing short swords unsheathed, ready to provide support for the others at any moment, but Lancelot and Bruto didn’t give him a reason to do so.

The foursome left a long trail of bodies behind them, hard to miss in the open wilderness. This would certainly attract some low-level demons and also serve as a warning to those creatures capable of flight. Of course, not every wild demon is brainless enough to attack on sight (though most are), and some of those that took the time to observe their prey soon recognized Lancelot.

It wasn’t just his armor, his sword, his fighting style, even his mount had identifying features–with a loud Dwarf trinket hanging off the back, hurling his powerful warhammer at any target that came too close.

There isn’t a clear boundary between plains and mountain ranges, the ground beneath them began to undulate, and gradually became steeper, as the aging sun climbed to its highest point in the sky, starting to show a bit of its dignity as the source of light, the four had climbed a fair distance and decided to stop and rest for a while.

They did not start a campfire but simply found a relatively hidden spot to sit down, relax their slightly weary bodies from battle, wipe the blood from their equipment, and then swallow some food that was still quite tasty–this was just a short trip, there was no need to bring those long-lasting but bad-tasting rations.

“Where’s our destination?” Bruto asked, holding a huge lunchbox containing an entire roasted Abyssal Chicken. “Just curious, if you can’t say, then never mind.”

“There’s nothing that can’t be said, we’re not going to ‘that’ place,” shrugged Lancelot. He was referring to the Dwarf Temple. “Our target is Fourth Peak, it should be about three more hours’ walk from here.”

“Fourth Peak?” Old Reap joined in upon hearing their conversation. “Isn’t that a volcano crater?”

“You seem pretty familiar with the Shattered Mountain Range,” Lancelot nodded. “Yes, that’s our destination.”

“But aren’t you supposed to create a heavy fog for me?” the Priest of the Goddess of Ice couldn’t help but speak up, “There’s not a drop of moisture in the air in such a place…”

“How does fog come about? Water plus fire, that’s what generates fog. To create a fog thick enough to transform into a blizzard, a substantial heat source is needed. The Lava Lake in Fourth Peak suits my needs perfectly.”

“Where’s the water?”

“It’s complicated to explain,” Lancelot shrugged, “You’ll find out soon enough.”

Seeing that he had no intention of continuing, Bruto and Old Reap didn’t press further. The Tiflin Priest seemed still skeptical, but seeing that the others were deferring to Lancelot, he had no choice but to give up, frustrated.

The group rested on the spot for about an hour, then continued on their journey. Despite the Shattered Mountain Range becoming steeper, under Lancelot’s guidance, they always found a relatively smooth path to keep moving forward.

As they drew closer to the Fourth Peak, the temperature around them grew hotter, and the air was filled with the pungent smell of sulfur. The Tiflin Priest’s mammoth was the first to succumb; it began to sweat profusely, its fur as wet as if it had been fished out of the water, forcing Mohoi to dismiss the summons and proceed on foot.

Not long after, Old Reap’s horse was also struggling, not because of the temperature, but because the surrounding air made it difficult to breathe. As soon as he noticed his mount exhibiting discomfort, the Werewolf unhesitatingly dismissed the summons, sending the brown pony back to its original plane.

The only one still at ease was Lancelot’s mount, the Nightmare–actually, it seemed to be in high spirits, as if it was back at home.

The closer they got to the volcano’s crater, the more small groups of demons they encountered, but thanks to Lancelot’s Spirit Perception, he successfully avoided most of the enemies. Fortunately, there were no High Rank Demons nearby–after all, this was still Twin Bridges Town’s territory and anyone who wished to claim the mountain as their own had to first consult the opinion of the Succubus Lord.

Finally, as the sun was about to dip below the horizon, the four of them arrived at the top of the mountain. As an active volcano, its summit was a circular funnel, thousands of feet wide, and the lake completely made of lava was hundreds of feet deep inside; the hot air flowed upward from the crater, making it hard to approach.

But there was one exception among them, and that was Lancelot’s… mount. After the four found a place shielded by giant obsidian boulders where the temperature was relatively bearable and stopped there, Lancelot didn’t bother to dismiss the summoning, and the Abyssal Warhorse continued towards the crater on its own. By the time Lancelot noticed it, the Nightmare had already begun swimming in the Lava Lake.

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Clearly, as a being born from the Flame, the Nightmare was immune to the damage caused by high temperatures–at least the heat that could turn stone into liquid couldn’t harm it.

“Look how comfortable it looks,” the Dwarf exclaimed with his mouth wide open, resignedly lamenting, “Why do I feel like it’s showing off?”

“It’s not just seeming like it; it is,” Lancelot merely glanced at the leaping black figure, shrugged indifferently, “Just ignore it. We’ve got serious business to attend to.”

“Here’s the volcano you wanted.” The Tiflin, purple-skinned and gasping for breath, tried to sit down but immediately jumped up again, scorched, “Damn it… where’s the water that creates the fog?”

“Isn’t that it?” Lancelot pointed behind him, at the same time unhooking the Dimensional Bag from his waist and pulling out a huge metal disc, “It’s been right there.”