Ghost Knight King's Dungeon Project

Chapter 36 [Born with Unique Talents]

A withered autumn leaf drifted down onto the wooden window frame on the third floor of the hostel, where it was gently picked up by a rusty copper gauntlet.

Samael gazed intently out the window at the wheat fields rippling in the slightly chilly autumn wind, wave after wave surging toward the edge of the fields.

The empire's peasants stood behind the harvesting carts, urging the horses in the middle of the carts to move.

The harvesting cart resembles a large wooden frame with horses harnessed in the center. Horizontal razor wheels and power transmission gear shafts are fixed to the front and sides. To use it, the wooden crossbar at the rear of the frame must first be opened, the horses led inside, and the sturdy wooden beams and harness ropes secured. Then, the wooden crossbar at the rear of the cart is closed.

As the wheels turn, the gear set transmits power through the bearings and then changes direction, converting some of the power into power for the razor wheels at the front and sides of the vehicle.

Samael toyed with a fallen leaf in his hand, looking down at the structure of the harvester's frame and the razor wheel.

"I've seen you before at the Joint Library in Rondoran. You're actually a princess?" came the surprised voice from behind the girl with a bandage on her cheek. "I thought you were just a...bookworm."

“Yes… but I just… I’m not used to being stared at,” Talia replied awkwardly.

"Rest assured, we will not tell Musa about your affairs—you are probably Musa's target." The young merchant wearing a leather hat approached Samael. "The Rondoran we admired was destroyed by betrayal—we do not want such a thing to happen again."

“Yes, thank you,” Samael replied. “Is it just for harvesting?”

He pointed to the harvesting vehicles outside the window.

"It was once a war chariot of the Erdrik Empire, used against lightly armored and unarmored infantry in plains warfare, and also used to ram dense cavalry formations, cutting off the horses' legs in close-range impacts," the young merchant replied. "But it was not very effective against the desert infantry of the Supar Empire, because the chassis was very low, and the wheels and most of the frame often got stuck in the sand, as it was meant to cut off the legs of both horses and men."

Samael turned his head and glanced at him a couple more times.

"What's wrong?" asked the young demon merchant exile.

He looked to be in his early twenties, wearing a large leather hat, and was quite handsome, except that his eyes were squinty, like two lines, making him look like some kind of tired and lazy reptile, squinting in the sun.

"Why does everyone know so much?" Samael hesitated. "Am I the only one who's visiting the Empire for the first time?"

"No—I used to be the architect and foundry mechanic of a small underground city in the border region of the Southern Holy Light Kingdom. The development of these war machines is within my field of expertise." The squinty-eyed demon exile shrugged. "My former boss was killed by adventurers not long after construction began. The dungeon was half-built when adventurers flooded in and completely demolished it. I and other weak demons had nowhere to live, and other dungeons didn't want me, so I joined Old Duke's exile caravan."

“I’m not good at fighting, and my psychic talent is just average. Although I have some professional knowledge, it’s not enough in those medium to large-sized demon dungeons.” He took off his hat, parted his hair, and showed the black horn root marks on both sides of his head that had been sawed off.

"Oh! A master!" Samael exclaimed respectfully. "How... is your name?"

“Achi, Achi Yevel.” The squinty-eyed exile nodded. “I dare not accept the title of master; I am but a lowly craftsman.”

“Alright… Archie Yevel, friend.” Samael put his hand on Archie’s shoulder. “We might need this to help us in combat.”

He pointed to the harvesting vehicles outside the window.

“Of course, if you wish,” he added, “if you don’t want to get involved, that’s understandable too; we won’t force you—”

“No, no, no, Mr. Samael, the only reason we haven’t taken action against Musa is because we can’t beat him,” Archie interrupted him. “He has hurt our respected Elder Duke—the elderly patriarch of our family. If you are going to kill Musa and his men, then please allow us to do us a favor.”

“However…” he hesitated for a moment.

"What's wrong?" Samael asked.

“I don’t think it’s very useful.” Yachi shook his head. “We demons have terrifying healing abilities. The sharpness of ordinary weapons is not very useful to demons unless you cut off their heads, blow their bodies apart, or use incredible strength to tear through their muscles, pull out their bones, pierce their abdomens, and rip out their internal organs—that’s why demon warriors like to wear claw-shaped gauntlets.”

He glanced at Talia's claw-shaped armor.

“We also have crossbows on the roof of our long-haul trucks. When they attacked us outside the Empire, we tried to fight back, but it was difficult to inflict any effective damage on them,” the girl with a bandage on her face added. “The five demonized beings were two [Red Shell Insect Guards], two [Dune War Scorpions], and one [Sand Wyvern].

"The Red-shelled Insect Guard is a low-agility, heavily armored unit that is difficult to penetrate with ordinary weapons and is particularly resistant to blunt force attacks. The Dune Scorpion is a balanced unit with medium agility and medium armor, and it also uses its venomous stinger in melee combat. The Sand Wyvern is an unarmored, high-agility unit that is difficult to deal with once it enters the air."

"You have a good understanding of the characteristics of different magical beasts?" Samael asked.

“Before I became an exile, I was a beastman and gardener in a weak dungeon.” She tore off the gauze from her cheek, revealing a deep red scar beneath where scales had been forcibly ripped off.

“The dungeon where I used to live was breached by another demon lord, and our lord was killed. I and other weak demons would have been captured and enslaved by the conquerors, but I escaped.”

She seemed somewhat concerned about the scars on her face, and immediately put the gauze back on after revealing her demon identity.

"How should I address you, this talented and beautiful young lady?" Samael noticed this and adjusted his words before giving a slight nod in greeting.

“G...Gwyneth Halder.” Gwyneth, with her scaly scars, touched the bandage on her face, blushed slightly, and smiled gently.

*Thud.* For some reason, Talia slammed into Samael's shoulder armor again.

I was just trying to encourage her... Samael tried to signal with his eyes, but he didn't have eyes.

However, Talia had eyes, a pair of bright, steel-gray eyes, and she clearly expressed with her gaze the long sentence, "I also know a lot of knowledge, why don't you praise me?"—which surprised Samael that her eyes could actually speak to him.

“Yes, Miss Halder, and Mr. Yevel, I think there’s no problem.” Samael held a fallen leaf in her hand, leaned against the windowpane, and gazed at the Imperial Foundry on the distant horizon. “Also, you mentioned before that your leader was kidnapped by Musa?”

“Yes, old Duke is being held by Musa’s men.” Archie said expressionlessly, but his fingers, which were pressed against the window, slowly clenched into a fist, gripping the edge of the window frame tightly. “They are guarding him with two oil-spraying guns from the eastern desert, making it very difficult for us to rescue him.”

"Oil-spraying gun... Don't worry, leave it to us." Samael placed his handgauntlet on Yachi's shoulder.

Yachi shivered slightly at the cold surface of the armor and hesitated for a moment.

“I’ve been wanting to ask you this for a while now, Mr. Samael,” Archie said, looking at the cold gauntlets on his shoulder. “Are you a demon from Rondoran? Or… something else?”

“I am not a demon, but I am neither human, elf, nor dwarf,” Samael replied. He calmly raised his hands and gripped the sides of his helmet.

Talia suddenly reached out and placed her hand on his arm, trying to stop him, but he shook his head and gently patted the back of Talia's hand.

He calmly removed the bronze helmet, revealing the empty interior of the armor.

“I am a ghost.” His hollow voice echoed in the void within the bronze armor. “Awakened from the ruins of the Age of Gods, from a distant, unknown land.”

Gwyneth gasped.

Yachi's squinty eyes widened.

Samael placed the helmet back around his neck and carefully secured the buckle. "Talia Ronoway is my friend, and the first companion I've met in this world. I hope to assist her and build the dungeon together." He gently raised his hand.

His hand touched the back of Talia's gauntlet, and her wrist moved slightly. Calmly and naturally, their fingers intertwined.

“Of course, for now, we should focus on Musa’s matter.” Samael snapped out of his thoughts. “Your truck camp is in the suburbs outside town. You’ve probably come to town on business, right?”

“Yes, Musa has temporarily allowed us to trade in town because one of our wheels has broken down and we need to sell goods and buy materials to repair it.” Yachi realized, “We can’t stay here too long; we probably need to head back.”

"Camp location?"

“The edge of the wheat field on the east side of town,” Archie pointed into the distance from the window. “Do you see that abandoned old barn at the edge of the wheat field? We’re just north of that barn.”

“Great. Can you leave the camp again?” Samael asked.

“Okay, but… at least wait until evening,” Gwyneth replied. “Then I can make an excuse that I need to go to town to buy food for dinner.”

“That’s enough.” Samael tapped his helmet. “Please keep this a secret and don’t tell any other members of your camp. Go back to camp now, and don’t arouse Musa’s suspicion. We’ll meet again this evening to arrange something. Tonight, we’ll deal with Musa.”

The two nodded and turned to leave the hostel.

With a soft click, the hostel's wooden door closed.

A brief silence fell over the room.

"Do you think the same way I do?" Samael asked.

“Yes, they will be excellent dungeon builders.” Talia stood beside him, gazing at the distant wheat fields. “Many powerful demons value primal physical strength, like beasts, but my father is different. He believes that everyone has their own strength, perhaps knowledge, perhaps intellect, perhaps experience, or perhaps talent.”

Samael nodded.

“Let’s go.” He waved and patted the money bag full of gold coins at his waist. “Let’s go buy some things and make some preparations in advance—those things are heavy, I can’t handle them by myself.”

The two walked side by side toward the bustling street.

……

East of town, on the edge of a wheat field, a camp for exiled trucks.

The sounds of slurping and slurping echoed through the camp. Musa smacked his lips, sat by the fire in the center of the camp, and grabbed a handful of enchanted materials from the truck next to him.

He took a deep breath, and his throat, covered in crimson scales, suddenly began to glow. A faint firelight pierced through his skin, making the scales and flesh appear translucent, as if a flame were moving upwards along his throat, and then—

call!
A violent, bluish-white demonic fire erupted from his throat, like a roaring dragon's breath! In an instant, it charred the demonic materials in his hand.

He grabbed the small tin bottle containing pepper and salt next to him, sprinkled it haphazardly on the ingredients, stuffed the slightly smoking, demonized ingredients into his mouth, crunched them loudly, and slowly swallowed them.

This is how demons quickly replenish their spiritual energy. Under normal circumstances, they can replenish their spiritual energy through normal sleep. However, when injured, consuming demonized materials allows demons to heal quickly and recover their condition.

Musa raised his arm, watching the blood-red sword wound on his ribs slowly fade until only a blurry scar remained, and let out a low, rumbling laugh from deep in his throat.

He stood up, casually grabbed the other demonized materials from the truck, and tossed them to his demonized servants.

"Eat. Replenish your energy," he commanded.

The three demonized individuals rushed forward, grabbing the demonized materials and stuffing them into their mouths. Two other demonized individuals, carrying oil spray guns and large metal canisters, stood guard to the side, pointing their spray guns at the exiles, waiting to take turns after the three finished eating.

They are not demons, but the beast sacrifice ritual has given them many of the physical structures and talents of demonic beasts. Although the effects are not very good, consuming demonized materials still has the effect of accelerating healing and quickly replenishing their status.

This is one of the key characteristics that allows monsters and demons to survive in the wasteland.

A dozen or so demon exiles stood by with their heads down, their eyes filled with resentment, watching as the demons wantonly squandered the precious goods they had painstakingly transported from the wasteland to the empire.

"What?" Musa looked lazily at the exiles who dared not speak out, and bent down to pat an old man on the shoulder.

The old man wore a worn-out, gray sheepskin robe, a merchant's fur hat and turban, and had a white beard. Time rarely leaves many marks on powerful demons, but even the weaker demons bear the scars of time.

While psychic powers can extend lifespan, what truly keeps monarchs young is ambition and desire.

The old man was tightly bound by Musa's barbed whip. The sharp metal barbs on the whip pierced his sheepskin robe and cut his arms, leaving bloody marks. But he held his head high, closed his eyes, and silently tried his best to maintain his dignity, ignoring Musa's provocation.

"Sharpening wheel," Musa beckoned. "Bring it here."

A sharpening wheel is a common weapon maintenance tool. Like sharpening oil, it is used by almost everyone who uses a sword, from imperial soldiers to bandits, from down-on-their-luck swordsmen to sword-wielding nobles, from deserters in the eastern deserts to pirates in the western oceans, from adventurers to demon kings.

The exiles remained silent until finally, a middle-aged man wearing a coat pulled a sharpening wheel out of a cargo box.

"So slow! If you're any slower, I'll use this skinny old sheep to sharpen my knife!" Musa sneered as he snatched the palm-sized sharpening wheel, yanked hard on the wheel's cord, and drew his magnificent, long, curved knife, shaped like a crescent moon, from his waist, bringing it close to the wheel.

The blade was coated with a layer of witch gold, gleaming with a dark blue light.

Witch metal is not actually very suitable as a weapon. Although it is a magical metal and can be polished into an extremely sharp thin blade, its texture is relatively soft and tough, making it easy to deform.

A well-polished shamanic blade is sharp enough to slice through a metal shield as easily as butter, but the shamanic blade must be carefully maintained and its shape must be carefully sharpened before and after each strike, otherwise its sharpness and power will decrease with each consecutive strike.

Musa squinted and carefully used the sharpening wheel to polish the slightly deformed Wujin blade into its smooth and sharpest state.

He sheathed his longsword at his waist, tucked the sharpening wheel into his robe, and pulled the magic compass from his bosom. The bead of blood in the quartz column at the compass's center trembled, and the shimmering blue golden pointer pointed to the outline of a town across the wheat field.

Following the pointer of the Wujin compass, Musa gazed at the distant town, his gaze passing over wheat fields and dilapidated old barns, fixed on a certain spot in the town.

"After midnight tonight, go and get Ronove's head," Musa roared, exhaling a puff of black smoke.

　I originally planned to start this chapter with a clean and decisive fight, but I was in such a rush to publish the last chapter that I forgot to include the introductions of these two important exile characters and their professions, as well as the surrounding terrain, environment, the structure of the chariots, the characteristics of the demonized ones, and Musa's situation. I'll add some key information to prevent readers from getting confused by the battle plot.

　　I'm so anxious! The carefully planned fast-paced plot has been slowed down a bit again. I really want to write full-time and update tens of thousands of words a day!
　　Back in the day, the author wrote short stories on Tieba, reaching a peak of 30,000 words a day. Now, college life has aged him, his mentality has deteriorated, his ambition has diminished, his mind has become forgetful, and even his anus has shrunk and withered.

　　The next chapter will begin!
　　
　
(End of this chapter)