Ghost Knight King's Dungeon Project

Chapter 69 [Fire and Snow]

Under the light of the twin moons, the rusty bronze tree in the heart of the skeleton faintly shimmered with a dark blue luster.

The two moons shimmered with somber outlines between the clouds, like eyes, observing the fleeing scholars in the forest with keen interest—just as they had for the past twelve days in the heart of the skeleton, the moonlight remained as cold and steady as ever.

Lysander Zeno trembled, clutching the potion torch meant to ward off monsters tightly, carefully concealing himself in the shadows of the rusty bronze tree's ghostly branches.

He crushed the smoldering embers of the potion in his palm, lest the faint, dark red glow mark his hiding place in the darkness. His palms were covered in the pungent, loose coals. Lysander raised his hand and smeared the foul-smelling coals on his face and body, both to conceal his skin in the darkness and to avoid being spotted by lurking monsters.

dark.

A thick, oppressive darkness was everywhere. The deathly silence added a sticky, heavy texture to this darkness, like cold mud, like snow gradually freezing.

“Lessandra Zeno.” The deep voice of the Alliance hound echoed through the sparse woods. “Would you rather be killed by me, or by the undead?”

The bounty hunter moved stealthily, probing in the shadows, searching for his prey.

He lowered his voice—this is the realm of the dead. If you disturb the undead in the shadows, the only outcome is being dragged by the skeletons and joining the ranks of the walking dead.

The night vision potion allows him to see his surroundings in the dark, but only barely, and the effect doesn't last long.

Although he carried some Holy Light items that could break magic and potions and temporarily banish and destroy the undead, they were few in number—the Holy Light Theocracy was unwilling to share their secrets with the Alliance, which made those powerful Holy Light items very precious.

No one knows exactly how many undead are in the Heart of Skeleton. Once a large number of undead are disturbed, four or five Holy Light items will be used up quickly, and being overwhelmed by the undead is still the inevitable outcome.

Moreover, the target is a scholar, possessing the skills of both a mage and a potion maker. These holy light items are prepared for this troublesome target and must not be used rashly.

Lysander held his breath. He wore a gauntlet on his right hand, and in his palm was a runic wheel pre-loaded with three catalysts. But he didn't move.

It wasn't because he was truly defenseless—in fact, if he fought to the death, the bounty hunter might not escape unscathed; with good luck, they could even die together. Even if the other party had plenty of healing potions, he would at least have to limp back.

His goal was to scare the other party away.

This is now within the territory of the Skeleton Heart Plains, a place inhabited by monsters and the undead. In this situation, the slightest noise will cause the undead to pounce from the darkness and tear all living things to shreds.

Perhaps the undead have already heard their heartbeats and smelled the terror of the living. Perhaps they are on their way, already lurking in the shadows, waiting for their prey to approach.

Lysander was gambling. He was gambling that bounty hunters wouldn't risk their lives for a single hunt. They were professional and ruthless killers, but as far as the profession of "killer" went, the undead were far more professional and ruthless than bounty hunters—and they were indiscriminate killers.

If he could scare away the bounty hunters with his necromancy, he might have a chance to survive.

*Drip.* The sound of sweat dripping onto metal rang out.

The voice came from beneath the bounty hunter's hound mask; he was probably already feeling fear.

“Lessandra Zeno…” he whispered with difficulty in the oppressive darkness, “Do you want a clean and humane death, or to be torn apart by crazed necromancy?”

A thin mist and a gloomy chill hung in the air. The night was the shadow of the world, and for the first time, the assassin began to feel fear in such a vast shadow.

"Lessandra Zeno?" The hound slowly circled in the shadow of the rusty copper tree, unconsciously checking behind it for any undead figures, and whispered.

The only answer he received was the silent darkness, and...

boo.

The bounty hunter in the hound mask suddenly turned around, his sword poised in a defensive "blade parry" stance.

The smoldering embers of the animal-driving torches faintly illuminated something wriggling on the ground—the source of the sound.

The Rotting Earth Roarer writhed in the shadows, poking its head out of its simulated burrow. It brought its limp tip close to the hunting dog's torch and sniffed it. Its smooth, slug-like face slowly contorted in disgust. Silently, it slowly retreated back into its burrow, continuing to pretend it was a rather sticky clod of earth.

The bounty hunter breathed a sigh of relief, but the presence of the monster also served as a reminder.

The Heart of Bones is home to many magical beasts, but surprisingly, we haven't encountered many along the way. This is likely because the number of undead in the vicinity is so large that the magical beasts dare not make a sound, and even when they see humans entering their territory, they dare not hunt them.

The monsters of the Skeleton Heart are naturally afraid of the undead—their experience of being slaughtered by the undead for hundreds of years is enough to etch their fear of the undead into their very bones.

The hound hesitated, weighing the situation.

You must bring back the target's head to claim your reward.

The bounty was enough for him to escape his current life and go to a corner free of blood and blades, where he could bask in the sun, just like when he was a child, dozing off with his grandfather in the rocking chair on the porch, sleeping peacefully for an afternoon until a butterfly landed on his nose.

Although my grandfather has been killed and the house has been burned down, the sunlight still shines.

He still longed to see the sunlight again, rather than die here.

The bounty hunter hesitated, looking around one last time in a desperate attempt to spot his target.

Accompanied by rustling sounds, a blurry figure slowly rose from the darkness not far away.

“You finally understand, Lysander Zeno. Dying by my hand will be much less painful.” The Hound raised his longsword, half annoyed and half relieved, to the side of his head, tip pointing forward, assuming a charge stance, ready to begin the killing. “If only you had done this sooner, we could have saved ourselves a lot of trouble.”

The next second, his heart sank.

"Help me," the figure cried out in a dry, weak voice. "Help me. Please. Ahh, help me."

The figure slowly turned its face, gazing at the hunting dog from a distance. Its face, exposed to the moonlight, appeared pale and grotesque, highlighting its cystic and festering features.

"Ah, save me!" the rotting corpse demon cried out in a dry voice. "Please, save me! Where are you?"

*Thud.* Something that was hard to tell if it was a tentacle or intestines fell out of the figure's abdomen, slowly wriggling and groping like a snake.

The Roaring Corpse in the nearby pit shrank even more tightly, sticking a large, withered leaf to its head.

The bounty hunter trembled slightly as he slowly leaned against a rusty bronze tree, using it as a makeshift cover.

Under the darkness of night, the rusted bronze trees stand like thick, towering pillars in a temple. In this dark hall of the dead, figures vaguely rise between the pillars, like devout apostles.

"Ouch, it hurts! Where are you? Help me!" They chattered, repeating the same few trapping phrases over and over, trying to lure people closer or make a sound to reveal their location.

The pilgrim horde, composed of rotting corpses, slowly approached.

"Ah, help me! Where are you?" a voice rang out from the treetops above.

The hound slowly raised its head, watching as half a canine head and a human head, a rotting face, slowly emerged from the shadows above. A rotting corpse demon, clinging to its tentacles, slowly lowered its body.

In this situation, any further hesitation would be disrespectful to one's own life. The bounty hunter angrily sheathed his longsword, activated his combat skills [Footstep Focus] and [Leap], and turned to run.

Anyway, Lysander wouldn't survive being surrounded by the undead, so we can just come back and find his corpse.

With the aid of two combat skills, he swiftly broke through the slowly shrinking encirclement of the Corpse Demons and headed towards the distant border of the Corpse Heart.

Three or four of the rotting corpse demons split off and, amidst rustling sounds, chased after the retreating figure of the hound in the distance, while the remaining three or four slowly gathered around the spot where Lysander was lying.

"Ouch, it hurts! Where are you? Help me!" the rotting corpse demons cried, their long, rotten claws and tough, fleshy tendrils dragging on the ground, hissing as they scraped against it.

Lysander took a deep breath, put a small pill he had prepared in advance into his mouth, swallowed it in one gulp, and then his gauntlets clicked slightly as he cast a cooling and freezing spell on himself.

Under the influence of the rune circuit, a thin layer of cold frost quickly settled on his body.

The bitter pill slid down the throat into the esophagus, and the toxins took effect quickly. A feeling of lethargy and numbness soon swept through the whole body from the throat and esophagus.

My heartbeat, which had been pounding with tension and fear, suddenly became weak and slow, as if an invisible hand had gripped my heart.

Thump. It seemed like a long time had passed before my heartbeat slowly returned.

His breathing became sluggish, his breath like a faint earthworm, lazily moving in front of his nostrils.

Paralyzing pills. This is one of the latest research achievements of the Lunos Academy in the Kingdom of Florence. It is a neurotoxin that can temporarily slow down the heartbeat, metabolism and respiration, and is usually used as a sedative and anesthetic.

Of course, it can deceive the undead to some extent—after all, research shows that the undead rely primarily on sound, body temperature, heartbeat, sweat, and breathing for detection. This toxin can temporarily block the undead's ability to detect living beings.

The rotting corpses dragged their rotting, fleshy bodies around Lysander, their putrid claws brushing against the edge of his cheek, looking confused and bewildered.

In their field of vision, a living target had just disappeared right before their eyes. Lysander remained silent, enduring the cold and stiffness in his body, quietly curled up in a hollow between the tree roots.

Not far from him, in a crater, lay the Rotting Roarer, in a semi-dormant state, its slow, weak heartbeat concealed by a thick layer of soil and sludge.

Both deceive the undead in the same way.

The corpse demons wandered around for a while, but failed to find any prey. They dragged their heavy steps and slowly retreated.

As their heavy footsteps disappeared into the rusty copper woodland, Lysander struggled to break free of the frost on his skin, supporting himself on his stiff, numb elbows, and slowly crawled out of the mud pit, half-kneeling.

The effects of the medicine would last for a while. Thinking this, he struggled to his feet and stared at the Roaring Soil, who was staring blankly into the pit.

This kind of magical beast is actually quite docile. Its venom is a weak poison, and its behavior is mainly based on intimidation. If you don't provoke it, it's not really a threat. He recalled what he had learned in class.

Logically, he could escape back to Gold Rush City now. Perhaps the bounty hunter who hunted down the traitor already thought him dead, or perhaps Gold Rush City was safe. His old friends were still there, able to offer him final assistance.

But Lysander hesitated for a moment before continuing deeper into the Plains of Bones.

Perhaps we'll find relics from the Battle of Souls...

If evidence can be found to prove that the Battle of the Souls was instigated by the Adventurers' Alliance...

Once the truth is revealed to the major kingdoms and powers, they will no longer cooperate with the alliance, the alliance will go bankrupt, and their carefully planned second war against the skeletons will be destroyed.

Based on the fragmented documents he found in the archives, the second Great War of the Souls, which would sweep across all kingdoms, races, and powers, has been meticulously planned and is now just a few months away from its start.

If evidence could be found before then, perhaps World War II could be prevented.

He still had twenty paralysis pills on him. Thanks to his friend McGraw's help, he was able to replenish his food and some survival supplies in Gold Rush City, and his potion pouch and spell catalyst bag were also full.

It should last about ten days... I hope these supplies will help me find the truth in the land of the dead.

What if we can't find it...? An idea popped into my head. What if we can't find the evidence?
Then we won't find it. Lysander doesn't like to overthink things. Overthinking scares him away.

He wasn't unaware of what fate awaited him; however, his foolish teacher, who died in the lab, had taught him through his own example that there are always things more important than one's own life.

Thanks to that simple-minded old man, only one of the thirty-two scholars and fifty-five students who participated in the experiment died, and the remaining eighty-six all survived with minor injuries.

Lysander Zeno was one of the students who survived the accident. Although there was only one name on the list of the dead, for him, the accident took away three people—his mentor, his adoptive father, and his only family member.

He had no parents; he was raised by a simple-minded old man. After the old man died, he had no relatives left in the world. To him, death was simply a matter of whether it hurt once, twice, or many, many times.

This crazy act was the last paper he was going to hand to the old fool. No matter how well it turned out, he could finally go see the old fool.

Just you wait, old man, I might save more people in the world than you have. When I die, you'll have to give me an A+.

Lysander slung his bag over his shoulder, wiped the charcoal ash from his face, and, taking advantage of the last vestiges of the numbing toxin's camouflage, made his way into the depths of the Corpse Heart, covered in soot.

Fourteen days later...

Finding evidence was not as easy as imagined. Most of the relics and remains were covered by towering, rusty copper trees, and the identities of the undead were a mixed bag, including adventurers who died in recent years and bandits who strayed into the Heart of the Dead. The ancient relics and corpses from the War of the Heart of the Dead had almost completely decayed and could not be found at all.

In his search for evidence, Lysander had no choice but to continue on this perilous path of the dead.

As a Lunos scholar, he possesses both the "Silver Star" mage qualification and the advanced certification from the Potion Masters' Association. His years of experience exploring and training with his mentor and other adventurers have also taught him a great deal about survival in the wasteland.

By smelting enchanted materials to obtain enchanted charcoal as a catalyst, berries and other foods in the demonic realm can undergo a complex purification process. A sophisticated runic spell can remove the demonic essence from the materials, allowing them to be consumed normally, including berries and tubers from the soil. Simple illusionary arrays can also be used to deter demonic beasts in the environment.

He can barely cope with the current situation in the Soul Heart.

However, in the past few days, with the help of spells, beast-repelling potions, torches, and paralysis pills, Lysander Zeno has become increasingly confused as he has ventured deeper into the Heart of Bones region.

On the one hand, the closer you get to the heart of the skeleton, the fewer undead there are.

Initially, he would encounter undead at least three or four times a day, but now he only has a chance of encountering one every other day. This has significantly increased his speed of progress.

Why is that? Lysander pondered. Could it be that something powerful deep within the Soul Heart was hostile to the undead and had wiped them all out?

No...impossible, otherwise these scattered undead should be attacking that being.

Unless—something aligned with the undead gathered the undead from the depths of the Soul Heart and hid them away.

Why? Why do this? Lysander was confused.

It is said that high-level undead, such as the Corpse Demon, can command low-level undead, like the Skeleton Soldiers. Could it be that the long-term sealing of the Skeleton Heart has led to the birth of a powerful undead lord who is deliberately controlling his subordinates?
He felt a little uneasy, but after so many days of exploration, to the point of delving so deep into the core of the skeleton, giving up now was impossible for him.

On the other hand, during his exploration, he saw some messy footprints in the rusted copper woodland, as well as neat carriage wheel tracks, which ran through the woodland in an orderly fashion, like merchant carriages.

This only deepened Lysander's confusion. Logically, the undead wouldn't create or drive carriages. But if this carriage belonged to merchants, how had they survived in the perilous depths of the Heart of Bones? And why would they come to such a horrific place?

With many concerns, he followed the carriage tracks for a while, carefully parting the bushes in front of him, and the narrow, rusty copper forest suddenly opened up.

In this land inhabited only by the dead, a ray of sunlight shines on a clearing in the woods, where a young woman with dark blue scales on her cheeks stands tending to a few thin, rusty copper saplings.

Demons.

The young woman with dark blue scales on her cheeks looked up and met Lysander's eyes.

"Aaaaaaah! Monster!" the demon girl screamed!
"I...I meant no harm!" Lysander instinctively raised his gauntlets, activating the catalyst to create a hemispherical air pressure shield in front of him. "I have no hostility towards the demons!"

Why does the other person call me a monster?

From the shadows behind the demon girl, three sword-and-shield cadavers clad in rusted bronze armor clattered out, cautiously raising their shields to stand between Lysander and the demon girl with deep blue scales.

"I meant no harm!" Lysander instinctively protested, taking two steps back before turning and running away.

Just as he was wondering which way to go, he suddenly noticed dark gray smoke drifting in the distant sky.

A pungent smell of burning came from ahead, accompanied by muffled conversation:

"Are you sure this will make it snow? Burn a bunch of straw..." a deep voice said.

“Theoretically, yes. I remember that snowfall requires condensation nuclei, and soot would provide a condensation nucleus for snowflakes in the cold clouds…” a lighter voice said. “At the very least, it could disrupt the temperature balance, causing the fog to lose its balance and temporarily dissipate—in my memory, after a large-scale calcination of molten stone on the surface, the fog over Rahador’s territory dissipated for a while, allowing me to see his lakes clearly…”

Accelerated by the wind pressure from the palm spell, Lysander subconsciously moved closer to that direction.

In his panic, he slightly mishandled his gauntlets, and the powerful magical wind pressure sent Lysander flying. He flew out of the Bronze Woods and crashed into the soft, tall grass.

In the acrid smoke, he fell face down to the ground. The smell of earth filled his nostrils.

Lysander struggled to lift his head, and a small gray mouse squeaked and ran away, revealing two pairs of rusty bronze combat boots behind him.

One pair was square-headed, simple and robust, like a block of bronze. The other pair was strong and balanced, with antique and elegant patterns.

Crack! The flames in front of the combat boots exploded, scattering sparks.

"Hmm?" Lysander squinted, looking at the two tall figures in full armor.

The knight was terrifyingly large, with shoulder and breastplates as thick as city walls, and a helmet with antlers and a frog's beak on his head.

The other knight is tall and strong, with broad shoulders and a narrow waist, and a balanced and smooth figure. He wears a Gothic-style knight's helmet with sharp angles.

The two knights each held a copper skewer, skewering food such as flatbread and beans, and held their bodies close to the fire to scorch, doing something unknown—although the food had been burned into unrecognizable charcoal.

"A living person?" the stag frog rumbled.

"Hey! No way! This is my territory, you're not allowed to kill!" said the Gothic knight's helmet.

"Whatever," the stag frog helmet snorted dully.

"Dude, want to wash your face?" The gothic knight bent down and helped him up with his cold gauntlets. "Your face is covered in mud and soot... You scared my demon friend just now."

(End of this chapter)