Knight Lord: Start with Daily Intelligence.

Chapter 470 The Secret of the Night-Wandering Corpses and the Rift in the Alliance
Following the direction indicated by Eliria, Su Li led Hilder, Orstein, and the selected elite knights onto the still "beautiful" path. The thick, viscous life force in the air was like stale honey, suffocating. The crimson-gold light of the Kadrin Fire tore through this false tranquility; wherever it passed, overly vibrant plants withered as if fading, and the stream ceased its monotonous flow.

Arielia's tracking was precise. The nauseating stench, a mixture of fear, death magic, and the distinctive putridity of the Skaven, was as palpable as a campfire in the night amidst the thick winds of life. The path didn't extend far before abruptly ending before an inconspicuous rock wall. Had it not been for the stench being most intense there, it would have been almost impossible to notice the narrow, half-hidden crevice in the rock face, concealed by vines.

“This is it.” Arielia wrinkled her nose in disgust. “He scurried into the dirtiest corner like a frightened mouse.”

Su Li waved his hand, and the fire-attribute knights in the group immediately stepped forward, their weapons igniting with crimson runic flames that easily melted the seemingly tough magical vines like red-hot irons. The gap was forcibly widened, revealing a dark cave entrance behind it, barely wide enough for one person to pass through by bending over. A more intense stench, a mixture of blood, rotting flesh, and remnants of dark magic, assaulted their senses.

Su Li did not choose to enter the cave that reeked of death and decay. After Ariria accurately pointed out the crack in the rock wall where Mhava was hiding, a cold glint flashed in his eyes.

“Orstein,” Su Li’s voice was as cold as ice, “get that rat out of here.”

“Yes, Lord!” Orstein replied in a deep voice. The chosen knights behind him needed no further orders; they had already tacitly poured their surging divine power into their weapons. The runic warhammer, the longsword burning with holy flames, and the halberd imbued with the power of thunder simultaneously shone with dazzling light, like a dozen miniature suns poised to unleash their power.

"break!"

With a command from Erstein, more than a dozen torrents of energy, imbued with the power of divine purification and capable of shaking the city walls, crashed down on the crack hidden by vines like divine punishment!

Rumble——! ! !
The deafening explosion was amplified to its extreme within the confined space. Hard rock was torn apart, melted, and vaporized by the violent energy, like rotten wood! The fissure instantly widened several times over, and fragments of rock mixed with the evaporated remnants of dead vines rained down upon it. The entire cave structure shook violently, as if it might collapse at any moment. The thick, putrid stench within the cave, like a punctured abscess, gushed out, only to be forcibly dispersed and largely purified by the subsequent shockwave of divine energy.

Smoke and dust filled the air, and gravel tumbled down.

Amidst this chaos, an extremely disheveled figure was violently thrown out of the enlarged hole by the shockwave of the explosion, crashing heavily onto the ground outside the hole. He rolled several times before barely coming to a stop, leaving behind a trail of foul-smelling pus.

Mhava was completely exposed to the crimson-gold light of the Caldrin Fire.

His black knight plate armor was so tattered it was almost unrecognizable, hanging like scrap metal wrecked by a giant beast. From the wound on his left shoulder, putrid, sludge-like substance and shattered bones were exposed, emitting a nauseating stench. One eye on his withered, sallow face was empty, while a faint green soul flame flickered wildly in the sudden, intense light of the other, as if it would be extinguished at any moment. He still clutched the dying dwarf embryo, enveloped in dark energy, tightly in his arms, as if it were his last straw.

Following him, the three mangled corpses of the Night Wanderer were also thrown out by the aftershocks of the explosion. They were in even worse condition than before: the one that had lost its lower body was half-buried in rubble, with only its rotting arm futilely digging; the one whose chest cavity had been pierced was completely smashed apart, its decaying ribs and spine broken; the Night Wanderer who was missing half its head moved even more stiffly, spinning in place and emitting meaningless hoarse sounds.

Mhava struggled to get up, his dry joints making a sickening grinding sound. He even tried to reach for the broken axe handle that had fallen nearby, but his shattered body wouldn't obey him at all, instead aggravating his wounds, causing foul-smelling pus to gush out.

Just as he was struggling in a sorry state, like a rotting corpse blown out of its lair—

A turquoise breeze swirled outside the cave. Eliria's levitation spell had already been activated.

A dozen or so chosen knights, clad in runic heavy armor and bathed in the crimson divine light of the Calamity Flame, slowly ascended into the air like gods descending from the heavens, hovering several meters above the ground. The weapons in their hands still shone with a divine light that had not yet been completely extinguished, and the cold visors of their helmets, like merciless stars, looked down in unison.

The light shone brightly, like a moving altar, illuminating the area below tainted by explosions and death in every detail. It also completely enveloped the fallen knight and his three wretched servants, who had just been blasted out of the dark cave, dazed and rotting, and reeking of decay.

From above, the divine light burned Mhawa's decaying soul and body like tangible flames. His last embers of soul contracted and leaped painfully in the intense light, as if they might be extinguished at any moment with a "poof." He futilely raised his skeletal arm, trying to shield himself from the light that he hated and feared, letting out desperate groans like a leaking bellows.

Su Li stood at the front of the floating ranks of chosen knights, holding a battle banner burning with crimson-gold flames. Like a judge, he looked down upon the tiny, filthy, and rotten mud of Mhawa, the lowest level of a sewer. There was no anger in his eyes, only a cold, extinguishing will, as if he were looking at a piece of filth that needed to be completely burned away.

Under the gaze of those dozen or so eyes, as scorching as the sun and as cold as ice, Mhava felt an unprecedented, soul-deep despair.

His entire body convulsed violently under the scorching crimson light, like rotting flesh thrown onto a hot iron plate. The remaining soul fire in his eye sockets flickered wildly as he desperately tried to curl up and hide from the holy flame-like radiance, the shattered pieces of his armor rattling with each movement.

"Stop! Stop!" he hissed sharply, like a rusty saw tearing at rotten wood. "Negotiation! I demand negotiation!" he cried out, frantically slapping the ground with his withered claws, kicking up a small cloud of foul-smelling dust.

“I have value! I know the secrets of the Nightwalkers! Black magic! The location of the buried treasure!” He stammered, his voice distorted by fear and the burning of the holy light. He tried to push up the legendary dwarf embryo enveloped in dark energy, like holding up a tattered shield. “And this! I can free his soul! I can hand it over! Spare my life! Spare my life!”

"Negotiation? With a lump of maggot-infested rotten flesh like you?" A thunderous roar suddenly rang out, drowning out Mhawa's wails.

The dwarven leader, Gerson Grayrock, had a face that was even more ashen than his beard. His eyes were bulging so wide they seemed about to burst, and the fury he exhaled was almost a tangible inferno. He gripped his massive battle axe so tightly that his knuckles turned white from the force, and the blade hummed.

“You filthy maggot that desecrates corpses! Accomplice of the rats!” Gerson’s spittle flew as he roared. “You dug up the sacred remains of our ancestors! You defiled them with your filthy necromancy! You turned them into this…this rotten flesh crawling on the ground!” He pointed at the few night-wandering corpses that were still writhing in vain, his huge body trembling with extreme rage.

"The bones of our ancestors are not for you scum to play with!" Gerson took a sudden step forward, the ground seeming to tremble. He stared intently at Mhava, his eyes filled with a hatred that seemed to want to devour him alive.

"My lord!" He turned to Su Li, who was suspended in the air, his voice hoarse but resolute, "Give me this blasphemer! Crush every single one of its rotten bones into powder! Make it disappear completely! Let it taste what it's like to be crushed into the dirt! Upright dwarves will never utter a single word to undead scum!"

He practically roared it out at the end, each word like a heavy hammer blow on an anvil, echoing in the air filled with smoke and stench.

Mhawa's soul fire flickered wildly under the scorching holy flames, like a candle burning in the wind. Gerson's roar struck his decaying consciousness like a heavy hammer, making his entire skeleton crack.

"No! Wait!" he screamed, his voice distorted and broken by extreme fear, his withered claws scratching futilely in the air as if trying to grasp at some straw.

"I have more! I have more secrets! Big secrets!" Pus kept seeping from his shattered shoulder armor, sizzling under the crimson flames and emitting an even stronger stench.

“Old Jasper!” he suddenly shouted the name, his empty eye sockets fixed on Su Li, who was suspended in holy light. “I know! I know why he suddenly went berserk attacking Blacksend Territory!” He excitedly waved his arm, which was now just a bone, almost dropping the dwarf embryo in his arms. “It’s not just about the Valley of Memories! It’s the Empire! A big shot in the Imperial Electoral Council!”

He spoke so fast it sounded like his broken jaw was about to fall apart: "Evidence! I have evidence! The contract! Hidden, hidden..."

His voice suddenly caught in his throat, as if he had been choked, and the last vestiges of his soul flickered violently, conveying an extreme sense of absurdity. He suddenly realized that he had said too much, and without this bargaining chip, he would have no reason to exist.

So he quickly said, "If you let me go, I can hand over the evidence to you after I leave the Valley of Memories."

"Enough! Your rotten bones spouting nonsense!" Gerson Grayrock's roar exploded again, like the rumble of a forge deep within the dwarven fortress. The muscles in his face contorted with extreme rage, his gray beard bristling. "First you desecrated the remains of our ancestors! Now you're using the Empire's schemes to buy time? You maggot crawling out of the gutter, can you utter a single word of truth? All lies! Foul lies!" He swung his massive battle axe at Mhava, the blade gleaming coldly.

“My lord!” Gerson’s voice was hoarse with excitement, each word like a spark struck from an anvil. “Don’t listen to this scum’s nonsense! He’s stalling! He’s polluting our ears! Crush him and his rotten-bones servants! Burn them to ashes! Let the wind carry away his last stench! That’s the only way to wash away the dwarven honor he’s tarnished!”

His chest heaved violently, his breath scorching hot, and he stared intently at Mhawa, as if he were about to pounce on him and personally carry out this belated destruction with his axe.

Su Li hovered within the crimson-gold holy flames, his cold gaze sweeping over the chaotic scene below. Mhava's desperate wails clashed with Gerson's volcanic roar in the air.

“Commander Gerson.” Su Li’s voice wasn’t loud, but it was like a cold iron clamp, instantly choking the dwarf’s almost out-of-control rage. There was no emotion in his voice, only an unquestionable command. “Step back. Control your anger. He’s still of some use.”

Gerson's massive body stiffened abruptly, as if struck by an invisible hammer. His bloodshot eyes stared incredulously at Su Li in the air, the muscles on his face twitching violently from extreme humiliation and rage, his bluish-gray beard standing on end.

"Use?!" He almost roared, his voice distorted by the immense emotional shock. "Lord! You...you've really lost all sense of decency?! You're going to cooperate with this desecrating corpse, lying through your teeth, stinking to the bone?! Just for his nonsensical so-called 'secrets'?!"

His massive battle axe hummed as he pointed it at the foul-smelling pile of Mhava on the ground, then abruptly at the few still-writhing nocturnal corpses—the remains of his glorious ancestors.

“Look at them! Look at what he has done to us! We dwarves value the rest of our ancestors more than gold! To cooperate with him? It is a thousand times dirtier than wiping a goblin’s ass with a dwarf’s beard! It defiles the soul of all dwarves! It defiles the friendship between us forged in blood and oaths!” Gerson’s roar was like the wail of a wounded beast, filled with the pain of betrayal and incomprehensible rage.

The roar was like a boulder thrown into a calm lake. Behind Su Li, the array of Chosen Knights, suspended in crimson-gold light like steel statues, also showed a slight tremor. Beneath their cold helmets, their gazes shifted between Su Li and the enraged dwarves below. The subtle scraping of their armor and the change in their breathing betrayed the turmoil within these steel warriors.

For M'Hawa? For this undead scum, fresh from the gutter, possessing nothing but rot and stench? Is it worth it? Is it worth risking a complete rift with the dwarves—our ancient allies, with whom we've fought side-by-side in countless bloody battles, our bond forged in iron and fire?
Could the territory truly afford the cost of losing its dwarven allies, and even potentially triggering generations of feuds among the dwarven clans? Doubts crept into the minds of some knights. In the air, the once unbreakable bond of trust between humans and dwarves now emitted a clear, piercing groan, on the verge of collapse.

Facing the fiery gaze of Gerson below and the silent yet heavy pressure of doubt from the knights behind him, Su Li's icy expression remained unwavering. He held a burning battle banner, its crimson-gold light reflecting in his unmoving eyes.

Su Li's gaze slowly swept over the swaying helmets, finally settling on Gerson's face, twisted with rage. His voice remained steady, almost cruelly calm, clearly piercing through the dwarf's roar and the knights' silence: "I have my own plans. I can't explain further to you for now. But I assure you it's not for so-called wealth or secrets."

He paused, each word like a cold iron nail striking the stagnant air.

“You,” he said, his gaze sweeping over the knight and the dwarf, “will understand soon enough.”

These words offered no explanation, no reassurance, only an unquestionable, all-knowing absolute will. Like a bucket of ice water, it temporarily extinguished the impending eruption of Gerson's volcano, but also allowed the cold, unfathomable cracks of "distrust" to silently spread between humans and dwarves.

Gerson gripped his battle axe tightly, his chest heaving violently. He glared at Su Li, a suppressed, beast-like growl escaping his throat, but ultimately he didn't utter another sound. His eyes still burned with anger, but deeper within was immense disappointment and a chilling sense of being pushed into the abyss by his own allies. The dwarves' stubbornness made it impossible for them to accept Su Li's choice.

A chilling standoff froze between the crimson light and the dwarf's fury. Su Li's gaze swept over Gerson Grayrock's face, contorted with humiliation and rage, and the silent yet wavering Chosen Knights behind him. Mhava lay limp in the pus, his soulfire flickering weakly, carrying a sliver of relief at surviving.

"Take him with you." Su Li's voice cut through the stagnant air, devoid of any emotion, as if ordering someone to pick up a tool. "Everyone, return to the ancient battlefield of the Longbeard War. Find the third illusion."

An order is an order. Orstein silently descended, and two Chosen Knights stepped forward. They disgustedly avoided the foul-smelling pus flowing from Mhawa's body, roughly binding his skeletal hands and feet with burning, runic chains. The chains sizzled and burned where they touched, emitting an even more pungent acrid stench. Mhawa hissed in pain, but a faint glimmer of his soulfire flickered—he was still alive, he still had a chance.

Eliria's levitation spell once again enveloped the knights, along with Mhava, who was being dragged by chains and suspended in mid-air like a tattered sack.

Gerson Grayrock remained silent, his face ashen, almost dripping with rage. He spat a mouthful of phlegm onto the ground, nearly creating a crater, then shouldered his massive battle axe and, with heavy, mountain-like steps, took the lead on the path back to the illusion. Each step was imbued with suppressed fury, and the ground seemed to groan.

Return to the ancient battlefield of the Longbeard War. Time remains distorted here, the ancient sounds of battle and the clang of clashing weapons like an ever-present background noise. Broken weapon wreckage, collapsed stone pillars, scorched earth, and the air thick with the smells of gunpowder, dwarven liquor, and the lingering stench of blood.

Without any guidance, everyone's gaze, including the faint soul flame of Mhavana being dragged along, was involuntarily drawn to the depths of the illusion. There, stood the third legend.

He didn't stand on an open battlefield, but in the center of a scorched earth, like a giant meteorite crater, blasted out by immense force. The crater walls were smooth, bearing traces of intense melting. He wasn't wielding a giant axe or a warhammer, but stood steadily beside a massive, suffocatingly complex war machine.

The machine's main body resembled the foundation of a small fortress, upon which rested a massive, short, thick cannon barrel covered in arcane runes and cooling conduits, its muzzle large enough to fit a dwarf warrior. The barrel was covered in thick mithril armor plates, each engraved with defensive runes and the wrathful expressions of the dwarven ancestors. Even just standing there, the machine exuded an aura of destructive power that seemed to distort space itself, as if it were a dormant volcano.

The dwarf standing beside it is its master and its forger—Grensen Anvil.

He was even more imposing than Gerson Grayrock, his muscles bulging like the rocks of a mountain range, exuding explosive power. His thick, iron-brush-like fiery red beard almost covered his entire chest, meticulously braided into a thick plait and secured at the end with a steel ring.

Instead of wearing a traditional horned helmet, he wore a strange helmet shaped like the head of a roaring lion, made from a single piece of molten gold. What spewed from the lion's mouth was not fire, but a condensed and persistent blue runic glow, which reflected on his angular and resolute face, as if it had been hammered.

The years and countless explosions etched deep lines into his face, but his eyes—sharp as an eagle, yet calm as ancient ice—burned with an inextinguishable fire of wisdom and destruction. He wore an extremely heavy suit of mithril runic plate armor, covered with soot and scars from repairs; it was less armor and more a mobile fortress.

His shoulder armor was designed in the shape of a roaring lion's head, with short, thick cannon barrels protruding from its mouth. On his massive iron gauntlets, amplifying crystals shimmered with a dangerous light at the knuckles. He carried no conventional weapons, but several oddly shaped tool hammers and wrenches, covered in gears and tubing, hung from his waist, each radiating powerful magical energy.

Gorenson Anvil, the "Rockbreaker" of the War of the Longbeard, is a legendary master of the Dwarven Engineering Warlocks Guild.

He was not known for his personal martial prowess, but for his destructive war machine, which could change the course of a battlefield, turn mountains to dust, and terrify even dragons.

His "Wrath of the Mountains" mortar, which he forged, once blasted down the war fortress of the Greenskin warlord "Bonecrusher" Groom in the desperate Battle of Deep Pit, burying thousands of Greenskin soldiers and turning the tide of the battle.

His "Earthshaker" drill tore through the solid dwarven mountains, sending deadly explosives deep into the heart of the Skaven lair. His lifelong pursuit of power and destruction combined the dwarven's proud forging techniques with forbidden leyline energy and raging arcane power to create weapons that existed only in nightmares.

He was the pinnacle of dwarven technology, and also the embodiment of the most dangerous and uncontrollable power. He stood beside his masterpiece, arms crossed, his cold eyes, burning with the flames of wisdom and destruction, like two tempered blades, piercing through the illusion's space-time, coldly surveying the intruder—especially the undead bound by chains of holy flame, exuding a blasphemous stench.

That pure, primal aversion and destructive urge, born from an instinct to protect order and life, was colder and more deadly than Gerson Grayrock's raging fury. The air around him seemed to freeze, leaving only the faint glow of the runes flowing on the massive cannon barrel and a chilling sense of oppression.

(End of this chapter)