The slanting rays of the setting sun cast upon the dilapidated wooden walls. Having exhausted a greasy spell scroll, Panni finally depleted all the arcane components on him. Due to prolonged mental connection with the Weave, his mind was hazy and muddled. He could only sway against the city wall, watching the skirmish below.

"Release!"

Few Northern berserkers were proficient with bows and arrows. At the command, a dozen or so wrought iron throwing axes whistled through the air. Several trolls were struck down, their howls echoing as they collapsed, consumed bit by bit by the flames licking the ground.

Throughout the afternoon, a continuous onslaught of nearly a hundred trolls assaulted the outpost. In response, the berserkers spread oil across the land outside the walls. Once ignited, it seemed as though the entire village was enveloped in flames.

Though the trolls lacked weapons, their robust bodies and agility allowed many to evade the sea of fire and climb the walls, causing considerable trouble for the defending warriors.

By afternoon's end, two more berserkers lay fallen on the wall, and the rest bore injuries.

Sela's divine spells had been depleted, her healing magic long expended, her body stained with blood from the fray.

As the battle neared its conclusion, the remaining dozen or so trolls retreated under the barrage of ranged weapons.

Aniel unleashed a thunderous sonic boom, blasting apart a cluster of trolls. Arrows from his short bow toppled trolls into the inferno. As the trolls dispersed, a scattered cheer erupted from the village atop the wall. Gasping for breath, Aniel leaned against the wall, "Withstanding just one assault is already so challenging. This cannot continue."

Panni nodded, too exhausted to speak, and staggered down from the wall.

The berserkers around him were equally weary, but their gaze toward Panni's group softened considerably. After an afternoon of fighting side by side, they at least knew that these individuals were indeed here to help. Regardless of how much assistance they could offer, they were certainly not mere bystanders. That alone was worthy of respect.

As the battle concluded, a few children emerged from the nearby cottages, encircling the blood-stained warriors. Sela, with her helmet removed, seemed to be more favored. The divine grace of the Paladin accentuated her already lovely visage, exuding a charm that captivated the children. "Madam, you are so beautiful."

The Paladin blushed, feeling somewhat embarrassed. From childhood to adulthood, she had never experienced such a scene. Yet, the feeling of being cherished was deeply gratifying. She carefully rolled up her bloodied war robe. "Be careful, don't get blood on yourself."

"The men of Latheman are not afraid of blood and war," boasted a young boy, smearing two streaks of blood across his face, a picture of valor.

"Angell, you're bragging again!" chuckled a few children, dragging the boy away, amidst playful banter.

Sela smiled, then felt a tug on her robe. She glanced down to find a little girl staring at her. "Madam, the village will be okay, won't it?"

Sela looked at the outpost, soaked in blood and fire. Her gaze dimmed briefly before she rallied, her eyes shining with determination. She took a deep breath, stooped down, and gently hugged the little girl. "Please believe, the apostles of Tyr will do their utmost to save every soul that deserves salvation."

cough "Don't spread faith indiscriminately. The folks here don't buy into Tyr's teachings," interrupted the bard with a statement that dampened the mood. The female Paladin immediately stood up, furrowing her brow in displeasure. "Do you realize, Mr. Stavani, that with just that sentence, I have ample reason to challenge you to a duel?"

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"Really, the bastards of the lawful camp can't even take a joke, how dull," scoffed Aniel, turning to see Panni lying beneath a large tree, lost in thought. He reached out and touched him. "Mage, what are you pondering?"

"I'm wondering why there have been so many troll attacks on this village, what could be the reason?" Panni pondered, "If we can discern that reason, perhaps the solution to our predicament lies within it. If such assaults persist for another few days like this afternoon, I doubt whether we can endure."

As those words were spoken, the bard and the paladin displayed a pensive demeanor together.

"Indeed, you have some merit in your thoughts," the bard nodded. "Perhaps we should inquire with that venerable lady, Sallyfin, to see what knowledge she truly possesses."

"Mr. Stavani, I wonder how many dueling invitations you've received in your lifetime? Your manner of speaking... should be amended," another displeased voice chimed in from the side. Aniel saw the witch, whom he referred to as "the old lady," approaching, scratching his head awkwardly. "Sorry, sorry, it's a habit."

"I believe this habit is not a good one," Sallyfin shook her head, turning to Panni. "I heard your deliberation just now. After the battle this afternoon, I think we should grant you enough trust. In fact, the cause of the troll attacks is likely related to one of our elders."

Elders?

Panni pondered over the information he had come across.

The initial batch of Latheman elders were the male Red Robes who sided with the northern faction when the Red Robes split. After the founding of Latheman, these individuals became part of the Witch Council, earning widespread respect among the people of Latheman. However, most resided in remote areas, rarely taking on apprentices, maintaining secrecy, and gaining renown for their expertise in crafting magical artifacts.

For some reason, the Latheman Witch Council prohibited witches from engaging in the craft of magical artifact crafting. Consequently, the majority of magical craftsmanship in Latheman was passed down among these elders. Their status within the Witch Council was exceptionally high, not even beneath the "Oeslo."

"We shall speak at leisure," Sallyfin led the group into the cottage, sat down for a while, and then narrated the situation: "The elder residing nearby goes by the name of Ockrus. He possesses profound wisdom and power, and is well acquainted with the souls of the nearby forest. The troll tribes in the forest have refrained from rash actions due to the presence of this elder. However, some days ago, this elder vanished without a trace."

"So you mean... resolving the plight here hinges upon finding this elder gentleman?" Selah pondered aloud.

"It's not so simple, for we do not know where to find him," Sallyfin shrugged. "We've dispatched squads to search his abode, but most of the valuables inside have been taken away. It appears he embarked on a journey, but we have no clue as to his destination or why he did not inform us."

"Have any clues been found?" Panni inquired. "There are indeed some clues, but I have not found any leads," the witch produced a hefty tome bound in thick parchment, with a quill tucked into the front page, resembling a research journal commonly used by mages. Panni took it and, upon flipping through, furrowed his brows gradually. "This mage's research seems... profound."

"Unfortunately, my spellcasting abilities are innate, derived from birth. I haven't delved deeply into arcane studies, so I cannot decipher this tome," Sallyfin shrugged. "Perhaps you might glean something from it."

"Innate spellcasting abilities... You're a warlock?" Panni glanced at Sallyfin in astonishment.

Arcane spellcasters on Ferren are divided into two main categories: one type consists of mages who acquire arcane power through rigorous study, while the other category, known as warlocks, are favored by the Weave.

They may possess innate talents or have certain magical creatures' essence in their bloodline. They do not require the same intense study between arcane texts and voluminous tomes as mages do. Nor do they need to undergo the complex preparation of spellcasting rituals. When casting spells, they only need to slightly summon their thoughts, and the incantations will automatically appear in their minds. As time passes, their connection with the Weave deepens. Hence, they are objects of envy for many mages.

Among this group, some have lower abilities and may utilize magic to perform tricks, often becoming a minstrel. However, due to the ease with which they acquire spellcasting abilities, warlocks typically engage in mundane arcane research, with some even reciting incantations without recognizing a single arcane symbol. Therefore, magical research remains the expertise of mages.

"Yes, so I am unable to decipher the notes of Lord Ockrus," Sallyfin nodded somewhat apologetically. "If I could, perhaps the village would not have lost so many lives."

With a sigh, she spoke.

Panni perused the notes, his brows gradually furrowing. The others around him looked at him with expectant eyes.

"Brother, we're all counting on you," the minstrel casually whistled.

"Don't interrupt, Mr. Stefani," Selah scowled at Aneil disapprovingly.

As time ticked by, Panni quietly finished reading the notebook and raised his head. "The master's research... seems to be related to the Shadow Plane... Judging by his final experiment, it appears he was attempting to open a rift to the plane within his own home."

"The Shadow Plane?" Sallyfin furrowed her brow.