Helson stood before the mountain path, gazing at the road leading into the unknown. He took a deep breath, then turned to the people accompanying him and said:
"Set up camp here and wait for me to return."
His servant frowned. "My lord, are you really going in alone?"
"They only allow me to go in alone." Helson's tone was calm. "Don't worry. Since I was able to earn their trust through the Bone Flute, I don't think they'll harm me."
Another attendant whispered, "But this place... it's too strange."
Indeed, this was no ordinary mountain wilderness. Morning mist curled between the cliffs, sunlight struggled to penetrate it, and the air was filled with a damp, ancient scent. The stone path beneath their feet had been polished smooth by the passage of time, as if only dwarf boots had trodden it for the past thousand years.
Helson patted his servant on the shoulder. "I'll be careful. Guard the camp. If I haven't returned in five days, go back to Lakeheart Town and report to the Marquis."
The dwarf leader grumbled unhappily when he heard that. "Human, don't make us sound like mountain bandits!"
"Haha, sorry."
Helson Viscount straightened his collar, lifted his cloak, and followed the group of dwarves into the thick fog.
The moment he stepped into the mist, the scenery behind him quickly blurred, as though he no longer belonged to his original world. The dwarves ahead walked steadily, seemingly unaffected by their limited visibility. Helson could only follow their footsteps closely and memorize their direction, but he soon realized that this was practically impossible.
They first turned left and passed through a natural stone gate. Then they followed a narrow mountain ridge for a long while, with bottomless ravines on either side. Farther ahead lay a downward-sloping