"We'll have them sent back to Tir Envar, the Holy City for treatment, a humble suggestion of mine, Father," Maniard said. Lawrence looked at Maniard and observed through the user interface that his mana just seemed to be depleted. However, Lawrence was not about to start pulling medicine for everyone he met. Especially not if the Crusader had earlier attempted to grab him.

"Good, you go on over to Marquis Van Shelk and have him be responsible for the refugees while sending a messenger bird to Tir Envar-" Karl said before Lawrence coughed politely. Lawrence's status was now that of the saviour of them all, so they all paused to listen what he had to say.

"These twenty or so people... I don't think sending one injured man at the head of them on foot is a good idea," Lawrence pointed out. The survivors consisted of fit, healthy men, elderly men and women or young children. Having such a group bundle together at the head of a crusader who was exhausted sounded like a horrible idea. Leaving the undead aside, the pace that they travel on will be far too slow. Lawrence and gang have left their horses outside.

"I propose we clear the fortress, then Maniard here can take our horse to get help from Marquis Van Shelk, then all of you can hold out here, which makes more sense," Lawrence suggested, before moving away to join Leviathan and Craig, who was leaning against the wall, as if watching some form of spectacle, as the holy men and woman including Dunkirk huddled together to discuss as Lawrence left.

"Oi, Leviathan, anything worthwhile in this godforsaken place?" Craig asked and Leviathan laughed.

"You think that the crusaders and paladins, as well as sailors, left anything of value in this place? Maybe the first two will miss something, but definitely not the sailors. Didn't you notice? The gold linings on pillars were carved out as well," Leviathan said, tapping the pillar that they were leaning on. Now that Lawrence took a closer look, it was indeed the case.

"I'm going to go around, stretch my legs and take in the sights," Lawrence said, leaving the courtyard. Past the courtyard was a series of corridors and rooms, which Lawrence pushed open with the tip of his blade or his shield, just in case anything jumped out. They seemed like either bedroom, which was ransacked and left to rot or storerooms with nothing but overturned baskets and containers as if they have been looted thoroughly.

"Mhm, it does seem a pity..." Lawrence mumbled as he looked around. The walls were stained brown or red, but you could tell they were polished marble at their peak, which was undoubtedly an expensive material for construction. There was an old saying, the elderly create the wealth, the second generation preserves it and the third squanders it. Perhaps the undead Marquis Donovan was the one who had the dubious honour of squandering it.

"A pity, isn't it?"

Lawrence felt a cold wind wash over him and in alarm, he turned- Why did the combat system not warn him!? Was it a stronger--

Lawrence came face to face with a blue wisp, a wisp of an old man with hair that was combed back, large eyes, a crooked nose and a thin lip, with a scar right above his right eyebrow. He was wearing a noble's clothes, with a large fur cape.

"Wait, wait! I mean you no harm!" the wisp cried out as Lawrence raised his sword.

Lawrence took a close look at the interface and realized why the combat system was not alarmed. The name was familiar.

"You are... Marquis Donovan?" Lawrence asked and the old man nodded.

"Marquis Cregar Donovan please, not the bastard of my son that failed the family," the wisp coughed and Lawrence lowered his sword but he did not sheath it.

"By killing my son, you have released a great many spirits and sent them on their way, for that, as Marquis of Altis, I thank you," Marquis Cregar Donovan bowed, and Lawrence hastily returned the bow. As dead as he was, the former Marquis sounded like a great man.

"Then why have you not..." Lawrence asked and Marquis Donovan sighed.

"There is something the world needs to know first, my bastard son was not entirely responsible for his madness, if you will follow me please, Lawrence Carstein," Marquis Donovan said, before walking at a pace of that of an old man and Lawrence trailing behind him.

"My great-grandfather built this fortress to last a million years, it was supposed to be the pinnacle of the House Donovan, it was supposed to be a fortress where the names of the ancestors of the house was celebrated. It was beautiful when I was alive, but now..." Marquis Donovan sighed.

They ascended a flight of stairs, up and observation tower, past a crumbling corridor and reached a large oaken door which was badly charred.

Lawrence opened the door and a large amount of dust was unsettled, causing Lawrence to cough and wheeze.

"This... However... Was supposed to be my family's greatest accomplishment. The Library of the Eternals," Marquis Donovan smiled sadly, looking at the large portrait that was still hanging on the wall. It seemed to be a fading family portrait of someone.

"The founding father of House Donovan was a lover of books and scrolls. He kept everything he had here. This was supposed to be the place where knowledge can be found should mankind plunge itself backwards and sleepwalk into oblivion,"

However, what Lawrence saw was a mess, books ripped apart, charred books, as if someone had deliberately set the library ablaze.

"My son and that filthy Butcher got their knowledge from a book I confiscated, true, but all this wisdom... A massive waste," Marquis Donovan sighed, moving ahead and beckoning for Lawrence to follow him. They moved past rows of toppled bookshelves, reaching a corner.

"Push it, please," Marquis Donovan said and Lawrence reached his shield out, giving the corner wall a good shove. What had been in the corner sank in, grinding against the floor as it is slowly pushed open, revealing a large room.

"Dancing Lights..." Lawrence muttered and four jets of light shot out from his hand, turning into orbs that lit the room. What greeted him was a disgusting combination of occultic symbols on the floor, walls as well as what seemed to be bone remains of a large group of people.

"This is where it all began, This was where The Devils' Advocate changed my son," the Marquis lamented and Lawrence however, was confused about something.

"Is the Butcher involved in this as well?" Lawrence asked and the Marquis snorted.

"He was the leader of the Devils' Advocate."