Ghost Knight King's Dungeon Project

Chapter 15 [The Art of Life Potions]

The morning sun, around six o'clock, shone on the streets of Fallenthorn City, casting its light between the bright white stone walls.

The streets were bustling with people, but most were merchants; there were few adventurers idling around.

Mid- to high-level adventurers are usually still resting, as they need to get enough sleep to maintain an active and healthy state for missions. Those who have already woken up are already in the training grounds, workshops, or barracks, honing their strength, honing their skills, or working with their teammates to plan for the next mission and coordinate the team's overall arrangements.

Meanwhile, a large number of low- to mid-level adventurers crowded noisily at the entrance of the Alliance Hall in the center of Thicket of Fallen City, anxiously waiting for the hall to open at exactly seven o'clock in the morning.

One reason is that arriving early might allow you to secure simpler tasks that don't require specific skills or qualifications and offer relatively higher pay, before others do.

Another reason is that, as mentioned before, most low-level adventurers live day to day, trapped in their circumstances and unable to move forward. They have no savings, and if they don't work for a day, they will go hungry. They need to earn enough for food and lodging for the day at least first.

They abandoned their past and came here with great difficulty, like gold prospectors from the Supar Empire heading to the desolate land in search of their dreams, but there was no future for them here.

After all, the desolate land had never promised them anything. It was all wishful thinking.

Many residents of the habitable zone have never actually seen the desolate lands of the Demon Realm in their entire lives, but they creatively combine half-true, half-false, hearsay stories of getting rich quick with their own fantasies of becoming rich overnight by simply picking a handful of grass. They freely express their imaginations and pass these stories on by word of mouth, confidently calling the "desolate lands" "the land flowing with gold," "the golden land," and "the garden of the Creator."

These rumors, ranging from mild to severe hysteria, lure courageous young people, as well as those with courage but lacking knowledge, onto a journey full of dreams to the fertilizer bins of the Demon King's Garden, where they slide smoothly into the gaping maws of the plants and animals in the underground city, like riding a slide.

Life, existence, and dreams pass through the intestines of reality, turning into feces, and when squeezed out of the stinking anus of life, they make a loud sound like a steel pipe hitting the ground.

Adventurers who have actually spent time in the desolate lands often advise young people:
"Don't come!"

It's not because I'm afraid of losing business, but because far too many people have already been left forever in this desolate place. Perhaps they are still alive, perhaps they are already dead. But once they come, it's very difficult for them to leave.

From the moment you step into this place, you are no longer a human being in civilized society, but rather a part of the food chain ecosystem of the Demon Realm.

Welcome to the very bottom of the food chain, you idiot. The demon kings yawned in their magnificent domed palaces deep underground, casually scratching the chin of the earth-devouring demon worm, stroking the lush vines and colorful fungi entwined on the white stone relief railings, reaching out to pick up the leftover plates from breakfast, and casually dumping the adventurer's corpses from the plates into flowerpots.

It was 6:55 a.m. In the very center of Thorn City, a towering building made of massive white stone bricks stood silently, its oak gate, adorned with a golden giant eye and iron-forged hands emblem, crowded with adventurers.

Looking down from above, the crowded people resembled a dense swarm of ants, surging restlessly and noisily at the entrance of the hall like waves.

Five or six lightly armored Alliance guards, clad in dark blue robes and wielding spears, shouted loudly at the entrance, trying their best to maintain order while blocking the crowd.

"Stop pushing! The doors will open soon!" a guard shouted. "Line up! Line up! Line up! Screw your lining up! Those who need to hand in yesterday's tasks, line up now! You'll have to line up at the counter in the lobby anyway, can't you just line up now?"

"The office staff in the lobby are posting new task assignment sheets on the wall! Wait a bit longer! Otherwise, there's no point in you going in, the walls are empty!" another guard yelled. "Damn it, can't you maintain order?"

The crowd of adventurers are mostly newcomers, usually below level three, and mostly young people.

"Newcomer" usually means "inexperienced and unaware of the rules".

"Low-level" is often equivalent to "a headless fly, not knowing which way to go".

"Youth" often equates to "energetic, hot-tempered, and stubborn mule".

Adventurers possessing all three of these ridiculous traits are usually the kind of people Alliance guards dread encountering most. This means that "inexperienced, rule-abiding, blind, stubborn mules are charging around in front of you," and your job is to have them maintain order.

It's like forcibly tying ropes to a herd of wild, braying, and insane donkeys, with the other end of the ropes tied to your limbs and neck—it sounds like some kind of torture, which an unfortunate transmigrator who was mistakenly reincarnated as armor might call "Shang Yang."

“Around this time every morning—around 6:52—I think about why I’ve ended up like this.” Guard Number Three shouted, like a shepherd herding sheep, turning his spear handle upside down to poke away adventurers who got too close, while chatting with his colleague beside him.

"Perhaps it's because when I was a child, I studied potion-making at the Imperial Matheus Academy. Back then, I was a young, foolish rich kid who didn't study hard and didn't learn anything, so I didn't become an excellent potion master. My father's shipping business also encountered a storm and went bankrupt unexpectedly. My family moved from our mansion in the capital to a small, dilapidated house, and we couldn't afford to send me to Matheus Academy anymore."

“My brother died in a shipwreck. My parents were also devastated by bankruptcy and the loss of their eldest son. Because I didn’t become a potion master, I had to learn some swordsmanship and join the army to make ends meet, leaving all the enlistment pay the Imperial Army gave me to my parents. In the army, I finally managed to be somewhat decent by a respectable centurion, only to encounter the damned demobilization,” Guard Number Three said.

"I'm forty-eight years old and have accomplished nothing, which is why I've ended up in this stupid place, poking these young people who are just as stupid as I was when I was young with spear shafts—all of this must be because I didn't study potions properly when I was thirteen!"

"Is this what you think about all day at work? You're daydreaming while brainstorming your life's memoirs, fantasizing about traveling back to your Potions class at 13-year-old Matthews Academy?" Guard Number Four asked. "There's no such thing as a 'life-reset potion.' That's something bards made up to beg for food; it's not real."

“No, no, no, what I mean is, I recently bought a self-study textbook on Potions. It’s never too late to change your life!” Guard Number Three said. “So every night after my shift, I set aside two hours to study the Potions textbook… I won’t go drinking with you tonight. I won’t go anymore; I can’t numb myself with alcohol anymore!”

"You're insane!" Guard Number Four gave an objective and fair assessment. "What's the point of learning potions at your age? The Potions Society only recruits the top-ranked newcomers every year! There are plenty of apprentice potions masters who are younger and smarter than you, but they can't even pass the Society's official qualification exam, and after graduation they can't even afford enchanting materials and end up as downtrodden adventurers!"

"I'm not doing this to get a Potion Master certification, nor am I hoping to make money from potions. I bought the Potion Master self-study textbook simply because of a deep-seated idea," Guardian Number Three said. "It's my original intention, to prove myself to my past self, you know? When I was a kid, I really dreamed of becoming a Potion Master. Even though so many years have passed and a lot has happened, who can really predict life—"

*Ding-a-ling...* The brass bell fixed above the oak door frame of the Alliance Hall rang. It was the bell for opening the doors of the Alliance Hall.

"Oh oh oh oh oh! It's time—" Guards number three and four hurriedly lunged forward to either side of the gate, making way for each other.

The moment the oak doors opened, a surging tide of young adventurers burst through the doors and poured into the hall like a high-pressure water jet.

In an instant, the corridor, the notice board for authorization forms, the counters, and the entire lobby of the alliance were filled with headless flies, creating a chaotic scene. People jostled for the forms on the wall and then quickly crowded together in front of the counters.

Each of the Alliance's clerical staff at the counter was surrounded by a dozen or so adventurers, who shoved a dozen or so forms in front of them and chattered about their tasks, making their eardrums throb.

“Please line up!” Miss Lillian Watson peeked out from between a pile of documents.

"Please do it one at a time!" another male office worker wailed.

"Line up at the counter! Clerical staff can only handle one task at a time! Anyone not lining up, get the hell out!" Guards Five and Six roared, stepping forward and turning their spears around, poking around with the shafts like they were poking pigs' rear ends, pushing aside the low-level adventurers huddled in front of the counter. "Don't fight! Don't argue! Whoever gets their hands on the task form first gets priority!" Guard Three yelled amidst the chaos, "Anyone who starts a fight, get out too!"

"If you ask me, we should write 'breaking the rules' into the Adventurers' Code as well," Guard Number Four grumbled. "In the Adric Empire's army, people like that would get twenty lashes! They deserve it!"

……

In the city of Fallenthorn, on Old Wood Street, at the entrance of the main hall of Barracks No. 3, stood two tall, heavily armored figures.

The two silently watched the chaos unfolding in the Alliance Hall in the distance.

“Hungry little insects always rise early,” Talia chuckled. “After all, they are born in the morning and die at night.”

“This group looks like the lowest-level adventurers, newbies, low-level—they probably don’t have teams and are unable to take on high-reward, difficult missions.” Samael gazed at the adventurers at the entrance of the hall in the distance. “So they’re all squatting outside the hall so early, waiting to grab low-level solo missions with meager pay to make a living—but they are also the starting point for everything. Perhaps Randall was like that before—maybe one of these young people will continue to learn like Randall and eventually grow into an excellent mid-to-high-level adventurer.”

“It’s unbelievable—your latrine cleaner friend isn’t in there?” Talia asked.

“He shouldn’t be here,” Samael pondered. “Randall has his own team now and is capable of taking on high-level missions. He shouldn’t need to get up early in the morning to compete for these low-paying, individual tasks… It’s obviously not worth it.”

“So he’s late,” Talia said. “The latrine cleaners should have arrived at 6:30 by then. Weren’t we supposed to be working in teams?”

“Perhaps something happened that tripped him up,” Samael said, sitting back down in the hall, lost in thought.

"That's really unreliable," Talia snorted.

After registering their adventurer identities yesterday, Rondar Riska made an appointment with the two to come to the barracks around 6:30 in the morning to team up and explain the mission.

However, it was already seven o'clock, and the two still hadn't seen Randall.

"Would you two adventurers like a cup of tea while waiting for your companions?" The proprietress in the lobby of Barracks No. 3 was wiping wooden cups behind the counter. "Hot tea is always available, free of charge. Life here isn't easy, a cup of tea can at least soothe your throat."

“No need,” Talia said.

Samael was completely unable to eat. Moreover, the two needed to conceal their identities and avoid removing their helmets as much as possible.

“Uh…no need. But thank you anyway, madam,” Samael said politely.

“Why don’t we go straight to Rondar’s room? Isn’t he in barracks number two, room 301?” he asked Talia in a low voice.

"Excuse me... are you two monks Samo and Taran?" a voice suddenly rang out.

Samael and Talia instinctively turned towards the direction of the sound, but there was no one there.

"Who...who is speaking?" Samael asked instinctively.

"Hmm... over here," the voice said.

"Where?" Samael looked around.

The voice let out a long sigh.

“…Below,” she said. “Please look down, two monks.”

Samael and Talia lowered their heads.

A short, blonde woman, barely reaching their elbows, was looking up at them, her face filled with a sense of despair and helplessness regarding her height.

She wore a cloak, and her light leather armor was inlaid with copper plates and studs to enhance her defense. Her striking blonde hair was neatly trimmed, with the ends falling to her neck, and her light blue eyes were full of melancholy.

She carried a strangely shaped, needle-like rapier at her waist, with injection holes at the tip resembling snake fangs. Around her belt hung a leather pouch for potions, identical in design to Rondar's.

Samael and Talia exchanged a glance, then leaned down slightly like two adults looking at a child, trying to make their two-meter height less intimidating.

“This height… based on the idiot captain’s description, you two must be Brother Samo and Brother Taran, right?” the short blonde asked. “I am Ruby Ellis, a potion master in Rondar Riska’s party, a level one adventurer, and I graduated last year from the Potions Department of the Matheus Academy of the Erdrick Empire.”

“Oh, that novice potion master who can’t remove the Bloodthorn poison,” Talia said.

The short, blonde girl clutched her chest, looking utterly devastated.

"Oh, what a bright student! A bright future indeed! The new century is the century of potions..." Samael subconsciously slapped Talia's helmet to stop her from belittling others, and said auspicious words repeatedly.

However, he didn't know what he had done to offend her, because the short blonde girl glared at him with a (。′︵‵。) expression.

"...Uh, sorry." Samael snapped out of his reverie. That's right, if it really had such a promising future, why would he become an adventurer?

"Anyway... something came up with Rondar, so I came to pick you two up." The short, blonde Ruby stood with her hands on her hips, looking aggrieved, between the two imposing humanoid shadows. "Everyone in the team is in the common room across from the barracks. Come with me."

　New chapters are usually released around midnight, but the author was a bit tired yesterday and accidentally fell asleep around midnight last night...

　　
　
(End of this chapter)