Knight Lord: Start with Daily Intelligence.

Chapter 464 The Book of Hatred
The female elven gravedigger's cold words echoed like a judgment in the ravaged tomb. Defeat three legendary dwarven illusions, retrieve their remains in exchange for the leaf, and collect all four to leave—the conditions were suffocatingly harsh, especially for dwarves.

"Bullshit, you elven brat!" Gerson Grayrock exploded like a lion whose tail had been stepped on! He shoved away the dwarf who tried to help him, his bloodshot eyes fixed on the pale blue spirit on the high platform, his angry roar causing the ice crystals on the dome to fall in a flurry.

“Long ears! Vicious long ears! This must be your conspiracy! A complete conspiracy!” He brandished his rune battleaxe, stained with blood and ice shards, pointing it in the direction of the female elf, his spittle almost spraying onto her.

“Make us dwarves! To kill our own legendary ancestors?! And to hand over their ‘remains’ to you?! To hand them over to a long-eared old devil who wants to grind all of us dwarves to dust?!” Gerson’s voice was hoarse and distorted with extreme anger. “You want us to kill each other! You want to tarnish our honor and bloodline in this vicious way! You want us dwarves to forever bear the shame of betraying our ancestors! Your hearts are despicable! Your hearts are despicable!”

He turned sharply to Su Li, waving his arms excitedly: "Lord Su Li! Don't believe her! Don't believe a single word she says! They're masters of weaving lies and traps! They'll lure us out, use us to fight the undead, and then, once we're exhausted, they'll turn their backs on us and strangle us with those damned leaves! Or they'll just wait until we're both badly injured by those three ancestral illusions, then come out and reap the benefits! They'll freeze us all into ice sculptures and then use the remains of our ancestors to create some kind of evil elven magic! That's it!"

Gerson's roar ignited the grief and distrust in the hearts of the other dwarven warriors. They gripped their weapons tightly, letting out low, hostile growls, their gazes towards the platform filled with undisguised hatred and suspicion. The air tightened again, the recently eased atmosphere vanished. Even the half-elves, Thranville and Eliria, felt a chill run down their spines at such cruel conditions imposed on their dwarven ancestors.

The azure spirit on the high platform merely gave a cold "humph," its light flickering slightly, filled with disdain and mockery, as if to say: "See? This is the crude, stubborn, and unreasonable short-legged bastard!"

"Short (dwarves are extremely sensitive to this English word, so I'm not sure if 'short' is the right translation)? This word was like a red-hot branding iron, instantly piercing through Gerson Grayrock's last shred of sanity! Dwarves are extremely sensitive to the word 'short,' especially when it comes to insults from elves—it's a shame etched into their blood, heavier than mountains! It's the ultimate provocation that would make even the most composed dwarven elder overturn the table on the spot!"
Gerson's face instantly turned a deep purplish-red, and the veins on his neck bulged out like gnarled tree roots! He froze, not from the cold, but from the rage that erupted from the depths of his soul, a rage capable of incinerating everything! His knuckles turned white from gripping the runic battle axe so tightly that they made a "crackling" sound, as if he were about to crush the handle at any moment!
"You—!" Gerson's voice was no longer a roar, but a hissing sound squeezed from the depths of his throat, like a stone grinding against something, each syllable carrying scalding killing intent and bone-deep humiliation! "Long-eared bastard! How dare you—! How dare you insult Gerson Grayrock by calling him 'short-legged bastard'?! How dare you insult the entire dwarf race?!"

His eyes were fixed on the pale blue spirit, as if he wanted to tear apart and devour every ray of light from it!
Then, to everyone's astonishment, Gerson made an extremely solemn yet deeply sorrowful gesture—he slammed his rune battle axe hard on the ground with a thud, and with trembling but utmost seriousness, he pulled something from the innermost part of his heavy plate armor, close to his heart.

It was no ordinary book. Made of the leather of an unknown, dark creature, its cover inlaid with dull, runic metal, its edges heavily worn, clearly indicating its immense age. The pages possessed a peculiar, ancient rock-like texture. This was none other than the sacred object passed down through the ages by the dwarves, bearing countless tears and hatred—the Book of Hatred!
With fingers stained with blood and ice, Gerson solemnly turned the heavy pages of the book. He ignored everything around him, the cold gaze from the platform, and the complex looks from his companions. His eyes became like the deepest mine, filled with unspeakable grief and resolve.

"In the name of our ancestral gods and the mountains!" Gerson's voice was deep and solemn, like a vow being recited in a sacred temple, yet it contained a raging inferno. "Today! At this moment! In the Valley of Memories in the Elven Graveyard, in this land where blasphemers roam and elves are arrogant! Record this!"

He produced a thin, finely crafted needle from somewhere, its tip gleaming with a cold light. He then pierced his palm, staining it with copious amounts of blood. With trembling yet unwavering determination, he began to carve into the ancient, resilient pages. The needle scraped against the stone, producing a harsh, heavy creaking sound, the blood seeming to carve eternal wounds into the rock.
"Record the blood feud!" Gerson's voice suddenly rose, like the mournful cry of a wounded beast, echoing throughout the entire tomb! "Subject: Nameless Elf Guardian Ghost! Affiliation: High Elf! Location: Valley of Memory, Elf Graveyard!"

His engraving needle etched deep marks on the stone pages, each word seemingly imbued with blood and tears:

"Crime Number One: Intentionally insulting the height of dwarves! Using the taboo term 'short-legged dwarf'! This is the ultimate insult to Gerson Grayrock and the entire dwarf race!"

"Second crime: Desecrating the spirits of the dwarven ancestors! Forcing dwarven descendants to attack and bring back the legendary remains of their ancestors! Intending to tarnish the honor and bloodline of the dwarves!"

"Criminal three: Plotting and framing! Setting a vicious trap to incite the dwarves and human allies to kill each other, so as to reap the benefits! Their intentions are despicable!"

Ge Sen carved quickly and fiercely, stone chips flying everywhere, each character seemingly penetrating the paper! As he carved, he read aloud in his hoarse voice, as if he wanted everyone present, even the old ghost on the high platform, to hear him clearly:

"This hatred is irreconcilable! This resentment will never be forgotten! This debt can only be repaid with blood and fire!" Gerson suddenly raised his head, his bloodshot eyes fixed on the dark blue spirit, burning with a hatred that could incinerate everything. "Gerson Grayrock, in the name of the Grayrock Clan, I hereby swear! This hatred will be avenged! No matter where it is! No matter the living or the dead! This hatred will not be quelled until it is avenged! This debt will not be cleared until it is settled! The Grayrock Clan! With you! Our blood feud will continue forever!"

As the last word was carved and roared out, Gerson seemed to have exhausted all his strength, breathing heavily, but his hands holding the Book of Hatred and the rune battle axe remained as steady as a rock! The heavy Book of Hatred seemed to sense this new and unforgettable grudge, and the dim runes on the cover faintly glowed with a faint, resentful red light!
The entire tomb was deathly silent, save for Gerson's heavy breathing and the invisible, oppressive weight emanating from the Book of Hatred. The dwarven warriors gazed at their leader, at the sacred book bearing the endless hatred of their ancestors, and all their anger transformed into a cold, unwavering hatred. They no longer roared, but stared intently at the spirit on the high platform with even colder, more hateful eyes.

Su Li and the others were deeply shaken by this solemn and poignant "vengeance" ceremony. They understood that for the dwarves, this was no child's play. It was a vow heavier than life itself, an eternal hatred etched into their blood and written into their tribal history!

This was the first time Su Li had witnessed dwarves inscribing the Book of Hatred. Indeed, cursing dwarves was a sign of deep-seated hatred.

But the azure spirit on the platform remained disdainful, scoffing and saying, "Foolish iron block, you really can't do anything but hammer iron! You can't even remember the Book of Hatred. Let me tell you, the object of your hatred is the noble High Elf legendary archmage, Yseramar Vil Starspeaker!"

"Now, humans, take that 'it' and get away from here. Don't let 'it' defile this place!"

Seeing this scene, Su Li finally understood why the hatred between elves and dwarves had been difficult to resolve for thousands of years.

Dwarves are short-tempered and stubborn, while elves are proud and sharp-tongued. When they meet, even allies can turn into bitter enemies over just a few words.

Moreover, they have countless blood debts in their history, which are impossible to resolve.

At this moment, all eyes were focused on Su Li. He clutched his still aching chest, his face pale from blood loss, but his eyes were sharp and calm, like tempered iron. He slowly scanned Gerson, whose beard was trembling with excitement, the grief-stricken dwarf warriors, and his companions with complex expressions, before finally fixing his gaze on the cold blue light on the high platform.

The silence that lasted only a few seconds felt incredibly long. Su Li took a deep breath; the cold, blood-smelling air stung his lungs, but it also instantly cleared his chaotic thoughts.

“Gerson,” Su Li’s voice was not loud, but it carried an undeniable penetrating power, instantly suppressing the dwarves’ roars and commotion. “I understand your anger. These conditions are a great insult and a difficult choice for our dwarf brothers.”

Ge Sen wanted to say something, but Su Li stopped him by raising her hand.

“But,” Su Li’s gaze sharpened, like a tangible blade, “look around us. Look at this mess, look at our wounds, look at that labyrinth of memories outside that can trap people to death. Do we have a choice?” He surveyed the crowd, his tone heavy and clear: “If we can’t find a way out, all of us, including our dwarf brothers, our griffon riders, and every warrior of the Black Forest Territory, will eventually be worn down here. We will either die from the endless siege of the elven phantoms, or from the undead’s counterattack, or… like worms in amber, we will be forever trapped in this illusion from ten thousand years ago, until our flesh withers and our souls dissipate.”

Under Su Li's command, the group retreated to a relatively intact corner of the tomb, away from the chilling cold of the core area and the invisible pressure of the female elven tomb keeper. Although the air was still filled with the lingering scents of dust, blood, and blasphemous magic, they were at least temporarily safe. Exhaustion washed over them like a tidal wave, but the will to survive sustained everyone.

"Hurry up!" Su Li's voice carried an undeniable urgency, even though he himself was pale from the pain and blood loss. "Priests and doctors, prioritize treating the seriously wounded! Everyone else, replenish your strength and restore your power immediately! Halflings, open fire! Hilder, bring out your best!"

The order was swiftly carried out. The dwarven technicians and human soldiers, bracing themselves, quickly added their reserves of strong liquor and spring water to the flasks containing laurel jewels, allowing the gentle life energy and pure magic contained within to permeate the air, nourishing their parched bodies and spirits like sweet rain. The accompanying chaplains and physicians moved among the wounded, chanting healing prayers and casting healing spells, along with precious potions, to stabilize the vital signs of the injured. The air was filled with the mingled scents of herbs and magic.

The halfling chef deftly set up his magical cauldron with a series of swift movements, so fast it was dizzying. He pulled out various extraordinary ingredients and concentrated broth from a seemingly ordinary backpack that contained spatial magic. Meanwhile, Hilder carefully retrieved a sealed rune jar. Upon opening it, a rich aura of life and the fresh scent of grains instantly overwhelmed the decaying smell of the tomb—it was the precious Azure Spike! She gave some to the halfling to add to the broth, and distributed the rest directly to the exhausted Chosen Knights.

“A soup made with Azure Spikes, combined with dwarven spirits and laurel energy, should replenish divine power and bloodline strength as quickly as possible.” Hilder’s voice remained calm, her golden eyes sweeping over the weary knights. “Absorb it quickly. We don’t have much time.”

On the other side, Gerson Grayrock was having his wounds bandaged by a dwarf priest. His face remained grim, but his raging anger seemed to have been temporarily suppressed, transformed into a cold, heavy intensity, like volcanic rock. He watched his people busily recovering, watched his human allies seize every second to rest, and finally, he sighed heavily, speaking in a low voice to the dwarf elders who had gathered around him:
“Listen, old folks. I know this is as painful as swallowing a red-hot anvil. Attack the illusions of our ancestors? Bring back their… ‘remains’? Hand them over to that old pointy-eared ghost? It’s a disgrace to the Mountains!” He clenched his fists, his knuckles white, but his tone carried a helpless clarity. “But look at those young faces, look at those kids who can still charge out with those big human guys. We can’t let them all die here, die meaningless! Die at the hands of an elf ghost who isn’t even an enemy!”

An elder with a gray beard and deep scars on his face grunted and said in a deep voice, "Chieftain, we understand the reasoning. But... those are our ancestors! They are legends! Even if they are just illusions..."

“An illusion is just an illusion!” Gerson interrupted him, his eyes sharpening. “They are not the true spirits of our ancestors! They are the marks of war twisted by elven magic! They are puppets of this damned space! Defeating them is not blasphemy against our ancestors, but breaking the elven curse and truly freeing them! It is fighting for a way to survive for everyone trapped here, including ourselves!”

He glanced at the elders, his voice resolute: "Treat this as... a special trial! A trial to prove to our ancestors the courage and resilience of the Grayrock Clan in dire straits! We are not traitors! We are survivors! Once we get out of here, we will settle this score with interest against that Yseramar Vil Starspeaker! We will use her spirit to pay tribute to our ancestors!"

The elders were silent for a moment, exchanged glances, and finally nodded slowly. The dwarves were stubborn, but certainly not foolish, especially when it came to the survival of their race. Gerson's words provided them with a psychological foothold—this was not blasphemy, but a desperate struggle to break free from the cage and preserve their bloodline, another form of resistance.

This also allows the remains of the ancestors to truly rest in peace, instead of endlessly cycling through the illusions of the elves, serving as tools enslaved by them.

At this moment, Hilde approached carrying a steaming bowl of soup emitting a strange blue light and several potions. She first handed the soup to Su Li, then reported in a low voice:
"My lord, preliminary assessment of the situation: Seven seriously wounded soldiers are now stable but unable to participate in combat in the short term; fifteen moderately wounded soldiers, including Knight Durmst and Lord Orstein, are expected to recover 70% of their combat strength within an hour after treatment and medication; minor injuries have been largely treated. The Chosen Knights have suffered a significant loss of divine power, but the Azure Spike is proving highly effective, and with the help of Laurel Blossom, they are expected to recover to a state where they can transform into a divine general again within forty minutes. As for mana recovery potions... only five remain, which must be reserved for the mages to use in critical moments."

She paused, her golden eyes fixed on Su Li, and lowered her voice to ask the question everyone was concerned about: "My lord, regarding that elven gravedigger... Yseramar Vil the Starspeaker... do you really believe she will keep her promise? That she can leave after collecting three fragments and exchanging them for three leaves? What if she goes back on her word at the last minute, or... is the leaf itself a trap?"

Su Li took the soup bowl, feeling the surging life energy within, and slowly took a sip. The warm soup flowed into his stomach, dispelling a trace of chill and fatigue. He looked at Hilde, then glanced at Gerson and the others who stood silently not far away, their eyes equally filled with doubt, and slowly spoke, his voice low and clear:
"Believe her?" Su Li's lips curled into a cold smile. "Hilde, after everything we've been through, do you think I'd be naive enough to believe the 'promise' of an old elven ghost who keeps calling us 'stone cubs,' 'short-legged bastards,' and 'it,' and who's filled with millennia of hatred and contempt for us?"

He put down his soup bowl, his eyes sharpening like knives: "I don't believe a single word she says! She'd love for us to die out there, or perish together with those three legendary dwarf phantoms. The so-called deal is nothing more than a means for her to use us as 'tools' to achieve her goals—to clear out the undead blasphemers outside, and, through us, to completely erase the three legendary dwarfs' imprint in space, further 'purifying' this sacred land she protects!"

"Then why did you still..." Hilde frowned slightly.

"Because this is the only clue! The only direction!" Su Li said decisively. "Without this leaf, we can't even go out for a safe operation, let alone find any wreckage. With the leaf, we at least have a basis for action, and the possibility of breaking out of this cage! Even if she goes back on her word in the end, as long as we can collect three pieces of wreckage and three leaves, we will have leverage! Whether we use it to threaten her or to figure out how to find a way out ourselves, it's better than being trapped here waiting to die!"

He gazed intently at the sacred leaf emitting a faint silvery-green glow, his eyes deep: "Moreover, this leaf itself is information. It proves the authority of elven magic in this space. Studying it might reveal a flaw in this space. As for that old ghost..."

Su Li's gaze turned towards the direction of the eerie blue light deep within the tomb chamber, his tone carrying a chilling killing intent: "...Once we've resolved the troubles outside, gathered our resources, and regained our strength...if she dares to go back on her word, or tries anything funny...hmph. A ghost trapped in a tomb for ten thousand years, no matter how powerful, will eventually have her limits. At that time, it won't be her giving us the leaves, but us...overturning her shrine!"

Su Li was absolutely confident. If all of their dozen or so Chosen Knights were back to their peak condition, even a true legendary mage would have a hard time gaining an advantage, let alone a ghost like her.
His words, filled with pragmatic, clear-headed calculation and implicit threats, lessened the doubts in Hilde's and Gerson's minds, replacing them with a do-or-die determination. Everyone instantly understood that this was not blind trust, but a high-stakes gamble, a survival battle to seize every possible possibility in a desperate situation while preparing for the worst.

“Understood, Your Majesty.” Hilde nodded solemnly. “We will recover as quickly as possible. We can depart at any time.”

Gerson snorted heavily, took a large gulp of strong liquor, and his eyes burned with the flames of revenge and the desire to survive: "Then... first deal with the undead! Then find those 'ancestral illusions'! Finally... settle the score with that old witch!"

Time was undoubtedly on Su Li's side, and the supplies they carried could last for another two or three days without much trouble.

So Su Li waited for two hours. Thanks to the extraordinary food, medicine, and unwavering willpower, the effects were remarkable. The seriously wounded, though not fully healed, could barely move and were placed in the center of the group for protection. The moderately wounded had regained considerable combat strength, their eyes sharpening once more. The chosen knights were faintly enveloped in divine power, clearly having recovered to the point where they could once again transform into divine generals. The dwarves silently polished their weapons and armor; though their faces remained ashen, the cold hatred they harbored had transformed into a suppressed, pent-up power. A heavy, poignant atmosphere of readiness filled the air.

Su Li stood up; the wound on his chest, thanks to the medicine and his own powerful regenerative abilities, no longer caused him intense pain. He stretched his limbs, feeling the renewed surge of power within him, especially the burning sensation brought by the red dragon bloodline. He raised the sacred leaf in his hand, which emitted a soft, silvery-green light, and his voice, clear and powerful, resonated throughout the entire corner:

"All troops, listen up! Status restored. Target—outside the tomb! Primary objective: locate and purify the Black Knight Mhawa and his minions, and eliminate the blasphemers! Afterwards, execute the planned operation! Move out!"

(End of this chapter)