Simon instructed Jonas to study hard, then put on his greatcoat and left with Ranmir.
The coachman offered to lend them his carriage, but Simon politely declined.
Along the way, the drunkard, with a bottle of vodka in his hand, would take a swig every now and then, his posture so uninhibited that it made one's own craving for alcohol rise to their throat.
Simon, feeling quite heavy-hearted at the time, was slightly disappointed by Ranmir's dissolute demeanor.
Each of them carried a backpack, and Simon had an extra tent.
This time, Simon did not plan to go to The Core, so he brought all these miscellaneous items.
At the end of the first day, Ranmir led Simon to the familiar Tundra.
At the end of the second day, Ranmir led Simon southwest across the Tundra to the foothills.
In the early morning of the third day, the drunkard brought Simon to a deep pit cave, nodded, pointed to the stone path nearby, and said, "You go. Just keep walking and you'll see it. I'll wait for you here."
Simon nodded, took off his backpack, handed it to Ranmir for temporary safekeeping, and then, carrying his axe, walked up the slope.
This was a relatively gentle path, located in a saddle between two mountains, and there were three teams of carriages on the road. They were all merchant caravans, each with hired mercenary guards. Simon walked along the roadside, not getting close to them.
Several wealthy merchants sitting on the carriage boards conversed quietly, mostly complaining that the mages at the Baptism Fortress were insatiably greedy, driving prices down too much, and also charging a toll.
They had to give away many good items for free to pass safely each time, which was much worse than the bandit gangs of the past.
The Troll listened, and his steps quickened slightly.
Reaching the top of the saddle, he looked down. To his left, a stone fortress was faintly visible among the tall fir trees, built into the mountain, though it was quite ruined, with many collapsed sections of its walls.
Walking two or three steps forward, he saw a dead horse lying in the bushes, its black blood intermingling with red berries, as if death was nourishing life.
Indeed, Simon could sense the rich aura of Necromantic energy in the fortress ahead.
The Troll walked forward, down the slope. Ancient Nord Draugr archers stood on the wooden arrow towers of the fortress, and many more were on the walls.
Their icy blue ghost fires glowed faintly, their postures uninhibited. The Necromancers here were not afraid of being troubled by those mad dog-like Vigilants of Stendarr.
However, no need to worry. Since others won't kill you, I will!
The Troll's tattoos glowed faintly, and he crouched, launching a charge.
The ferocious monster attracted the attention of a mage on the city wall. He immediately commanded the surrounding Draugr to fire arrows.
The arrows hissed, mercilessly piercing Simon's greatcoat, only to be blocked by a shield.
The Troll simply cast aside his greatcoat, continuing to run in his fitted, thin linen robe.
In a matter of seconds, Simon had closed in on the wall, took a great leap onto an arrow tower, and with one swing of his axe, chopped a bow-wielding Draugr in two.
Then, he flipped onto the wall and rushed towards the mage.
The mage remained calm in the face of danger, raising his hand to cast an Ice Spike, but it shattered and dissipated upon hitting the shield, failing to even slightly impede the Troll's fierce advance.
Simon's axe strike was merciless, shattering the mage's Ironflesh spell and cutting him in half at the waist, causing him to scream in agony.
At this, the entire fortress was alarmed. The three-story fortress gate swung open, and dozens of Draugr poured out from each level, while Necromancers shouted, asking who had come to seek death.
Simon swiftly cut down the remaining six Draugr on the city wall, then stood high above, letting out a Thunderous War Cry at the cluster of ghostly undead.
The next moment, his Killing Intent Aura unfolded, creating a profound silence, as if thick clouds obscured the sun. Everyone trembled, daring not to move.
A team of merchant carriages at the fortress gate now scrambled in terror, fleeing far away.
The Troll proudly roared, "You rats, you cowardly scoundrels, do you dare to fight me to the death!"
The next second, Simon leaped high, crashing into the pile of Draugr, his great axe sweeping horizontally, sending countless mangled corpses splattering like blooming frost flowers.
"Hoo-huff—" Low, heavy breathing echoed within the dimly lit fortress.
The walls were covered in moss and hanging lichen, a few old animal hides hung, and several piles of bones lay in the corners.
This was the guard's dining room in the fortress prison. Eight Necromancers had retreated here.
The monster had already massacred the entire mage's guild, starting from the top floor of the fortress, and was now searching downwards, little by little.
Among the eight mages, most were young apprentices, being led by an old mage to retreat through a secret passage on the other side of the prison.
Behind them, the scraping sound of metal against stone echoed.
Simon slowly pursued the mages. He was not in a hurry.
He cut down the blocking Draugr, and a mage covering the rear summoned an Ice Atronach.
The Troll wrestled with it for a few seconds, then chopped off its limbs and smashed its chest with the blunt side of his axe, shattering its Core.
"A decent conjuration spell," the Troll chuckled.
The one covering the rear was an old Breton. He continuously drank potions, which helped him resist the effects of the Killing Intent Aura.
"Why are you killing me?"
"You occupied this fortress. Do you know what the leader of the bandit gang here used to be called?"
The old mage narrowed his eyes, "Ha, you've come for revenge, no wonder."
"Answer my question."
"I don't know. They're not worth mentioning. Many even escaped. If you want to find them, you still can."
Simon asked, "Necromancers are usually cold-hearted and ruthless. Why did you stay behind to cover the retreat?"
Studying corpses and manipulating flesh, Necromancers currently have a terrible reputation. Although they were once packaged as a science for healing diseases, the actions of low-level mages are indeed beyond normal human tolerance.
"Strange? How about…" The old mage wanted to say more, but the Troll suddenly flicked his sleeve, and a silver light shot out.
It was the Sleeve Flying Swallow. Its internal mechanism opened in mid-air, and a poisoned needle pierced through the Ironflesh spell.
The mage cried out in pain, then his head was shattered by the Sleeve Flying Swallow, and the Soul Trap activated, a faint blue stream of energy rushing towards the Necromantic energy orb in Simon's hand.
The Troll walked towards the secret passage. Through a warehouse, there was a wooden door, now open.
At the end of the secret passage, a ladder led outside the fortress. Simon's sudden arrival made the last mage who had not yet escaped scream.
"Come up! Quickly!"
"Ignore him, let's go!"
Simon did not let a single one escape. The mages who had already fled to freedom were also pursued, killed, and their souls extracted.
After wandering around the fortress, Simon finally found a tattered diary in a pile of 雜物 on the top floor.
It was written by his mother, Jia'erna Drinks-Blood.
This one started recording from the year before last, containing miscellaneous matters, fortress management, complaints about her husband, and hopes for her child.
The content was intermittent, with half a month or even two months between entries, suggesting she only wrote to vent when the mood struck her.
"Morning Star, 14th, 183, Saturday"
"I'm so fed up with Turiano, that idiot! Besides in bed, he's got no balls. He's like a Troll, damn it, he's worse than a Troll!
I told him not to kill passersby, does he think he's so great? Hahaha, getting beaten half to death, it makes me laugh!"
"Sun's Dawn, 24th, 183, Wednesday"
"My belly is getting bigger and bigger. If this continues, I won't be able to swing a sword. From now on, I'll leave everything to Turiano. Little brat, hurry up and be born.
Hey! I've wanted to play with a kid for a long time. It's even better if I give birth to one myself, then I won't feel bad hitting it."
Simon sat on the stone table on the top floor of the fortress, looking at the clear sky.
He caressed the rough diary in his hand.
Suddenly, he felt an immense sadness.
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