Ghost Knight King's Dungeon Project

Chapter 29 [On the Eve of Departure]

The taverns in Fallenthorn City are always noisy and bustling, filled with all sorts of people, and the air is thick with the aroma of food, stories, wine, and life.

"Excuse me! Excuse me!" The waiter carried stacks of food and large wooden cups through the crowd, even balancing a large cup on his head. He deftly and accurately placed the mountain of food and drinks on the seventeen or eighteen tables around him, without any confusion, demonstrating an amazing professional memory.

"In the age of gods, there was a hero who loved dragons, yet the gods commanded him to slay an ancient dragon!" The bard sat on a greasy old chair at the bar, playing the lute. His nimble fingers plucked at the strings like a leopard cat scratching its paws, humming a melancholy tune, singing epic poems and a jumble of heroic tales. "He didn't want to hurt his beloved, nor did he want to defy the gods; with nowhere else to turn, he sought refuge with an evil god..."

People come here seeking music, listeners, and confidants, simply to escape the pressures of life for a while. Perhaps the meaning of the story lies in this—to allow weary souls to experience a different kind of life.

Being an adventurer is a stressful job, filled with exhaustion, anxiety, danger, and pain. Many people even lose money the more they do it, getting stuck in the same place with no future in sight. After a long day of running around, having a drink in a tavern, chatting and joking around, and talking nonsense and bragging to strangers is also an indispensable part of life.

After all, the pressures of life and the harsh climate of the desolate lands are perpetually despairing, a place where cold calculations intertwine with the survival-of-the-fittest food chain. Many adventurers have had their souls crushed by reality or their minds overwhelmed by emotions, leading them to suicide.

It's impossible for anyone to maintain a positive mindset all the time, especially under such high pressure and uncertainty about the future. Fabricated jokes, made-up stories, nonsensical boasts, card and pinball games, steaming hot food, and those silly teammates who like to rub salt in your wounds—these are all spiderwebs that keep you from falling into the abyss of darkness.

Oh, there's a new, wildly popular dessert lately. The ingredients are just ice, tart jam, and a few sweet berries, but supposedly the cool, sweet and sour taste makes people happy and temporarily forget their troubles. I wonder who started this trend.

"Buying high-grade materials! Buying high-grade materials from the Valak dungeon!" A merchant squeezed into the tavern and shouted loudly amidst the chaotic crowd, but no one paid him any attention. He felt embarrassed but wasn't angry, and hurried off to shout elsewhere.

“Ahmak (idiot).” The light brown-skinned dancer wore gold-plated leather armor with grey scales, revealing her amber belly and supple waist. She was draped in a cloak, her face veiled by a thin gauze, a sharp blade hanging at her waist, and gold rings adorning her wrists and ankles. She muttered a phrase in the dialect of the Supar Empire, scooped up a spoonful of jam sorbet, and put it into her mouth from under the veil.

"Those who besieged the Valak dungeon have all made a fortune, bringing back over a dozen truckloads of high-level materials... I kind of regret not going." A brown-skinned, bearded man with a turban scooped a large spoonful of jam and ice from the plate in front of him and put it in his mouth, a few drops of jam sticking to the tip of his beard.

He had a heavy scimitar hanging at his waist, with a small gold pendant shaped like an oil lamp hanging from the hilt—a symbol of a fairy tale from the Eastern Supar Empire about a magic lamp and a young wisher.

"We're not here for money, but to lay low. In the Eastern Supar Empire, no amount of gold or silver is worth more than a handful of gold and jewels lying on the ground," the dancer sneered, sipping her jam-filled sorbet. "The Grand Vizier [Ibusim Pasha] has succeeded in his coup, and the Sultan is now a puppet. It's the Vizier's dynasty now. The Sultan's cronies will be purged. We're lying low for a while, and once the aftermath of the sand-burning coup has passed, we can return to the desert and retrieve the treasure the Sultan buried."

“I’m different from you. You were raised like a falcon, pampered and cherished. I come from a nomadic background. When I was a child, my family only had three sheep. I was terrified of poverty. I grew up with the Sultan and became a tall, camel-like man, but deep down I’m still a skinny, clumsy sheep. It’s inevitable that I’ll be envious when I see a good hunt.” The bearded man with a turban chuckled. “These past few days, when the spoils dealers see those high-level adventurers carrying bags into the market, they’re like flies to meat scraps, swarming around them and grabbing their money.”

“Ahmak—idiot! Only a donkey would sell high-grade loot to Tukad (merchants).” The cloaked dancer uttered a string of words mixed with the Supar Empire’s dialect, her purple-lipped lips pursing her spoonful of jam and ice. “Tukad resells everything, buying materials cheaply in Fallenthorn City, then transporting them to the Habitable Zone and selling them at two or three times the price. Low-priced materials have low profit margins, so even rat scraps are cheap for Tukad. But the high-priced materials in the third ring of the dungeon are camel meat; anyone with a clear head would bring them to the Habitable Zone to sell themselves.”

“Long-distance transport is a tough and troublesome affair, too much trouble. Besides, not all adventurers have their own camels—I mean, horse-drawn caravans.” The bearded man took a sip of his drink, wiped the foam and jam off his beard with the back of his hand, and lowered his voice, “Do you think the Sand Tyrant Sitika is related to the Grand Vizier’s coup?”

“Absolutely.” The dancer toyed with her spoon. “Without the help of the Demon King Sitika, Ibsimpasha couldn’t have acquired so many demon exile slaves as warriors—and those golden collars used to control the slaves were magical artifacts forged from the demonized metal [Witch Metal].

She finished off the jam smoothie in front of her and put down her spoon.

"It's been six months. The aftermath of the Sandstorm Coup should have subsided by now." The dancer stood up and greeted the bearded man. "This is our last meal in Fallenthorn City. We should prepare to return home."

"Ah, we still have to be wary of the slave warriors of the Demon King Sitika. How are we going to find a new patron? Who would dare to take in the remnants of the Sultan's Sand Scorpion warriors now?" The bearded man with a turban sighed sadly. "Shouldn't we try to rescue the Sultan? The Sultan brought me to a palace full of gold and fed my family with cattle and sheep. If I don't repay him, what difference is there between me and a jackal?"

The dancer hesitated for a moment, then sighed.

“First, we need to get the treasure, establish a foothold, and gather the remnants of the Sand Scorpion Warriors before we even think about rescuing the Sultan… Otherwise, even if we storm the palace, we'll just be throwing our lives away. Ibsim Pasha doesn't dare kill the Sultan right now; he needs a puppet to maintain his rule,” she said. “Let's follow the footprints in the sand before we're swallowed up by the quicksand.”

The two left the tavern, but the noise inside continued.

"So many high-level adventurers have retired directly... I wonder how much money they made from a single run of the Valak dungeon..."

"If only my level were high enough, I'd really like to go on a trip to the inner ring..."

"Don't be foolish! Half of them died inside! Including the level eleven Flame Thorn Augusta..."

"Wasn't that a stupid mistake made by Augusta himself? We're not stupid..."

"You're not stupid, you're just greedy!"

"Have you heard? There's been a really sneaky necromancer swordsman on the edge of Beastbone Hills lately. He only knows two combat skills: [Footwork Focus] and [Blade Counter Stance]. If you turn your back to him, he'll use Footwork Focus to sneak up on you. If you turn your head, he'll immediately switch to Blade Counter Stance! It's really sneaky!"

"It's not that difficult to deal with, but its behavior is very abnormal. When it encounters a high-level adventurer who knows how to break formations, it will break its blade stance and run away! It has a light frame and a focused pace, so it runs very fast and can't be caught! Low-level adventurers don't know any combat skills, so when they encounter it, they can only walk backwards while clutching their butts!"

"This sleazy necromancer is quite famous now. People who've been to Beastbone Hills have given him a nickname: 'Butt Killer'!"

"Oh!" Samael snapped out of his reverie. That was the first necromancer he'd used during testing; he'd forgotten to empty its combat skill gauge before casually burying it back in the ground!
"What's wrong, Brother Samos?" Rondar asked from across the table.

"No, it's nothing," Samael replied guiltily.

The two sat at a corner table in the tavern, discussing matters related to their trip to the Erdrik Empire.

However, Samael's mind wandered as he talked. He realized that his helmet's UI could capture and extract specific audio in chaotic environments, and he could freely choose to eavesdrop on a conversation even in noisy places.

The conversation between the two remnants of the Eastern Supar Empire's Sand Scorpion warriors was very soft, almost a whisper, and nearly impossible to hear in the chaos. However, after frantically operating the system for a while, Samael managed to make out the conversation clearly using the audio extraction and amplification features of his helmet's UI.

The name "Demon Lord Sitika" sounded familiar. When he first met Valak, Valak had mentioned "Sitika and Marna," two demon lords who sent troops to hunt down Talia and were also involved in the destruction of Rondoran. While the two were talking, Samael searched his database for the term "Witch Metal," another type of enchanted metal besides "Nether Copper" and "Bloodsteel." According to the description, it seemed to be used for forging precision instruments and complex scientific equipment—including psionic implants.

It sounds like the Sand Sea Tyrant, Sitika, also possesses some technology from the ruins of the Age of Gods. Samael pondered. Perhaps every demon lord, as well as the various kingdoms, races, and factions of this world, possesses fragments of technology from the Age of Gods, and has developed their own power by using different fragments of technology.

Although Valak has never shown anything related to the technology of the Age of Gods, his ability to become a Demon King and build his own dungeon could not have been achieved solely through violent suppression.

“Brother Samos?” Rondar’s voice rang out.

"Oh, sorry, I was just spacing out for a moment," Samael said, snapping back to reality.

"We didn't sell the spoils we captured during our bandit mission—three caravans and two horses. We had them repaired and modified by a blacksmith, and now they're drivable," Rondar said. "We can now travel long distances."

"Recently, many merchants have acquired a large number of high-grade enchanted materials, intending to transport them back to the Erdrick Empire or the Kingdom of Floren. Because the amount involved is huge, they will hire many adventurer teams to escort them."

"There are also some high-level adventurers who plan to sell their goods and retire, but they don't intend to sell to the merchants in Fallenthorn City. Instead, they plan to transport the goods themselves to the habitable zone to maximize profits. These high-level adventurers will also issue temporary missions to hire several teams of low-level adventurers to accompany them and escort the goods."

“We can take on an escort mission to the Erdrik Empire. After completing the mission, we can take Ruby to the imperial capital, Eros, to take her exam. You two can also go to where you want to go—the Samos Monastery. Which type of mission do you think is better?” Rondar asked. “Trading or adventure?”

"Uh... I guess it's a trading business. Trading is fine." Samael answered instinctively. High-level adventurers are too perceptive; traveling together inevitably involves prolonged contact, which carries the potential risk of revealing one's identity.

“Okay, no problem!” Rondar replied briskly. “Is there anything else to add? If not, I’ll go and accept the merchant mission.”

“Oh, right, change the horseshoes.” Samael remembered what Talia had noticed earlier. “These two horses seem to be imperial warhorses, picked up and used by bandits. The horseshoes have the imperial sword crest emblem on them.”

"Is that so!?" Rondar was taken aback, then hurriedly pulled out his small notebook and jotted it down. "I'll go get it right away... Thank goodness you reminded me."

*Slap!* A hand landed on Randall's shoulder.

"Riska." A familiar voice rang out. "Long time no see."

The two men looked up, and Samael nearly shuddered.

Norman Passat, clad in blue robes and steel armor, stood beside the table with a long steel sword on his back and a hand on Randall's shoulder.

“Good morning, senior.” Randall stood up and pulled up a chair, gesturing for Norman to sit down. “Long time no see—how was it going in the Valak dungeon?”

"It's alright." Norman held onto the back of the chair but didn't sit down. "One must know how to be content, or one will lose everything. Contentment brings happiness."

He looked Samael over and noticed that there was a wooden cup filled with light wine in front of Randall, while the table in front of Samael was empty.

“Aren’t you going to offer this war knight something to drink?” he asked Rondar.

“The Samoan monks are from a monastery and are fasting today,” Randall replied.

“Oh, sorry, I’m offending your religious tradition.” Norman looked up at Samael and replied casually, “How do you two know each other—I was quite surprised to see him in your group before.”

“Uncle Robin and Uncle Carlisle, who were on duty at the city gate, introduced me,” Rondar answered. “I even suspect that the Alliance guards might know every adventurer in the entire city.”

“I see.” Norman nodded slowly. “I won’t sit down. You two can continue your conversation—I’m leading a team back to the Kingdom of Florence in the next few days, and I need to send off my…”

He seemed to want to say "daughter," "niece," "fellow villager," and "friend's child," but in the end, he didn't say any of them.

"I'm going back to sell the demonized materials, and I'll give someone a ride on the way," he said casually. "I'm about to leave. I'd like to say goodbye before I go, since it's been a while since we last saw each other."

“I’m leaving.” He put down his chair. “Take care, Riska. It’s never wrong to play it safe—although I left my home to become an adventurer out of necessity, you are still one of the honors of my arduous career.”

"Yes, Senior Norman!" Rondar stood up, waved goodbye, and said, "See you later, Senior!"

Norman waved his hand and turned to leave.

Randall and Samael looked at each other and remained silent for a moment.

“It’s alright.” Rondar shook his head.

Samael breathed a sigh of relief.

"I've accepted a merchant escort mission. I should set off around tomorrow." He nodded. "Heading to the border of the Erdrick Empire."

(End of this chapter)