Ghost Knight King's Dungeon Project

Chapter 23 [The King of Warcraft, the Necromancer, and the Twin Moons]

Under the moonlight, the rolling hills were illuminated and appeared white, like sand dunes piled up with silver sand, with a slight coppery tinge, adding to the chill in the air.

The desolate road, like a giant python winding through the hills, meanders across the plains. It is a remnant of the ancient empire's border, where soldiers of the ancient empire once guarded the border a hundred years ago—or rather, pushed the empire's border forward step by step.

As the magical overflow gradually spread, the desolate land, like a living behemoth, devoured this land that was originally habitable. The dust storm destroyed the forests, and the loose soil covered the fields, extending the corruption to this place.

The creaking of cart wheels echoed along the desolate road as two wagons loaded with grain were pulled by horses and escorted by a mercenary guard.

Old Jock sat at the front of the caravan, driving while glancing sideways at the silent guards on either side of the convoy.

They were a group of fierce and skilled lightly armored warriors. Their steps were steady and their formation could barely be described as orderly. However, their weapons were not the standard military swords, spears and shields, but a chaotic and haphazard collection of weapons. The longswords were of various shapes and sizes, and the spears were also of different lengths and shapes.

"Is there something you need, Captain Jock?" The young guard captain looked up.

"Oh, it's nothing, it's nothing." Jock looked away. "I was just thinking, as expected of a famous mercenary group on the border, the Wolf Banner Legion truly lives up to its name."

“You’ve always felt we’re incapable of fulfilling our transport duties, haven’t you?” The young mercenary leader didn’t waste time with old Jock’s platitudes; he simply pointed it out calmly.

"Well, it's not quite right to say that. Commander Ralph, you're really blunt, you don't mince words at all." Old Jock sighed repeatedly. "I didn't mean that. It's not that I'm incompetent or anything, it's just that this shipment is of great importance, and logically, it should be escorted by more professional people."

"We outnumber ordinary adventurer squads and have undergone years of training, making us more adept at formation protection and coordinated combat. While advanced adventurers may be stronger in individual survival combat, we are likely better at long-distance marches and escorting supplies," the young mercenary leader replied. "Where can we find people more professional than us?"

Old Jock hesitated for a moment.

“Imperial professional soldiers,” he replied. “Logically speaking, given the gravity of this matter, the Alliance could easily borrow an Imperial professional soldier guard from the border outposts to transport the supplies.”

“The professional soldiers certainly did a better job than us, but as you know, they refused.” The mercenary leader shook his head. “So we took on the mission.”

“That’s really strange…” Old Jock reached into his merchant hat and scratched his shiny bald head. “The Alliance and the major kingdoms are allies, and their relationship with the Empire is especially close. A few years ago, it was common for the Alliance to use professional Imperial guards to transport important goods. This time, the border post commander actually refused…”

He pondered for a moment, then came to his senses.

“Of course, I don’t mean to say that you and your mercenary group are incompetent. The Wolf Banner Legion is an excellent mercenary group that everyone knows about in the border area,” he added.

"Rest assured, you will see our capabilities," Captain Ralph replied neither humbly nor arrogantly.

The next second, he suddenly raised the crossbow he was holding tightly in his left hand, aimed it at a dark spot in front of him, and pulled the trigger of the hooktooth!

The crossbow bolt pierced the air with a whooshing sound, only to be stopped by the rusty, broken iron shield on the dark side, and fell to the ground with a clatter.

The horse pulling the cart was startled by something lurking in the darkness and suddenly neighed in panic! Old Jock frantically grabbed the horse's neck to calm it down.

"Protect the delivery wagons!" Commander Ralph shouted! The mercenaries quickly moved into formation, weapons facing outwards, and a small number of crossbowmen set up small round shields and hand crossbows, surrounding the two supply wagons in the middle.

clang!clang!clang!
From afar came the piercing clang of metal, like the drums of ancient times. Centuries later, a commander once again sounded the drums that commanded ancient warriors.

Clatter, clatter, clatter—a series of orderly footsteps echoed in the night as dozens of iron shields, interspersed with dozens of spears, formed a deadly wall of iron shields, slowly advancing from the darkness.

The torches burning with beast-repelling smoke illuminated the enemy ahead—rusty swords and shields, tattered armor and spears, and incomplete, crude skeletons. All of this was drawn together by a cold, cruel malice, forming a puppet army symbolizing death and nothingness.

Tap tap, tap tap, the combat boots stomped the ground in unison, like a nightmare march, forming an arc as they quickly surrounded the convoy.

"Necromancers?!" Ralph was taken aback. Why were the necromancers in such a uniform formation? Shouldn't they be hacking and slashing around like headless flies?

The mercenaries instinctively raised their crossbows and fired a volley, but the shots had no effect on the shields protecting them—this was strange, as the undead shouldn't have had the tactical awareness of using shields to protect each other.

Without time to think about the situation, Ralph drew his heavy greatsword from his back, activated his combat skill, and charged forward as a steel-colored shadow!

[Energy Accumulation Impact]!
With a thunderous roar, the greatsword slammed into the shield wall, cleaving an iron shield and the undead holding it in two! The immense impact shattered the undead formation, breaking the undead iron wall into scattered skeletal warrior units.

"Mara, Rosa, Kevin, and I, get rid of these undead quickly!" Ralph shouted. "Before they form another array! Move fast! Everyone else, stay put, guard the truck, and watch out for any other ambushes!"

The three responded and left the group, their longswords, double-edged swords, and heavy flails charging into the scattered undead formation, ready to begin their harvest.

clang!clang!clang!
The eerie clanging of metal echoed once more from somewhere far away.

Accompanied by the ear-piercing sound of a death knell, the defeated skeletal shield bearers and spearmen suddenly retreated. Dozens of skeletal swordsmen who had been hiding behind their shields stepped forward, raising their broken standard military swords in unison. After raising their right arms horizontally, they twirled the swords cleanly and neatly, the rusty blades held diagonally in front of them, surrounding the four in the center of the sword formation. They stood still and assumed their stances, but did not approach.

"What... [Blade Reversal Stance]! Don't move!" Ralph shouted a warning to his teammates, but one of the dual-wielding teammates was quicker and had already raised his blade to stab!
Ding! A clever parry deflected the force, followed by a backhand slash from the skeleton's arm!
"Ah!" The dual-wielding teammate took two steps back, clutching the sword wound on his arm, and his right short sword fell to the ground.

"This is a high-level, complex sword technique! Why would these low-level skeletal warriors, who are everywhere, use something like this?!" the warrior carrying the flail exclaimed in surprise!
"Mara, Kevin, don't move! Rosa, prepare your impact-type combat technique and use the powerful impact to break the necromancer's blade counter stance!" Commander Ralph shouted.

Clang! Clang! The sound of metal clashing, like the Grim Reaper, once again haunted the battlefield.

Ralph was startled. Taking advantage of their encirclement by the swordsmen, the undead shieldbearers and spearmen re-established their encirclement and moved towards the caravan and its escort!

"You don't have any offensive combat skills to break through the formation, so use a defensive formation to protect the caravan!" he shouted. "We're getting out of here right now!"

The mercenaries set up their light shields and crossbows, while the two swordsmen raised their longswords and activated the low-level combat skill [Enhanced Blade], consuming mental energy to strengthen their blades. With a series of slashes, they quickly severed the rusty spearheads of the undead.

Hoo-ga-ga-ga! Hoo-ho-ga-ga-ga! The piercing howl echoed in the night, carrying a strange, breathy sound, like some kind of bird, like a wild wolf, or like some kind of shrill, unpleasant laughter.

From the shadows of night came the low growls of wild beasts. Dozens of slender, small figures moved swiftly like shuttles, passing by the legs of the skeletal warriors surrounding the caravan and quickly breaking into the encirclement.

Instead of attacking these figures, the undead warriors raised their shields to make it easier for the monsters to enter the encirclement from below!

The encirclement of the Necromancer's Iron Shield instantly transformed into a hunting ground for monsters!
"Beaked dogs!" exclaimed a mercenary within the encirclement. "A large number of beaked dogs... no, those are—"

"Ooh ooh ya!" The thing on the dog's back let out a comical scream, "Ooh ya! Ooh ooh ooh ooh ya ya ya ya!"

Some of the beaked dogs had rough leaves fixed to their backs as saddles, while several potato-like rotten root balls bound themselves to the beaked dogs' backs with their roots, holding a bundle of broken blood thorn branches, howling and throwing short spears made of blood thorns!
"Ahhh! Ahhh!" Several mercenaries were caught off guard and were pierced by the blood thorns. The excruciating pain caused by the poison instantly spread throughout their bodies. Although it was not fatal, it forced them to the ground and struggle, temporarily losing their ability to move!

"Caw caw caw caw!" The beaked dogs leaped up, their bizarre heads, resembling a mix of crows and wolves, adorned with razor-sharp beaks, and attacked the mercenaries. Their claws and beaks tore and entangled the mercenaries, and before they knew it, they had shoved them aside from the truck.

Several muzzle-toothed dogs circled around the horses pulling the cart, biting and tearing at them, leaving bloody marks, trying to drive the horses outside the mercenary guard formation.

The horses neighed, startled and trying to run away, but the experienced old Jock held the reins firmly in his hand!
"Don't run, girl! We'll only survive if we're inside the guards' encirclement!" Old Jock gripped the reins tightly with one hand and brandished the whip with the other, struggling to spur the surrounding dogs. "Go! Go!"

Ignoring the heat, he grabbed a handful of smoldering potion charcoal from the torch stand burning with beast-repelling smoke on the roof of the caravan and slammed it into the surrounding pack of beaked dogs!

The scorching hot charcoal and the pungent smell of the beast-repelling potion landed accurately and forcefully in the middle of the pack of beaked hounds. Some hounds had their noses burned by the charcoal and retreated with howls, but soon, as if lashed by a monarch's whip, they roared and charged forward again!
"Go! Go!" Old Jock shook his scalded hand, grabbed a handful of beast-repelling potion charcoal, and pulled hard on the reins, barely managing to stay upright.

With a loud thud, Captain Ralph, panting, used a charged combat technique to shatter the swordsmen's counter-attack formation and led his three subordinates to escape from the encirclement of the skeletal swordsmen.

However, the skeletal swordsmen marched in unison, gripping their sword hilts at an angle, maintaining a reverse stance to block their path and the attacked caravan.

"Rosa, [Holy Light]! Hurry!" Ralph roared.

"I can only use it once a day at most! After using it, I will completely lose my fighting ability!" The warrior carrying the flail hesitated.

"Hurry up! Deal with the undead blocking our way first!" Ralph roared.

"Everyone close your eyes!" The flail warrior threw down his flail, clasped his hands together, and raised them high into the sky!

【Holy Light - Exorcise】.

The next second, a burst of intense white light erupted from between her hands, illuminating the dark battlefield as bright as day in an instant!
In the radiant light, the undead warriors' formation crumbled, transforming them once more into mindless puppets wildly swinging their swords. A dozen or so undead swordsmen closer to the holy light fell straight backward, crashing to their deaths!
The beaked hound and the rotten root ball were stunned by the bright light, their eyes injured, and they howled as they were forced back for a moment. The monarch's will seemed to have been dispelled, to the point that he temporarily lost his fighting spirit.

"Quick! Counterattack! Break them!" Ralph helped the paralyzed flail warrior.

Amidst the mercenaries' shouts, the commandless undead warriors and the beast horde were quickly driven back.

……

"Ah... the internet is not very good."

On a distant hilltop, two figures stood side by side under the moonlight.

The figure in copper armor looked at the pop-up messages on the helmet's UI: "Psionic Insulation Detected" and "Necrocodile Signal Blocked," and muttered to himself.

"Damn holy light..." the black-armored figure muttered, clutching his head. "We have to reduce their number of guards and drive the carriage out of their ranks! Otherwise, the demonic crows responsible for spreading the mold will be killed as soon as they get close!"

"It's alright, it looks like they'll only use it once at most. Besides, the psionic implant is still functioning normally, let's quickly regain control." The bronze-armored figure shook his head, simply sheathed his sword at his waist, raised his shield, clenched his right fist, and slammed it hard against the shield!

tom!tom!tom!
The more muffled and penetrating toll of the bronze funeral bells rang out again, stronger and louder than before, echoing in the bronze moonlight!
Clatter! The undead, now scattered like sand, snapped to attention, while the skeletal shield guards, who had just been dispersed, once again formed a shield wall! The skeletal swordsmen gripped their swords in one hand, holding their rusty broken blades in front of their helmets, and with the sword-wielding techniques of master swordsmen, they once again assumed a counter-blade stance!

The beaked hounds have regrouped! Meanwhile, somehow, the battlefield has been surrounded by tumbleweeds! The root balls drop their tumbleweeds, letting out comical squeals!

"Ooh ooh ooh ooh ya!" A rotten root ball wearing a bronze bell-shaped helmet emerged from the tumbleweed, raising a small spear in its claws and shouting, "Ooh ya!" "Ooh ya!" the rotten root balls echoed in unison, simultaneously hurling bloodthorn spears into the encirclement!

For a moment, screams filled the air.

Why again? Ralph gasped for breath, shoving the paralyzed flail warrior into the hands of the other two mercenaries behind him. He then activated his combat skill [Foot Focus], dodged past the skeletal swordsmen, and headed toward the convoy!
Clang! A rusty longsword suddenly appeared in front of him.

Ralph didn't stop, focusing his movements and quickly dodging, intending to bypass the interception. However, the rusty iron sword, with astonishing speed, once again blocked his path.

He looked up and met the gaze of the skeletal swordsman in front of him, who was wearing a rusty bronze bell-shaped helmet.

This necromancer also possesses the combat skill [Focus on Footwork]. Ralph frantically swung his heavy sword, but the opponent dodged it.

A flash of cold light appeared on the rusty iron!
Clang! Clang! Clang! Clang! Clang! Clang! A series of metallic clanging sounds, as dense as popping beans, rang out! Ralph struggled to parry the series of frenzied, armor-piercing thrusts with the heavy blade! The hilt trembled violently, almost slipping from his grasp!

[Precise Combo]! This necromancer possesses the combat skills of a high-level swordsman!

His stamina was almost depleted... Ralph tried to evade the opponent's interception, but the silent, rusty bronze bell-shaped helmet always accurately blocked his way. However, he no longer used offensive combat techniques, but simply used that damned [Blade Counter Stance] and activated [Foot Focus], swaying left and right to block his way.

The neighing of horses rang out not far away! Under Old Jock's forceful control, the biting of the muzzle hounds failed to frighten the horses. But a rotten root ball wearing a rusty copper helmet, somehow managed to sneak up under the carriage seat on its short legs and viciously jabbed the horse's rump twice with its bloodthorn dagger!

The horses pulling the cart were driven out of control by the excruciating pain from the Bloodthorn poison!

Old Jock was grabbed by the shoulder by a skeletal gunner and pulled off the front of the vehicle.

Thump! Thump! The sound of metal fists pounding shields echoed across the battlefield.

The skeletal spearman did not harm old Jock; he simply gripped the spear shaft tightly, trapping him firmly in his cold embrace.

The two horses, harassed by the muzzle-toothed dogs, dragged the wagon full of grain sacks out of the encirclement!
The undead miraculously moved to make way for the frightened horses and caravan! They then quickly filled the gap in the encirclement, intercepting the mercenaries and caravan workers who were trying to rescue them.

Whoosh! In the strong wind of the behemoth's flapping wings, the moonlight was briefly obscured by its wings! A dragon-eagle swooped down from the sky, spread its enormous wings, and screech as it intercepted the horses. It tore the carriage canopy with its giant claws and grabbed at the grain sacks, but it seemed unable to lift them, only managing to cut seven or eight rips in the surface of the grain sacks.

"Fire the crossbow bolts! Repel the dragon vultures!" Ralph roared as he tried to shake off the bronze-helmeted skeletal swordsman in front of him.

Seven or eight arrows were shot out in a scattered manner, but they were knocked away by the dragon vulture's wing!

"We've run out of crossbow bolts!" The mercenary crossbowmen were barely managing to fend off the harassment from the beaked hounds and rotten root balls with their small round shields.

A small raven peeked out from among the fluffy feathers on the dragon-flying eagle's chest. Using the shadow of the dragon-flying eagle's wings, it fluttered down onto the torn grain sacks, pecked at the fungal fragments in its claws into small pieces, stuffed a little into each sack, tilted its head to examine them for a moment, then fluttered back onto the dragon-flying eagle and burrowed back into the pile of feathers on its chest.

Thump! Thump!
The undead army's formation suddenly crumbled, and the pack of beaked hounds and dragon vultures lost their will to fight and turned to flee.

The battlefield situation reversed instantly! The shield guards lost their unified direction and were quickly defeated by the mercenaries, scattered into a pile of broken bones.

The skeletal swordsmen retreated, their combat skills were a mess, but their timing and direction of use were chaotic. They were haphazardly parried and killed one by one from behind by the mercenaries.

The skeletal spearman who was controlling Old Jock released him, and the arriving mercenary slashed off his skull with a single sword strike.

The dogs howled in strange, croaking sounds and darted away from people's legs, not forgetting to snatch the rotten root ball wearing a bronze helmet from under the car as they went.

The skeletal swordsman, wearing a rusty bronze bell-shaped helmet, twirled his sword like a grandmaster, sheathed his rusty iron sword, and silently retreated into the darkness, leaving behind only a mess.

"Stop the horses...Quick, check the cargo!" Ralph, exhausted, leaned on his heavy sword, barely managing to keep himself upright.

"The dragon vulture seems unable to lift the grain sack... it's just torn." The caravan crew members quickly stepped forward to soothe the horses, poured the antidote for the bloodthorn toxin into their mouths, and checked the carriages.

With the mercenaries no longer harassed by the beaked hounds, they finally had a moment to catch their breath, and were able to retrieve healing potions and antidotes to quickly treat each other.

Ralph dropped his heavy sword and stumbled toward old Jock, helping him to his feet.

"Are you injured?" he sighed. "I'm sorry, perhaps we are indeed not as good as Imperial professional soldiers."

“No, no…it’s alright, young Commander Ralph.” Old Jock swayed as he struggled to his feet, hurried to the caravan, and stretched out his hand, burned by the embers, to rummage through and inspect the food sacks. “It’s just a little torn…it’s alright. The goods are intact.”

He was relieved.

"You ultimately repelled the undead and the monster horde—the vital supplies weren't taken." Old Jock leaned against the railing of the caravan, half-slumped in the vehicle. "Thank you, Wolf Banner Mercenary Group, you live up to your reputation."

“Uh…” Ralph hesitated for a moment, intending to point out a few suspicious points, wanting to tell Old Jock that these undead were a bit strange: they possessed advanced swordsmanship skills, inexplicably learned to form formations, and then inexplicably lost the ability to form formations. There were also powerful elite swordsmen in bronze helmets, who even knew three different swordsmanship skills.

Moreover... he recalled the metallic clanging echoing across the battlefield, like the commander's war drums, the legion's tactics changing with each clang.

“Yes.” He didn’t point it out in the end, he just nodded.

The Wolf Banner Mercenary Group needs a good reputation. Strange encounters, failed attempts at combat, and false rumors... all of these can negatively impact the mercenary group's business.

Moreover, the goods were indeed not lost—all thanks to the mercenaries' desperate fighting.

The couriers, still shaken, managed to mend the torn grain sacks with rags and ropes, and soon embarked on their transport journey again.

The writing on the cloth bag, torn by the eagle's claws, is still clearly visible:

[Transporting grain to the Kanas Plain, to the Demon King Valak's underground city].

……

Beast Bone Hill, ruins of an ancient empire's beacon tower, and a bandit camp.

The other teammates had already rested. Randall sat alone by the fire, keeping watch, a charcoal pencil dangling from his mouth, as he jotted down the lessons learned from the mission in his notebook.

He suddenly looked up and instinctively reached for the hunting bow beside him.

After seeing the two heavily armored figures at the camp entrance, Randall breathed a sigh of relief and put down his hunting bow.

"Good evening, monk... how did it go?" Rondar asked instinctively.

"What?!" Talia shuddered, her left hand's claw-shaped gauntlet twitching involuntarily, but Samael hurriedly reached out and grabbed it.

“Uh… I mean, patrol.” Randall snapped out of his daze and looked at Samael holding Talia’s hand.

"Things went fairly smoothly... The moonlight is nice tonight," Samael replied, waving his hands behind Talia's back to signal the idiot captain to stop spouting nonsense. If you keep spouting off things that are easily misunderstood, you'll easily get your guts ripped out by the Demon King's claws!

“Oh! That’s good… Please, both of you.” Rondar noticed the Samo monk’s actions, put away his gossipy and amused thoughts, and coughed to shut up.

Talia snorted and headed toward the stables behind the ruins, turning back to wave to Samael as she reached the corner.

"What are you standing there for?" she asked. "A quiet place, for post-war prayers."

"Oh, here I come!" Samael trotted after him, unaware of the strange smile on Randall's face as if he were watching a couple.

Two warhorses in the stable were dozing off while standing. Samael had once envied this ability to sleep standing up when he was in high school; if he was late in the morning, he could stand and sleep as punishment.

Talia leaned against the stable, her elbows resting on the railing, standing quietly in the moonlight.

The moonlight outlined the curves of her slender waist in her armor, the lines flowing smoothly, the edges gleaming with moonlight, as beautiful as the eyebrows of distant mountains.

"Have you found anything strange again?" Samael asked in a low voice. "Should we review this again? Or make some other... plan?"

Talia gently shook her head.

"What excuse did you give that sanitation worker?" she asked in a low voice.

“Go out on patrol,” Samael answered hesitantly. “Oh, Randall was supposed to come along, but I… I said something like the moon was particularly beautiful tonight, and we should go out to see it. So Randall didn’t come…”

Talia chuckled softly. She rose from the stable, grabbed Samael by the shoulders, and pulled him close. Their helmets touched forehead to forehead, and the metallic vibrations sent a low, husky sound through her:
“Okay,” she said. “I don’t hate it.”

"What?" Samael was stunned. In his previous life, he had spent the first half of his life with computer games, and barring any terrible accidents like time travel, he planned to spend the second half with them.

“The moon.” Talia gently released him, skipping away like a pony. “The moon is so beautiful.”

The two bronze moons shone silently in the sky, touching and half-attached to each other. The elven stargazers called them "Rildevan-Aiva"—a complex and beautiful Elvish term that translates directly as "the eyes of lovers."

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(End of this chapter)