Back in the Wounded Peaks, Percival guided Argus down the treacherous, shale-covered slopes.
The wind howled a despondent song, like the mourning wail of a thousand widows, as it blew over their faces.
The horse's hooves found purchase on rock faces as they descended into the bowl of the valley.
Here, the ruins of the ancient mountains lay.
Bones were scattered about, half-rocks, and wasted leather.
They rode past the debris and reached the crumbled archway of the main keep.
Percival dismounted.
"Return, Argus."
Neighing, Argus dissolved into flames, vanishing into its Summon Space.
Percival stood alone in the silence. Or what he thought was silence.
Hiss.
He shifted his weight, glancing to his left.
From behind a collapsed watchtower, he spotted two green-dripping monsters crawling around the gloom.
⸢Threat: Dry Devilcat Demonspawn⸥
⸢Level: 23⸥
