Ghost Knight King's Dungeon Project

Chapter 68 [The Black Sheep]

The sky over Gold Rush City was always gray and heavy, shrouded in a thick haze drifting from the Plains of Bones. The clouds, like the gray down of mold, layered upon layered over the long-dead world.

Excrement, vomit, and phlegm clung to the filthy streets, piled haphazardly in corners, left unattended. Before they could dry, they were quickly covered with new filth, eventually forming a thick, slippery blanket of fecal brown, bile green, murky yellow, and streaks of blood, creating a breeding ground for disease.

Some unorthodox scholars have proposed restricting adventurers' hunting of low-level scavenging monsters in border areas, arguing against indiscriminate killing for resource scavenging to prevent disruption of the monster ecosystem's balance. They've even suggested intentionally introducing low-level scavenging monsters into captivity as waste collectors and cleaners, such as the Filthy Eater or the Rotten Root Orb.

However, all these proposals were rejected on the grounds that Warcraft was uncontrollable. But all the scholars knew that this was just an excuse.

The Academy of Lunos in the Kingdom of Florence has developed a way to tame magical beasts. In that magnificent academy, which is the size of a city-state of sages, scholars have collaborated with elves skilled in modifying and controlling creatures, and have successfully developed magical rune devices and potion-making products that can render ferocious magical beasts rich in magic harmless, turning them into docile tools and livestock.

The only problem is that doing so requires a lot of financial resources.

The league certainly doesn't lack money.

But the League has no shortage of adventurers than money.

Spending a fortune to bring in domesticated monster cleaners for the sake of a few hundred or a few thousand dispensable adventurer lives is clearly not a worthwhile investment.

These unorthodox scholars were previously advocating for "stopping the use of rusted copper wood as a cheap building material" and that "the dust from the cross-section of rusted copper wood is harmful to health."

Are you kidding me? For just 6 Erdrick silver coins, you can hire a local novice adventurer to chop down a whole bunch of rusted copper trees.

Are we really going to spend a dozen heavy bags of gold coins to transport the finest redwood from the forests and elven territories within the empire to build mansions for these adventurers who are made up of vagrants and rogues?

Adventure is a business; you can't survive without careful planning. McGraw is a man who likes to calculate, a habit he developed during his adventures. Some call him stingy, miserly, and greedy, and he accepts it.

He lazily reached out and picked up a large wooden box inlaid with silver decorations from the mahogany wine rack next to him.

Opening the dusty box, you find a bottle of fine aged wine filled with soft cotton.

The thick, emerald-green glass bottle was covered in dust and slag, and a large bronze plaque was affixed to it, engraved with the year and the dwarven emblem, and the winemaker's signature, "Eurok of Mazil-Kazzak (Blackstone Castle)," written in square-headed dwarven script. Through the pale green, translucent glass, a blood-red color seeped into the dusty bottle.

It is a famous dwarf red wine called "Hematite"—naming things they like after rocks and minerals is a custom among dwarves. This popular dwarf red wine is made from strawberries, grapes, pigtail grass, and red beans. After steaming, fermentation, and sun-drying, the final wine is deep red in color, with a silky texture like diluted jam and syrup. It is crisp on the palate, but the aftertaste is mellow and comparable to strong liquor.

Although the Erdrik Empire and the Dwarven Fortress had a fairly good relationship, the wine was still in short supply on the market—after all, the dwarves drank wine like water and couldn't store their own brewed wine.

Although the dwarves' cellars are piled high with barrels and bottles, they usually drink most of them while mining and smelting. The remaining half is given to good friends. Finally, they will find a few bottles of not-so-good wine in the corner of the warehouse full of slag, and then reluctantly tilt their heads back and gulp it down while asking indistinctly if anyone wants to buy it.

This has resulted in dwarven wine always being a luxury item in human kingdoms, costing a high price even at auction houses in the Erdrik Empire.

McGraw wiped the slag and dust off the wine bottle with a handkerchief, then took out a gold-inlaid ebony knife from his pocket with the finger bearing the Alliance signet ring and slowly pried open the cork.

In the center of the room stood a magnificent desk made of heavy oak, adorned with beautiful brass and rivets. The desk was so large that it could almost fit two people. On its surface were piles of documents and daggers, along with a row of exquisite little wine glasses.

He selected two glasses, picked one up, and poured himself a small glass of blood-red liquid.

He held a small glass of red wine in his fingers, which bore the Alliance's seal, and stood at the window on the third floor of the Alliance Hall in Gold Rush City, looking down at the filthy streets below.

As a level 13 adventurer, the de facto controller of the Alliance's Gold Rush City, and an Alliance executive officer, McGraw is quite satisfied with his current life.

After all, the most important thing for an adventurer is contentment. Having spent a lifetime struggling and carefully managing his finances in the desolate demon realm, and now, in his forties, riddled with injuries and illnesses, shouldn't he be able to enjoy life a little?

The Alliance outpost in Gold Rush City is a tall building, but very little of it is actually open to the public; only the quest hall on the first floor, which handles work for adventurers, is open to the public.

The other areas on the first floor of the Alliance base are the living quarters for the Alliance's junior clerical staff, the second floor is the offices and temporary document storage area for senior personnel, and the third floor is the exclusive living quarters and offices for the Alliance executives.

Behind the stronghold is a series of buildings that house the Alliance guards, as well as the mages, potion makers, and scholars who cooperate with the Alliance. Underneath these buildings, a large number of people are on duty, running magic circles to repel monsters year-round, and storing piles of adventurer documents, batches of potions, and enchanted materials.

McGraw gazed out the window, his eyes sweeping across the dilapidated rooftops of Gold Rush City and fixed on the distant, cloud-shrouded Heart Plains.

Like a moldy corpse, it was truly disgusting to look at. McGraw muttered. If only he could go to an Alliance outpost with a better environment... Ironforge in the north borders the dwarven Blackrock Fortress; if he were an Alliance executive officer there, buying and drinking alcohol would be much more convenient.

He had no other hobbies but loved alcohol. It was a pity that his two dwarf friends, who had teamed up with him back in the day, were both dead, having died in the southern Creek Mountains.

Everyone else died, only he returned alive. He couldn't remember how he received the bounty, how he was commended, how he was promoted, how he was appointed as a high-ranking executive officer of the alliance—it was all a blur.

Anyway... he used to be a teetotaler, but after retiring, he gradually started drinking, and the more he drank, the more he drank.

I especially love Dwarf Red Wine; a small glass of it will make me fall into a deep sleep and I won't be thinking about the past anymore.

He didn't take a single coin of the bounty money from those missions; he distributed it all to his teammates' families. If he had taken a portion of the bounty back then, he'd probably be a millionaire by now, right? He wouldn't have to keep working so hard for the league, would he? McGraw thought.

Boom boom boom!
Just as he was holding the small wine glass, about to bring it to his lips, while staring blankly at the night view through the window, there was a loud knock on the wooden door of the executive officer's room.

"Please come in." McGraw put down his small wine glass and said casually, "The door isn't locked."

The door creaked open.

McGraw turned his head slightly, and for a moment he thought a huge hunting dog was standing in the doorway.

A tall figure wearing a hound mask was looming in the doorway. He was clad in chainmail, with his breastplate and shoulder armor made of fine steel. His muscular body was covered in finely crafted hard leather armor, and at his waist hung a short-handled battle axe resembling an executioner's, ropes, hooks, and various prop pouches.

He raised the shield emblem in his hand, the emblem of the Adventurers' Guild: a giant eye and iron-cast hands crossed in an X shape.

McGraw nodded, indicating that he had confirmed the other party's identity, and took his left hand off the runestone wheel at his waist.

“The Alliance high command wants to kill someone.” A hound mask with fangs was fixed to his lightweight helmet. “Lysander Zeno, a former Alliance scholar. He’s escaped here.”

Concise and to the point, not a single word wasted. A businesslike attitude prevailed—cold, professional, and efficient.

“Oh, an official bounty hunter from the League, is that right?” McGraw looked at the bounty hunter in front of him. “Come in and sit down, let’s talk.”

“No,” the bounty hunter said. “Judging from the tracks, he’s heading to the Plains of Bones. I’m here to tell you that if you see him, kill him, or hand him over to me and I’ll kill him.”

“Oh, I see—what does he look like?” McGraw put down his small glass of dwarf red wine, slowly walked to the doorway, and stood facing the tall hound. The hound pulled a piece of paper from its pocket; on it was a drawing of a refined scholar with neatly trimmed hair and glasses.

“Okay, I will.” McGraw took the paper.

“I’ve been keeping a close watch on him all the way, but he’s disappeared in Gold Rush City. He’s probably hiding somewhere. It’s very likely that he has someone here who’s hiding him.” The bounty hunter’s deep voice came from behind the hound mask.

“Hmm… how about this, I’ll write you a note, in my name, and you can look for it in the barracks or shops within Gold Rush City.” McGraw nodded and turned back to the huge desk.

He grabbed a piece of paper, dipped a quill pen in ink, and hurriedly wrote a few words. He then opened the glass shade of the oil lamp on the table, burned a little sealing wax by the candlelight, pressed it onto the sealing wax ring on his finger, and stamped a round sealing wax seal.

The bright red sealing wax solidified quickly, forming an emblem of giant eyes and crossed hands.

McGraw signed his name at the bottom of the note and handed the note, which had a wax seal, to the bounty hunter at the door.

"Won't you come in and sit down?" he asked one last time.

“No,” said the hound. “If you see Lysander Zeno, kill him, or tell me.”

He turned and left.

"Understood." McGraw waved goodbye to the hound's retreating figure, but he had already left quickly without wasting a second.

He returned to the window and watched the figure in the night hurriedly leave through the side door of the downstairs hall, heading towards the barracks and tavern in the distance.

McGraw watched the hound disappear around the corner, then snapped the window shut.

"Sigh, what an impatient person." He returned to his large desk and looked at the two wine glasses on it.

One glass was filled with red wine, while the other remained empty.

McGraw grabbed the bottle of dwarf red wine and poured it into another glass as well.

“You’re far enough away now, you don’t have to hide under the table anymore,” he said. “Get up and have a drink with me before you go—Zubak and Rig often say, good wine is always available, but good friends are hard to find.”

"Come on, the Alliance is after me!" an annoyed voice came from under the table. "Who are Zubak and Rig?"

“My old teammates,” McGraw said. “Two dwarves. Hot-tempered. Zubak would often punch me in the back, just because I was occasionally a little greedy and would chase after coins rolling around on the ground to pick them up. Then Rig would laugh and say that this wasn’t the way to be greedy…”

He sighed.

With a muffled thud, a refined-looking scholar emerged from under the table, clutching the spot on his head where he had bumped it. He looked exactly like the person on the wanted poster—but haggard, exhausted, his face covered in dust, and his clothes tattered.

Lysander Zeno had been hiding under that huge executive desk.

"I'm not going to talk about it anymore, it just makes me feel worse." McGraw picked up his glass and took a small sip of the dwarf red wine. "How did you manage to piss off the Alliance?"

“I can’t tell you, otherwise you’ll be hunted down by them too,” Lysander shook his head.

“Have a drink. We met again three years ago in Sunny Fish Harbor in the Kingdom of Floren, and haven’t seen each other since.” McGraw handed over the small wine glass he had prepared for the other person. “We studied together at the Kirard Magic Academy for five years. It’s rare to see each other again after graduation.”

“After graduating, I went to Lunos for further studies… Now the situation is urgent, I have to leave quickly, so as not to cause you any more trouble.” Lysander waved his hands repeatedly, “Also, don’t think I don’t know how strong dwarven red wine is, a small glass is enough to make you sleep until dawn. It’s brewed according to the dwarves’ drinking capacity, they have a special organ that can metabolize alcohol—if you’re not a dwarf, a whole bottle of red wine can kill you.”

“I know, I only have a small drink occasionally…” McGraw muttered, “If you don’t stay here to avoid trouble, where are you going? You don’t have anywhere else to go, do you?”

“I…” Lysander hesitated for a moment, “I’m not sure, but I won’t cause you any trouble.”

"Where are you going?" McGraw asked.

"Skeleton Plains".

"you alone?"

"Correct."

McGraw stared at the other person in silence, and the room fell silent for a moment.

"If you're going to the Plains of Bones, you might as well just commit suicide; that way, it'll be a quicker and more painless death," he finally said.

"If you want to find a way to survive, I can make some arrangements for you. Perhaps you can go to the Holy Light Kingdom. They don't like to cooperate with the Alliance, and the Alliance's power is relatively weak there."

“No, I must go to the Heart of the Dead, to the land of the dead, to uncover the ancient truths buried deep within,” Lysander said. “To prove that I am not wrong. Once I bring the truth back to the world of the living, the Adventurers’ Guild will no longer be able to block this matter—perhaps I can stop it all, perhaps the whole world can be spared from this calamity.”

“I don’t know what to say, Lysander.” McGraw took another small sip of dwarf red wine, rubbed his forehead, and breathed out the smell of alcohol. “You’ve been so stubborn all along, what have you achieved? You have to go along with the world to survive—and you’re talking nonsense again, what truth, what facts, you’ve only gotten yourself into trouble.”

"You know what? The scholars in our Gold Rush City lately are like that too. They could just keep quiet and get paid, but they insist on offering opinions, like banning the Rust Copper Tree or keeping the Carrion Beasts as cleaners. Seriously, it's stupid. Why are you going through all this trouble for people you have no connection with?"

“Perhaps I’ve gone mad from studying at Lunos Academy,” Lysander said. “I won’t cause you any trouble, old friend. No need to say more.”

He picked up his glass, but didn't drink. He merely touched McGraw's glass to the wine, then turned and carefully left the executive's room.

"You're really... making me seem very mercenary." McGraw was a little drunk; the effects of the dwarf's red wine were kicking in. He didn't stop him, and he had already lost the ability to do so.

He lay swaying in the chair in front of his desk and began writing a new batch of approval orders, concerning a complete ban on rusted copper trees as cheap building materials and restrictions on the number of carrion-eating monsters to be hunted.

After finishing the draft in his drunken stupor, McGraw pressed the wax seal ring onto his coat of arms, raised his glass of red wine, and hummed a dwarven song that he and his teammates used to sing around the campfire long ago:
"Stone, stone, speaking to me: Where is the gold buried?"

"The stone speaks to me, the gold lies buried beneath people's hearts..."

The plains outside the window were still shrouded in dark clouds.

(End of this chapter)