The Paladin in the Abyss

The visitor was dressed as a merchant, adorned in a baggy robe with many pockets and glamorous accessories on his neck and wrists. His dark red skin, backward-curling horns on his head, goat-like hooves, and a long, thin tail revealed that he was a Tiflin, a mortal with Fiends as ancestors.

But Lancelot knew the stranger was far from simple as he appeared; his Spirit Perception alerted him that this seemingly mere cunning merchant was extremely dangerous, just as terrifying as the entity they had attracted when they burned the animated corpses on a mountain.

Luckily, this newcomer walked straight into the camp, oblivious to his presence. Lancelot mustered up some True Qi to his ears, daring to eavesdrop on the mysterious visitor's purpose for coming here.

The camp's guards immediately spotted this uninvited guest, shouting loudly and feigning an attack, but the composure of the visitor, and some sort of unspoken Fear, kept these fearless mercenaries rooted in place, posturing with their weapons.
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"Easy there, mercenaries, I'm not your enemy," the Tiflin merchant spoke lazily, his voice carrying a peculiar Magic Power that made one listen involuntarily, "Where's your leader? I have a deal to discuss with him."

The crowd parted way for him naturally, and in the center of the camp, the towering Barbarian Chieftain had already grabbed his giant hammer, looking menacing, while two Succubi hid behind him like startled rabbits.

"Goodness me, it seems I've come at a rather inconvenient time, interrupting your fine pursuits," the enigmatic visitor breezed into the center of the camp, glancing at the Orc corpse on the ground with a look of regret in his eyes, "Allow me to introduce myself: I am Eckmond, and it's an honor to meet you, the real chieftain of the Winter Wolf Tribe, the invincible Guarado."

Upon hearing the name Eckmond, Lancelot felt a weird sensation in his heart. Perhaps it was just a common name, after all, not a rare one.

"Speak your purpose!" roared the mercenary leader named Guarado, his voice thunderous, "Though the taste of Tiflin isn't particularly good, we can't be choosy in such a godforsaken place, hahaha..."

The mercenaries seemed to find their Chieftain's words amusing, laughing out loud, and even the mysterious visitor himself cracked a smile.

"Now, that hurts my pride," the Tiflin merchant expressed his dissatisfaction, "But I'm not here to replenish your provisions. I'm merely here to present some gifts, representing my goodwill."

"Gifts?" Guarado shifted his focus to the visitor's pocket-filled robe, "You better have brought enough gifts to satisfy every single brother under my command."

"Oh, of course, of course!" Guarado pulled out a pouch and flipped it over, and a pile of glittering Magic Weapons with Spiritual Light poured out onto the ground, amassing into a small hill.

"These weapons all come with Enchantments specifically for fighting Demons..." the Tiflin merchant chuckled as the mercenaries scrambled for the weapons, "They'll surely be very helpful for your upcoming endeavors."

"What do you want in return?" the Mercenary Leader eyed the Tiflin suspiciously, "We won't be paying for this!"

"I've already told you, these are gifts. How could I possibly ask for money?" the mysterious man maintained his elegant smile, "Are you pleased, great Chieftain of the Winter Wolf Tribe?"

"My men seem quite satisfied, but I haven't felt any real sincerity from you. These weapons are decent, but they are nothing compared to my Giant Slayer," the towering Barbarian, certain that the other party must be in need of something from him, settled back into his chair, "Do you have any gifts for 'me'?"

"Oh, of course," the Tiflin merchant said with a smile, pulling out a potion from his bosom, "This is an extremely rare potion. Drink it and you will gain the strength of a Giant Dragon, and all enemies will be smashed to pieces before you. In the black market of Zerata, a potion like this would cost a hundred thousand Gold Coins. Who else is more deserving of this potion's mighty power than you?"

The Mercenary Leader snatched the potion, gripping it tightly in his hand, his fierce gaze sweeping over his subordinates, who were listening to their conversation with great interest. The threat was very clear, causing the mercenaries to quickly turn their heads away.

"This sounds not bad, but how do I know you haven't poisoned it, trying to take my life?"

"What good would it do me to assassinate you?" the Tiflin merchant shrugged, "As I said before, it's just a gift. When we meet next time, we can negotiate a serious deal."

"So, what is it that you really want?" Guarado, convinced that the other party must want something from him, snorted through his nostrils at the Tiflin merchant before him, "Slaves of a certain race? Or do you need us to attack one of your enemies?"

"Oh no, it's nothing so complicated. What I want is just a Holy Warrior," the Tiflin merchant finally revealed his true intent, "A Succubus Paladin with horns on her head, bat wings on her back, and a tail on her buttocks."

"You're indeed here for that bitch," the Mercenary Leader said with an understanding smile. "She'll soon fall into my hands, there's no doubt about that. But if you want to exchange for her, these gifts alone won't suffice."

"Of course, but do consider my offer when the time comes, based on the kindness of these gifts, alright?" the Tiflin merchant spread his hands enthusiastically, "No matter what conditions the other guys have promised, I can offer you better, and pay on the spot, guaranteeing your satisfaction."

"If you happen to be the highest bidder, then she's yours," Guarado spread his legs, and two Succubi crawled over to him, "I'm about to... get busy. Do you have anything else?"

"Just one last thing. If your previous intelligence was that the target was heading north along the Stygian River, that information is outdated. The convoy escorting the Succubus Paladin has run into a bit of trouble; if you want to intercept them, it's best to head southwest."

"How do you know this?" Guarado eyed the merchant suspiciously, "Who exactly is the master behind you guys?"

"What use is it for you to know? We indeed desire that Holy Warrior very much and are willing to offer a generous reward to the person who brings her to us. Isn't that enough for you to know?" the Tiflin merchant bowed, "Now, may I ask for your permission to leave safely on account of these gifts?"

"Get out," the Mercenary Leader waved his hand, looking down without glancing at him anymore.

"Thank you very much," the Tiflin merchant bowed again, bagging his belongings and started to retreat backward. Lancelot, who had been peeking from not too far, quickly lowered his head and constrained his breath, making himself blend in like a stone.