Ghost Knight King's Dungeon Project

Chapter 21 [The Undead Legion and the Undead Elite]

The bronze resonator is now in use.

[Strike the metal to release a resonant signal. The signal propagation range is positively correlated with the amplitude.]

Samael raised his sword and shield, intending to strike the shield with the hilt of his sword as he had done to intimidate the bandit leader's swordsman before, but hesitated for a moment and then lowered the sword and shield.

The knocking was too loud. This area was still too close to Randall's squad's position; the sword and shield knocking wasn't safe and could easily be heard.

despair!
Samael raised his gauntlet and snapped his fingers. A faint blue spark, accompanied by the clinking of his bronze fingertips, accompanied an invisible vibration that spread outwards with the crisp sound.

Within a radius of fifty meters, the soil in a certain spot suddenly bulged. Something was turning over the soil, emitting a suffocating, hissing sound, like a dying animal, or a sigh from a distant past.

The next second, a broken skeletal hand pierced through the soil, groping in the air, followed by an arm bone covered with rusty iron arm guards, a half-piece of shoulder armor, a head covered with an iron helmet, and a body with a tattered breastplate—it struggled, stepping on old and worn-out combat boots, and crawled out of the loose soil of the Kanas Plain, a rusty broken sword clutched in its skeletal hand.

The Kanas Plain is prone to dust storms, and the soil is quite loose, mostly topsoil. The bones of the dead are buried in the topsoil rich in spiritual energy and become undead creations.

“…You controlled it?” Talia looked at Samael.

“It should be…yes.” Samael pondered, leaning closer to examine the skeletal warrior. “Keep an eye on Randall and the others. I need to figure out how to use this thing…”

Talia nodded, standing between Samael and the camp, and gazing towards the camp.

The skeletal warrior stood silently before Samael, holding his broken sword motionless in the sunlight, as still as a statue.

The scanner is now enabled.

【Psionic Construct (Main Material: Organic Matter)】

[Constructed artificial life form, manufactured using recycled biomass, retaining the original biological structure and a probability of retaining a small amount of biological posture materials. Inexpensive and easily generated in psionic environments. Capable of performing simple tasks.]

[The methods of activation include, but are not limited to: resonant signals from necromancy, modifications to psionic implants, and forced coverage of circuits by etheric psionic signals.]

[Target Source: Naturally Generated]

[Status: Decaying]

Structural integrity: 41%

[Stamina: 92%]

[Can record biological pose images. Total number of recording bits: 2]

[Biological stance recorded: Razor Formation (1/2, not full)]

【@refresh@】

[Biological Attitude Detection: Razor Formation]

[A military formation usable with more than 50 troops; ineffective with fewer than 6. A coordinated wedge formation can effectively divide and disrupt enemy formations. It is effective when used with standard-issue swords, shields, and spears; at least two people of each weapon are required, otherwise it will be ineffective.]

The database has been updated.

[Burn to the "Artificial Life Science - Biological Posture Materials" content library]

[The device is usable.]

The corpse seemed to have been a soldier of an ancient empire before his death, and this combat skill was also a military skill, completely useless for a single person... Samael pondered. However, combat skills can be deleted and overwritten.

He extended his gauntlet and pressed it against the skeleton soldier's head.

[Target bit read/write in progress:]

The biological posture "razor formation" has been cleared.

The biological posture "blade-reversal stance" has been recorded.

[The biological posture "gait focus" has been recorded.]

[Disc slots full (2/2)]

Interesting... This is how you can modify and adjust a necromancer. Samael stroked his chin under his helmet.

But must it be controlled by striking the bronze to generate a resonance signal? And can it only perform rough displacement and combat skill control, without micro-management? He recalled the scan results from earlier:
[The methods of activation include, but are not limited to: resonant signals from necromancy, modifications to psionic implants, and forced coverage of circuits by etheric psionic signals.]

What exactly are psionic implants? It seems like anything can be controlled through psionic implants.

He opened the UI panel and searched for "psychic implants".

[Artificial Life Science - Psionic Implants]

[The implantation device, made of ghost copper, is used for precise control of the structure and can operate with high precision across ethereal distances.]

[Level 0 technology. Can be manufactured using the Hellfire Copper Printer.]

Samael seemed to be deep in thought, then reached out with his gauntlet and grasped the skeleton's head.

Molten, red-hot Nether Bronze flowed from his palm, casting a bell-shaped Nether Bronze helmet onto the skeleton's head, completely encasing the skeletal warrior's skull.

[Dark copper reserves: 40%]

【@refresh@】

[Dark copper reserves: 20%]

[Psionic implant has been installed.]

[Capable of performing high-precision cross-domain distance operations.]

[Biological posture recording bits have been expanded. Number of recordings: 2/5]

Stamina cap has been increased.

The structural strength has been reinforced.

Posture control has been enhanced.

The artificial voice module has been installed.

The copper resonance signal repeater has been installed.

Samael tried to move his fingers, and the skeletal warrior in the bronze bell-shaped helmet obediently performed the corresponding precise movement.

"Oh... psionic implants are for elite units; they allow for micromanagement." Samael suddenly realized. Come to think of it, if every undead had to micromanage, the sheer number of them would probably burn their heads off.

There are normally two methods of necromancy control.

One type is the Nether Bronze Resonance Signal, which produces sound by striking a resonator. It can control a large number of low-level undead cannon fodder over a wide area, and can also drive a large number of low-level undead to form an army by striking Nether Bronze. The operation precision is low, but the quantity is large and the range is wide. The size of the control range is related to the volume of the striking sound, ranging from snapping fingers to striking with a sword and shield, and can even be used to forge a Nether Bronze war drum.

Another type is psionic implants, which are a kind of Nether Bronze-covered equipment that allows for the micromanagement of elite units. Implants are created by consuming Nether Bronze, and the number that can be controlled is limited by resources and control energy, but the control precision is high, and individual undead constructs can be enhanced, making them nodes for the propagation of elite unit and Legion control signals.

Isn't this the Infected Commander Alexei Stokoff from StarCraft II? He has a large number of cannon fodder units that can be roughly controlled in batches, as well as powerful elite units that can be precisely micromanaged.

Samael snapped out of his daze, reached out and pressed his hand on the bronze bell-shaped helmet, melting the bronze before pulling it back.

I currently have too little Nether Bronze. With this little, I can only build two implanted helmets and generate two elite units, in addition to the sword and shield. I need to find a way to unlock the "Nether Bronze Generator" in the Level 1 Materials Science tech tree as soon as possible—but that would probably require searching for ancient ruins deep underground and trying my luck... I'll think about it another time.

*Snap.* He snapped his fingers, sending blue sparks flying. The skeletal warrior fell backward, struggled briefly among the loose earth, and was then half-buried back into the soil.

The Bone Hills of the Kanas Plain probably teem with such skeletal warriors, hidden in the topsoil, waiting to ambush any living person passing by. Samael was somewhat eager to try it out. A resonant snap of the fingers had a radius of about fifty meters, so how many undead could be summoned by activating the resonator and striking the sword and shield?

He stopped moving. Perhaps... he could use it to intercept the convoy at night. Samael put away his sword and shield, casually reforging the shield and repairing the sword marks left by the charged impact of the Bloodsteel Sword.

"There's been a problem with the latrine cleaners," Talia, who had been quietly on guard duty, suddenly spoke up.

"What's wrong?" Samael leaned closer.

“They’re too far away now; they’re no longer within the range of our predator aura and necromantic aura. Enchanted creatures are trying to attack them.” Talia gazed at the distant sky. “Dragonflies.”

A huge, reddish-brown eagle circled above the camp. Its claws and long neck, covered with bluish-green scales, were particularly bright. A row of dark blue spines ran down its back, and its beak was filled with densely packed, crocodile-like sharp teeth.

Like the flock of demon crows, it was drawn by the stench of blood from the bandits' corpses, but it discovered an unexpected bonus—a group of living people were also there.

“This is a good opportunity—weren’t they wondering why we didn’t encounter any demonic creatures or undead attacks when we were with them? We can use this opportunity to put on a show and clear our names.” Samael looked into the distance. “You quietly control that dragon eagle, and I’ll try to manipulate an undead to make them confront us for a bit, put on a show, fight a couple of times, and then drive them away or deal with them.”

“No problem.” Talia stared at the figure in the sky, a faint blue light flashing in her eyes.

……

"Dragonfly!" Rondar shouted, drawing his bow and nocking an arrow. The specially made beast-driving arrow pierced the air, heading towards the dragonfly with a piercing whistle.

These are beast-repelling arrows. The arrowheads are hollowed out and drilled, and when they pass through the air, they emit a piercing whistling sound, which can intimidate or scare away some low-level monsters.

But this was completely useless against the dragon vulture. It flapped its massive wings, and its stiff feathers swatted the arrows away.

The severely wounded Elliot has been moved inside the beacon tower ruins to prevent him from dehydrating from the sun. Ruby and Glad are taking care of him inside, while Serena and Rondar are guarding the dragon eagles outside.

As the runestone wheel spun, the magic circle circuits assembled and rotated accordingly. Serena placed two fire beast glands and a flint into the groove of the runestone and raised her staff high!

A small oil bubble appeared on the surface of the runestone at the tip of the staff. With the click of flint, it turned into an orange-red fireball that gradually expanded. Oil and fire continuously gushed out from the surface of the runestone at the tip of the staff. The orange-red fireball gradually expanded like an inflating balloon, growing from the size of a fingertip to the size of a person. It then broke away from the runestone magic circle and slowly floated towards the dragon eagle.

The dragon-eagle let out a piercing cry, warily dodging the enormous oil bubble. Serena, panting, focused intently, raising her staff high, the tip slightly tilting as she manipulated the oil bubble to track and drive away the dragon-eagle.

But the oil bubble was drifting too slowly. The dragon vulture folded its wings, darted past the side of the oil bubble, and suddenly opened its huge mouth, vomiting a small clump of half-digested, rotten animal bone fragments onto the oil bubble.

The debris struck the oil slick, instantly igniting a fireball. Orange flames and burning oil splattered, blooming in the sky like fireworks.

The dragon vulture circled away from the blast radius, letting out a mocking cry.

“Use your magic sparingly. The mental strain and energy consumption of the Floating Fireball is too great.” Rondar glanced at Serena, who was panting and leaning on her cane.

“…I understand.” Serena clutched her throbbing forehead.

"Randall brothers, let us handle this." A familiar voice came from not far away.

Rondar turned his head, and the two knights were already striding over.

“It’s alright, as long as we drive them away, the two of us can handle it,” Rondar explained, reaching for the magic-forged arrow at his waist.

But the black-armored monk Taran had already grabbed a piece of broken firewood from the side and thrown it.

With a piercing shriek, the dragon vulture was struck by a piece of firewood. Although it wasn't seriously injured, it seemed to be enraged. The massive, crimson-brown figure swooped down, its sharp claws tearing at the Taran monk.

Brother Taran sneered, raised his hammer and spear and struck hard, knocking the charging dragon vulture to the side. The vulture slid along the soil due to inertia, kicking up dust and leaving a deep impact mark on the ground.

Whoosh! She gripped the heavy hammer-spear horizontally, swung it in the air in a flourish, and dragged the hammer-spear as she approached the fallen dragon vulture step by step.

The faint blue light beneath the demon horn's black helmet went out, and the control was lifted.

The dragon vulture, having lost the monarch's order to attack, screamed in terror, flapped its injured wings, and took flight, flying erratically into the distance.

“Ah… thank you, Brother Taran.” Rondar nodded in thanks.

“Randall brothers, you can go back and take care of Elliott. We'll guard the camp.” Samael enthusiastically took on the responsibility.

The bronze resonator is now in use.

Tap. His fingers, hidden behind his back, gently clenched together, sparking a faint blue flame.

[Attack signal has been released.]

"Watch out!" Rondar suddenly cried out, drawing his sword and thrusting it downwards!
Clang! A loud metallic clang rang out as a rusty broken sword and Randall's longsword clashed at Samael's feet.

A skeletal warrior stretched out an arm from the loose soil at Samael's feet, aiming to slash at his calf, but was stopped by Randall's sword.

“…Sorry, I made a mountain out of a molehill.” Randall snapped out of his daze and realized that the person in front of him wasn’t a level two or three lightly armored teammate, but a heavily armored Samo monk. An enemy of this level probably couldn’t even scratch a Samo monk’s armor.

“No, no, thank you, Brother Rondar. I was distracted just now and almost didn’t notice.” Samael thanked him repeatedly, then bent down and smashed the skull with his shield, kicked the skeletal warrior at his feet, and shattered the broken bones and rusty armor. “You guys go in and take care of Elliott, we’ll guard outside.”

“Well… thank you. We’ll come out and change shifts in a bit.” Rondar nodded sincerely, looking at the two standing side by side, before returning to the ruins with Serena to check on Elliott’s condition.

The dimly lit brick room was littered with bandits' mattresses and hammocks, along with miscellaneous equipment. Dried crack-claw bird jerky hung on the walls, and sacks of wheat were piled up.

Ruby stared blankly at the blood-red longsword in the corner, trying to concoct a targeted healing potion, while Glad took a teapot and went to the well behind the bandit camp to fetch water.

After entering the house, Serena quickly ran over to Ruby and discussed with her how to speed up the healing of the wounds caused by the blood-red longsword.

"Cough cough...cough..." Elliott lay flat on the bed in the center of the room, his eagle-claw-like fingers tightly gripping his skull gold coin, panting and coughing as he looked at Rondar who had just entered the room. "There are sounds of fighting outside...what's going on?"

“As usual, a monster and undead attack,” Rondar explained. “The two monks have already driven them away, so don’t worry—”

"Wait a minute, cough cough... cough, you mean, those two people fought against the monsters and the undead?" Elliott struggled to sit up.

"Hey, don't move around too much, or your wound will reopen." Rondar rushed forward and helped him sit up. "That was a dragon vulture and a skeleton warrior. But the two monks have already taken care of it, so don't worry."

"When they were fighting the mutated creatures, cough... were the mutated creatures' targets you or them?" Elliott asked.

“Well…it was originally on us, but after Brother Taran appeared, it was transferred. Instead, it took the initiative to attack Brother Taran, but was wounded and escaped,” Rondar replied.

Elliott was silent for a moment.

"Where are the necromancers?" he pressed.

"It was an ambush-type undead, its broken sword emerging from the ground to try and slash at the Samo monk's calf. I parried it—of course, given the Samo monk's armor, even if I hadn't parried, there wouldn't have been any problem..."

Eliot nodded, rubbing the skull coin in his palm to indicate that he understood.

"What's wrong?" Rondar asked.

"It's nothing." Elliott snorted. "Damn it, it's all your fault for being a paranoid kid. Hanging out with you for too long has made me suspicious too! It's nothing."

He slowly lay back down on the bedding, flat on his back, and held up the skull coin in his hand, quietly gazing at the dazzling ancient patterns on the coin.

"So it was just luck after all." He stared blankly at the skull relief on the gold coin.

“By the way, you carry that big gold coin with you every day, is it your lucky charm?” Rondar asked.

"Ahem... Why are you suddenly asking this?" Elliott asked, glancing sideways.

“It just suddenly occurred to me today that you’ve been in the team for almost a year, yet we know so little about you—we don’t even know your surname.” Rondar sat beside him, lost in thought. “And, like… you used to kill a lot of bandits and robbers. If I had known earlier, maybe we wouldn’t have been arguing about similar decisions for so long.”

“I’m not like you guys. I don’t want my surname. My name is Elliott.” Elliott rolled his eyes. “Pah! My cheap dad is an alcoholic scoundrel and a gambler who’s drowning in debt. My cheap mom ran off with someone and forgot to take me with her—or maybe she just didn’t want to take me, her burden.”

He sighed.

“I tried to run away too, but I failed several times and always ended up getting beaten by my cheap old man. He would cry and punch and kick me, drunk and slurring his words about fate and Lady Luck, saying that nobody was on his side, not even his own son.”

"My adoptive father was an alcoholic and a gambler, to make matters worse. He had terrible luck and lost all his money and land. Instead of repenting, he mortgaged the house and borrowed money from loan sharks."

"When he lost all that money again and the debt collectors came to collect, his gambling addiction kicked in again. He started making a ruckus, saying he wanted to gamble with the debt collectors."

“If he wins the bet, he keeps the house. If he loses the bet, he gives his last possession, his son, that is, me, to the moneylender as a slave.”

I was eleven years old that year.

Elliott let out a shrill laugh, a slightly neurotic laugh.

"The loan collector was dressed in all black leather, thin and tall, with a black scarf covering his face, a black leather hat, and a long coat. He looked like a shadow stretched long by the candlelight at midnight."

"He actually accepted the betting invitation. He played two rounds of cards with my father, winning one and losing one, and two rounds of dice, also winning one and losing one. The dice rolled around on the table like skulls. And the sound of the cards rubbing together was like the guillotine blade."

"From morning until night, and finally it got dark. The shadowy loan collector glanced out the window and said, 'It's getting late, let's not waste any more time. Let's play one last round of coin toss. We'll guess heads or tails, and that'll decide the winner.'"

"Then he took out a gold coin with a skull on one side and a crown on the other."

“My father pawned the crown, and the loan collector pawned the skull.”

"As the loan collector was about to toss the gold coin, I was standing to the side of the table and saw his finger deftly flick the edge of his pocket, and he had already switched the gold coin for one with skulls on both sides."

Elliott smiled.

“I didn’t say a word. I just watched my father lose the bet, watched him roar hysterically, watched him lunge at the loan collector, watched him be stabbed more than a dozen times in an instant by a serpentine curved sword, and watched him struggle in a pool of blood.”

"The loan collector was an assassin. He took big jobs for the powerful and wealthy in the capital of Florence, worked in the dirty streets of the Erdrick Empire, and was a stray dog ​​among the bandits in the desolate lands. Finally, he got tired and wanted to find a quiet place where no one knew him, so he needed a house."

"The loan shark knew him, so he introduced him to a job, telling him to deal with the gambler himself and then go get the house. He wasn't actually playing cards or dice with my cheapskate father at first; he was waiting for it to get dark so he could make his move."

"He didn't sell me into slavery. Instead, he gave me this gold coin with skulls on both sides and told me that there is a kind of spider that kills ants and lives in ant nests, pretending to be an ant. He was that kind of spider, and he needed my father's house and my father's identity to hide from his enemies."

"So, the two of us worked together to move my cheap biological father's body onto a carriage and transport it to a faraway place to dispose of it. After returning home, he stayed there and became my expensive adoptive father, teaching me how to kill, how to blend into the crowd, and how to sneak into heavily guarded places. Gradually, he turned me into a spider like him."

He sighed, picked up the skull coin, and stared intently at the skull pattern on its surface.

"This isn't a lucky coin. I don't believe in luck. My own father believed in luck, and that's what happened to him. Bah!"

“This gold coin doesn’t symbolize luck; it symbolizes the future—like my godfather, I don’t believe in luck, only in the future. Perhaps one day in the future, everything in your life will change dramatically overnight, and the things you once thought were painful and terrible won’t seem so terrible anymore.” Elliott coughed lightly.

"I'm the kind of person whose life is cheap, but also tough. Even if I get stabbed by some stupid, broken sword that steals my life force, I can still survive."

“Whenever life gets tough, I look at it and think about that night. I was in a nightmare of despair and pain, and I even thought about dying. But I survived the ordeal and was ushered in a completely different life.”

"You never know what will happen in life unless you experience it for yourself." He smiled. "It would be such a pity if I gave up halfway. There will be many good things in the future."

He pressed the skull coin to his chest.

“Yes, it will,” he said softly, gazing quietly at the unfamiliar and dilapidated white stone ceiling of the beacon tower ruins.

If he shifted his gaze further, he would see a demonic raven perched in a gap in the corner of the ruins' ceiling, holding a clump of brownish-yellow mold in its beak, watching the scene inside the room with great interest.

Unfortunately, Elliot's attention was scattered after his injury, and he didn't notice the crow's presence. Even if he had noticed it, he would have at most assumed it was some kind of carefree, harmless little monster.

Everyone in the room was busy with their own things, but Randall suddenly heard a sound like flapping wings, looked up and gazed in the direction of the sound.

The gap in the corner of the ceiling was empty; there was nothing there.

It was probably just a rumor. He didn't pay it any mind. The Samo and Taran monks, whose strength was comparable to level seven adventurers, were guarding outside; it was safe here.

　Many good things will happen in the future... Yes, they will.

　　
　
(End of this chapter)