Chapter 30

After receiving the gatekeeper's unsettling revelation, Astaroth felt a surge of apprehension course through his veins. Determined to avoid any unwarranted attention, he resolved to keep a low profile, his heart pounding with the urgency of the moment. The very notion of the goddesses intervening filled the demon king with a bone-chilling dread, for he knew all too well that their intervention now could herald his ultimate demise.

Ravenspire was the name of the town that Astaroth embarked on a journey to. It had been meticulously constructed as an integral part of Castle Clovershire, its sprawling streets intertwined with the ancient fortress. The town bustled with constant activity, as a myriad of merchants flocked to its gates to engage in lively trade and prosperous ventures. Within its walls, several guilds had found their home, their presence ensuring that the steady stream of visitors from neighboring countries could acquire the aid of skilled hands or convey important messages for their businesses.

As Astaroth entered the gates of Ravenspire, he was immediately enveloped by the vibrant atmosphere. The scent of exotic spices mingled in the air, beckoning him towards the bustling marketplace where merchants hawked their wares with fervor. Colorful stalls adorned with luxurious fabrics and gleaming jewels stretched as far as the eye could see, casting a spellbinding aura over the town.

Beyond the market square, hidden within the labyrinthine streets, Astaroth discovered the guilds that held the secrets of Ravenspire. The Guild of Shadows, known for their stealth and agility, practiced their enigmatic arts in the dimly lit corners, their presence shrouded in mystery. The Guild of Artificers, masters of craftsmanship, showcased their ingenious inventions, each creation more awe-inspiring than the last. And in the Guild of Messengers, swift-footed couriers awaited their next mission, ready to embark on perilous journeys to deliver urgent missives to distant lands.

Amidst the constant comings and goings of visitors, Astaroth sensed an undercurrent of intrigue and hidden agendas. Rumors whispered of clandestine dealings, secret alliances, and hidden treasures concealed within the very heart of Ravenspire. It was a town alive with possibilities, where fortunes could be made or lost, and where heroes and villains alike would emerge from the shadows.

As Astaroth stealthily navigated the shadowed streets of the town, an eerie silence settled like a heavy shroud, punctuated only by the haunting hoots of an owl in the distance. The dimly lit houses loomed ominously, their facades seeming to whisper cryptic secrets as he glided past. Tattered curtains adorned the windows, fluttering like ethereal phantoms, as if trying to communicate with him from beyond the mortal realm. Astaroth, now dressed for adventure, donned a worn leather armor and securely fastened his trusty sword to his waist. He had stowed away his mystical robe in the hidden depths of his subspace, reserving its powers for a dire moment yet to come.

Led by instinct, Astaroth cautiously approached a quaint little house tucked away at the end of a desolate street, far removed from the bustling presence of traders and townsfolk. This hidden enclave remained a secret to most, concealed from the prying eyes of ordinary citizens. The house, in a state of disrepair, exuded an eerie aura. It boasted just a single window, but its surface was veiled in a thick layer of dust, rendering it impenetrable to curious onlookers.

As he cautiously approached the dilapidated house, the creaking door swung open, revealing a figure emerging with haste. The man swiftly knelt before him, his voice filled with reverence. "My Lord, at long last, you have arrived in Arcania. This humble servant has anxiously awaited your presence for countless years."

"Lazarus Dravenwood, what an astonishing revelation! I believed you perished in the treacherous Eldoria." Astaroth's expression shifts from surprise to sheer disbelief as he realizes he is not the sole soul transported to Arcania after death. Standing before him is none other than Lazarus Dravenwood, the vampire lord who had faithfully served him for countless years until being ruthlessly slain by the hero party.

Lazarus turned his face up to gaze at the formidable Demon King. His jet-black hair was combed back, revealing his pointed ears that hinted at his otherworldly heritage. Despite his youthful appearance, Lazarus possessed an air of sophistication, resembling a wealthy noble.

"My lord," Lazarus spoke through gritted teeth, his anger still smoldering from his untimely demise at the hands of the hero. "I did die during the vicious onslaught of the hero's attacks. However, as my soul traversed into the realm of the gatekeeper, a remarkable encounter unfolded. Instead of crushing my essence and bringing about eternal demise, he transported me to the realm of Arcania, bidding me to await your triumphant return."

"How long have you waited in this Arcania, Lazarus? It wasn't that long ago that you died, and the hero reached my castle less than a year after your death," The demon king Astaroth questioned Lazarus, his voice laced with intrigue.

"My lord, let's speak inside my humble abode," Lazarus said with reverence, guiding Astaroth into his dwelling. As they entered, the stark contrast between the exterior and interior of the house was astounding. The spaciousness within seemed to defy logic, expanding at least fiftyfold beyond its modest appearance. Lazarus led his esteemed master into the grand hall, ensuring he was bestowed with the most regal seat, while carefully pouring a fragrant cup of tea.

"My lord," Lazarus replied, his voice filled with a mix of weariness and awe, "when I was awakened in this cursed land, Castle Cloveshire was not built yet and there was no king in Yosnad, even Yosnad was not called Yosnad. It had been a staggering eight thousand three hundred and twenty-five years." Lazarus gave a bitter laugh, if he had not been a vampire he would have died a long time ago.

The Demon King's eyes widened in disbelief as he realized the vast difference in time between the hero's journey to the castle and Lazarus's enduring wait in Arcania. "Lazarus," the Demon King exclaimed, his voice tinged with both surprise and curiosity. "You waited for an eternity, how could you be certain that I would appear before you? This gatekeeper you mentioned, possesses an enigmatic nature. We must be cautious of her motives. To bring you here and assign you the task of waiting for me..."

"My lord, the gatekeeper did tell me that you will return when the time comes and the gatekeeper did say it will be a long wait. As Lazarus stood before the imposing figure of his master he felt a sense of relief. The sheer magnitude of time he had endured, the endless days and sleepless nights in the desolate realm of Arcania, seemed like an eternity. His determination had been tested to its very limits, his hope flickering like a feeble candle in the darkness. But now his master is back just like the gatekeeper says.

"But master… why make you think the gatekeeper is female, even with my vampiric eyes I could not see through the shroud over the gatekeeper."

"Who am I, Lazarus, have you forgotten my titles and my powers?"

"You, my lord, are Astaroth, the Demon King of Eldoria, the embodiment of sheer power within the depths of Hell. You command an awe-inspiring legion of forty demons, unmatched in their strength. Your dominion knows no bounds, as you possess the ability to sway hearts with a seductive prowess unlike any other. Those who pledge their loyalty to you are rewarded with immeasurable wealth, unrivaled power, and unparalleled knowledge." Lazarus bowed reverently, his voice echoing with unwavering loyalty as he unveiled the truth about his formidable master. In awe, he grasped the understanding that nothing could escape the piercing gaze of his master's omnipotence, for no secret could remain concealed within the grasp of his immense power.

"Good that you remembered Lazarus after spending eight thousand years here, or I will need to remind you of my powers again. Now tell me, what are you doing here."

"My lord, I have been getting ready for your arrival since eight thousand years ago."

Lazarus, sensing the tension and seeking to put his lord at ease, began to recount tales of his past adventures on how he had to start from scratch and slowly build his wealth and network. He had not met the gatekeeper ever since he arrived in Arcania. Lazarus spoke with passion and eloquence, his words painting vivid pictures of thrilling escapades and narrow escapes.

As Lazarus continued his enthralling narrative, the aroma of the tea wafted through the air, tantalizing Astaroth's senses. The tea itself possessed a unique blend of flavors, a harmonious combination of floral notes and earthy undertones that awakened the taste buds and invigorated the soul. Each sip brought a surge of warmth, infusing Astaroth with renewed energy and a sense of camaraderie.

"Lazarus, I extend my deepest gratitude for your unwavering dedication and tireless efforts. It has been an arduous journey, toiling alone and rebuilding from the ground up. Rest assured, your loyalty shall be duly rewarded when the opportune moment arrives. However, our focus must now shift towards devising our path forward. While I have contemplated this perplexing situation, it demands further observation."

Astaroth's gaze fixed upon Lazarus, the ancient vampire who had faithfully served him for countless centuries. The sensation of encountering an old comrade in this unfamiliar realm stirred profound emotions within him. A mixture of nostalgia and curiosity swirled in Astaroth's mind, as he contemplated the enigmatic circumstances that lay ahead.