The morning mist covered the bright sky with a veil of tulle, and Djeru walked briskly through the gravel road, although he was a dwarf, his feet were fast enough, his low-top cloth boots made a low noise when they stepped on the stones frozen by the bitter cold, the hilt of his sword wrapped in sackcloth slapped rhythmically against his crotch, the cold wind blowing from the White Ridge Mountains ran down the neckline of his clothes and into his neck, Djeru's snort turned into a white mist in the cold air.

Djeru used his hands to break the bushes that stood in his way, and the thorns that grew in the snow were as hard as stones.

It was so inaccessible that he couldn't even see a few birds in the sky, and Djeru remembered the route on the map in his mind, and after a long night of rapid travel, he was far away from the city of Godcast, the capital of the United Kingdom of Lothar, and there was no footprint of any creature other than himself on the snow on the side of the road.

The effect of the night vision potion has passed, and Djeru still has that strange smell in his mouth, not long ago, Djeru has just poured another potion to eliminate fatigue and increase physical strength, now is not the time to rest, Djeru continues to rush forward without pausing.

An expected stream, the riverbed, to be exact, split the mountain path in two, and the dwarven eye quickly swept over the parched riverbed, which was littered with broken thorns and decaying leaves, and the thorns on the other side of the riverbed grew more lush, and the hard rhizomes almost covered the already narrow path, like tentacles of the devil in hell.

Djeru crossed the riverbed with ease, and if the map was correct, the seemingly uninhabited path was a key landmark of his trip.

Djeru drew a sharp short knife from his waist and swung it vigorously at the dense thorn bushes, the carefully forged weapons of the dwarven tribes, cutting the hard branches in three or two blows, and two short, strange hoarse cries were made in the thorn bushes, and the owner of the sound quickly disappeared to the surface.

Djeru had no intention of disturbing the natives of these mountains, his diminutive size allowed him to crawl through the trees.

On the other side of the riverbed was a steep downward slope, and the groundwater that bubbled up from under the mountain was frozen into solid ice by the cold current, and some dark rocks were drilled out of the ice, which was exactly where Djeru would settle.

Many places in the White Ridge Mountains were virgin lands that had not been explored by humans and dwarves, and Djeru pierced his short knife into the crevices of the rocks next to him, and slowly touched the bottom of the steep slope with his feet on the rocks.

Djeru's boots made a clicking sound on the ice, and soon Djeru came to the bottom of the steep slope, the bottom of the valley, and Djeru was surprised to see a corpse.

The corpse was wearing a thick woolen coat, gray sheepskin pants on the lower body, and the limbs of the body were frozen pale, next to the corpse, two gray-haired wolves were licking the corpse's face with their tongues.

Djeru coughed softly, removed the scabbard from his waist, and untied the sackcloth wrapped around it.

The eyes of the two beasts immediately shifted to Djeru's, and the beasts let out a low roar or two in their throats, but Djeru ignored their warnings, and the sharp blades pulled out of their scabbards with a crisp clang.

As if they had heard the order, the two beasts turned around and ran straight into the depths of the valley, but they ran unhurriedly, looking back at the dwarf from time to time, Djeru had no intention of chasing and killing, and walked quickly to the corpse with the blade in one hand and the scabbard in the other.

The owner of the corpse was a woman, but her exposed left arm was missing, half of her right arm was missing, and the woman's left foot was even slightly deformed. Djeru turned the woman's corpse over, cut the thick woolen collar with the blade of his sword, and gently pulled it down - the corpse did not need to be examined carefully, the shoulder and back were thickly congealed with dark red blood clots, the fatal wound was a slender wound in the neck, the two wolves were clearly not the murderers of the dwarven woman.

Djeru quickly noticed the edge of the pocket of the woman's sheepskin pants, and a small leather purse peeking out of the corner, Djeru thrust the blade upside down in the ice next to him, and with a gesture of his hands together, he escaped from the contents of the corpse's pocket.

A leather purse, a square gray flint, and a short folding knife forged from animal bone and fine iron—apparently from a dwarf. Djeru opened his wallet, and a square piece of parchment folded together fell out.

Djeru took a deep breath, as the most elite warrior of the dwarven tribe, he was good at more than just lifting a war hammer to smash the enemy's head, he already had a rough recreation of the previous scene in his mind.

The dwarven woman had come from the depths of the valley, and there had been a lot of broken ice in front of her, and she tried to climb up the frozen steep slope, but she fell from it because of the attack.

But Djeru wondered who had killed her—the wound on the woman's neck, apparently a sword wound, and a one-hit killing.

Djeru took a deep breath, put his sword aside, and plunged the short knife he carried with him into the woman's thick sheepskin coat, slicing through the woman's clothes with a sharp slit.

When he saw the wound on the woman's back, he couldn't help but feel a thrill all over his body.

Dense wounds, like spider webs, were all over the woman's back, and many of the wounds had already come out of thick water, and in severe cases, they were swollen and purple, like after being whipped with a leather whip, and there were traces left by a knife. Before this, women must have suffered a lot of inhuman treatment.

Djeru slowly spread out the parchment left on the woman's corpse.

"Is this, the map?" Djeru's eyes narrowed slightly, he did not lack a detailed map of the area around the White Ridge Mountains, in his mind, he had even recorded the specific route of his trip, this valley was the path he had to pass, the map that this dwarf woman carried, even more detailed than his own, and in some places on the map, there were also special patterns of dangerous beasts.

Djeru's gaze slowly moved across the map, and soon he spotted a very small geographical name, and the muscles on Djeru's face twitched violently, and even the beard on his chin trembled slightly.

There was a narrow path leading to here, the path on the map, located below the valley, and there were wild beasts here, and at the end of the path, the handwriting on the map was a little blurry, but Djeru could still make out the dwarven writing on it—

Valsac Prison.