Ghost Knight King's Dungeon Project

Chapter 43 [The Crawling Mechanical Necromancer]

Sunlight slanted across a small town in the empire, casting sloping shadows on the zigzag wooden and thatched roofs.

The zigzag-sloped roof is a common architectural style in the Erdrik Empire's residential buildings. Located in the northern part of the continent, the Erdrik Empire experiences heavy snowfall every winter, resulting in significant snow accumulation. The towering zigzag-sloped roof allows snow to slide off immediately upon impact, preventing the houses from collapsing under the weight of the snow.

Between the zigzag roofs stands the towering silhouette of the Temple of the Founders, with thick, hexagonal white stone chimneys piercing straight between the sloping roofs, like the hilt of a sword plunged into the earth.

In the square in front of the Temple of the Forgers, the clanging sounds of forging gradually subsided as the temple clergy shouted. The spectators chatted excitedly and expectantly, discussing the performance of the contestants in today's forging competition.

Red-robed clergymen, adorned with hammer and anvil emblems, passed through the contestants' anvils. Under the contestants' tense and expectant gazes, they whispered among themselves, judging and discussing the strengths and weaknesses of each forged piece, examining the steel grain and metal surface for cracks, feeling the balance of the weapon's center of gravity in their hands, and gently rubbing the blade with their fingers to estimate its sharpness.

After a moment, the clergy finally reached a consensus and selected the ten best weapons from the more than thirty works. They placed them on the long table in front of the temple and gave the spot to a burly officer next to them.

The officer took off his cavalry overcoat, revealing a muscular physique, tossed the overcoat to the sergeant beside him, and nodded.

Ten planks of the same thickness were also carried up to the high platform in front of the temple and placed on a shelf made of bricks.

With ten consecutive light clanging sounds, the officer swiftly and cleanly tested the ten weapons by chopping wooden boards.

One blade shattered during a powerful chop, scattering fragments. Three other blades developed cracks.

"Karl, Bob, Celia, Sirins. It's very regrettable that the four of you are out." The clergyman counted the broken and cracked blades and read out the list.

Amidst the clanging and clattering sounds, the soldiers brought up ten more thin iron plates and laid them out separately on the bricks.

Clang clang clang clang... Amidst a series of dense metallic clanging sounds, the burly officer picked up the remaining six sharp blades one by one and smashed them hard against the thin iron plate!
Amidst a series of clanging metallic sounds, a soft snapping sound rang out.

Crack. The thin iron plate, cut in half, slid off the brick shelf and crashed to the ground with two loud thuds.

The audience gasped in surprise, while the burly officer raised the sharp blade in his hand that had cleaved through the iron plate, its surface gleaming with a wild, slightly bluish pattern.

“Tempering magic is a complex and difficult-to-control technique,” ​​a clergyman said, taking the tempered magic blade from the officer and examining it in his hands. “Through the tempering of high-temperature magic flames and the repeated hammering, a small amount of magic is allowed to penetrate into the metal and be cast together with it.”

"Weapons forged in this way can inflict minor magical damage on targets, enough to cleave through ordinary metal armor and shields. The magical runes on the blade can last for several years, gradually diminishing with wear and dulling from cleaving—and this magically forged weapon by Albert, based on its condition and magical runes, is estimated to have a fairly good magical fusion effect, lasting at least for more than ten years."

"Today's Steelfire champion is..." the clergyman paused, "...and it seems there's no dispute about it."

"Benjamin Albert!"

Amid cheers from the crowd, the ornate, demon-quenched short sword with wild blue patterns was raised high by the priest.

A blacksmith who looked to be in his thirties raised his arms and shouted, climbing the steps in front of the temple amidst the cheers of the audience, step by step ascending the high platform.

The soldiers and clergy nodded slightly on either side of the steps, showing respect for the excellent forger, as they paved a path for him to the temple gate.

The Steelfire Priest and the Imperial Officer stood on the high platform in front of the temple gate, reaching out to greet him, pulling him up the steps, and taking turns embracing him.

The wrought-iron mahogany doors of the temple swung open with a roar. Ten red-robed clergymen stood on either side of the hall, before the ever-burning sacred fire. A red-robed blacksmith, holding a red cloth cushion in his hands, slowly stepped forward and presented an iron ring from the cushion to the champion, Albert.

The iron ring was not adorned with any extravagant or useless gemstones. Instead, it featured something far more precious—a small, gleaming piece of crimson blood steel, cast into a gem-like rhombus, symbolizing the affirmation of the sovereign and the absolute rule of the theocracy.

The red-robed forging monk respectfully presented the iron ring, and Albert reached out and slowly put the ring on his finger.

“You can choose to join the Imperial Foundry and gain more opportunities and knowledge,” the burly officer said with a smile, his hands behind his back. “Or, you can continue being a small-town blacksmith. You have one month to make your choice. We won’t rush you, but we won’t wait any longer either.”

"Think it over carefully, Albert, my son." The elderly bishop gently placed his hand on the champion's head, blessing him. "But for now, let's collect your prize money first."

A soldier brought up a heavy leather money bag, on which was branded in gold the royal emblem of a sword-and-crown crown.

"Twenty thousand Erdrik gold coins, for our Steelfire Champion!" the officer shouted, laughing heartily, and shoved the heavy money bag into Albert's hand.

Albert swayed, barely managing to hold onto the money bag, before collapsing to the ground under its weight.

He felt dizzy amid the laughter and cheers of the audience.

"Oh, Emperor Forging the Nation above... Heavens, come quickly and help our champion up!" the officer shouted. Behind him, in the open temple, the monks guarding the forging of the sacred fire rushed over and helped the Steelfire Champion, who had fallen to the ground due to excessive excitement and the weight of the money bag, to his feet.

The moment the monks left the area around the forging sacred fire, a rustling sound came from the chimney directly above the sacred fire.

Crack, crack... The ash from the chimney above the Olympic flame fell slowly and softly.

Plop. A fist-sized, rusty bronze bell-shaped helmet, covered in soot from the chimney, fell into the fire, rolled twice, and landed on the ground, leaving a puddle of ash.

The bell-shaped helmet was filled with strange gold parts and rusted copper components. A gyroscope-like gold component spun twice, and with the help of the flywheel's angular momentum, like a roly-poly toy, it flipped the mini bell-shaped helmet from a horizontal position back to an upright position.

With a soft click, six small bronze limbs popped out from under the bell-shaped helmet. The golden power wheel inside the helmet spun rapidly, driving the six bronze limbs to crawl quickly, like some strange-looking beetle, tumbling and crawling away from the sacred fire and slipping into the shadows on the side of the temple.

The clergy guarding the sacred flame helped the champion up, cradling the demon-forged weapon he had won with a red cloth cushion, and carefully carried him back step by step into the temple hall.

The selection and prize award ceremony for the runner-up and third place were still ongoing, but the heavy iron-inlaid mahogany gate had been closed, instantly shutting out the festive noise outside.

The works offered to the gods must be the best. Only the first place matters; the second, third, fourth, and fifth places are all irrelevant.

In the dimly lit Temple of the Forgers, only the sacred fire of forging and the faint glow of oil lamps on the surrounding walls remained. Crackling sounds occasionally echoed through the quiet temple, the reverberations remarkably loud.

In the shadows at the base of the wall, a small, fist-sized, bronze spider-like creature lay motionless, quietly trying to blend into the inconspicuous cast relief patterns at the base of the wall.

"What happened here?" Cleric Number One asked, pointing to a small clump of dust on the floor in front of the eternal flame. "It wasn't here just now."

A fist-sized clump of dust was clearly visible on the white stone floor.

"Wipe it off quickly! If Priest Lyle sees it, we'll get scolded again!" Clerk Number Two hurriedly grabbed a rag from the side, wiped the dust off the white stone floor, and cleaned it up.

"What are you afraid I'll see?" A middle-aged priest from Steelfire stepped out from the shadows of a side doorway in the temple hall, his face solemn. His red robe was simple and neat, and the hem of the robe trailed on the ground, making a soft rustling sound.

"No...it's nothing," Cleric Number Two explained. "It's just that the Holy Flame was too mischievous and spewed out some ash again."

"Didn't you dry the wood for fuel again?" Priest Lyle raised an eyebrow. "Feeding damp wood to the sacred fire, it's only natural that it will crack and smoke."

“We’ve already dried the wood…” Cleric Number One wanted to explain, but Priest Lyle waved his hand.

“I hope you can approach these tasks with greater devotion and a more serious attitude.” He looked sternly at the clergy who guarded the flames. “Craftsmanship will not let you down, but it will not bestow anything upon you without reason. If you are perfunctory in these forging skills, the results of forging will also be perfunctory in return.”

"Adding fuel, controlling the flame, and estimating the appropriate temperature and state—these are all basic skills that you must pay attention to at all times and not neglect. The reason I asked you to guard the sacred flame here is to help you understand the temperament of the flame and ensure that its state is stable and controllable—if you can't even do a stable fueling job, when will you ever master the art of steel and fire?"

The clergy bowed their heads and admitted their mistakes.

"Is this the winning entry for this year?" Priest Lyle asked, gazing at the red cloth cushion in the hands of a clergyman.

On the cushion was a delicate and beautiful short sword, its steel texture interspersed with wild, pale blue patterns.

He carefully gripped the short sword, shielding his eyes from the dim light of the surrounding environment with his palm as he examined the magic runes.

“An excellent work is worthy of being offered to the gods.” He nodded, took out a clean soft cloth, and wiped the short sword clean from top to bottom until no fingerprints left by clergy and officers could be seen, leaving only the work itself, which embodies craftsmanship and exquisite skills. He then gently placed it back on the soft cloth.

He reached out and took the cushion from the priest guarding the flames, then gently cradled the demon-quenched short sword within it in the crook of his arm, his movements tender, as if he were holding a newborn baby.

Such a benevolent gesture, yet he cradled a sharp blade forged from steel. Such a compassionate gaze, yet he stared at a weapon forged in flames.

“It is nearly evening, and the last flames of the Sun Forge are about to go out. Offer the child of the forge to the first ancient forger, so that the companionship of the forge’s son may comfort His cold and lonely heart, as cold as a dusty furnace, in the long night.” He said gently, holding the short sword in his arms like the Holy Father holding the Holy Infant, and turned to step into the corridor of the side door of the temple.

As his footsteps clattered, a small, clicking device, taking advantage of the sound, followed closely behind him, inching its way along the wall, and slipped into the side corridor of the temple.

A small garden runs alongside the long corridor, filled with gray-green cedar trees interspersed with unidentified shrubs. In the center stands a white stone pedestal, upon which are stuck broken swords cast from black iron. The overall atmosphere is somber yet subtly melancholic, like a scene from an oil painting.

The sound of Father Lyle's footsteps echoed through the empty garden corridor. Suddenly, he stopped.

He didn't react to the faint clicking sound, took a few more steps, and then stopped. Priest Lyle, holding the short sword, slowly turned around and looked behind him.

No one is empty.

There was nothing on the ground.

He slowly circled around in place, but still didn't notice anything unusual.

"Probably some kind of rat," he thought. "Which foolish monk brought food into the Forger's Temple again? How many times have I told you, food is not allowed in the temple!"

He turned around, unaware that a small helmet, about the size of a fist, was clinging tightly to the hem of his robe behind him with tiny, dark bronze limbs.

As Priest Lyle moved forward, his small helmet with arthropod claws and robe were dragged along with him.

The Steelfire Monastery, usually filled with the clanging of hammers and anvils, was eerily quiet today. The monks had all gone to help preside over the ceremony and maintain order.

The little bronze helmet spun around and looked around carefully before cautiously slipping under the hem of Priest Lyle's robe, using its tiny bronze claws to hang itself upside down inside the robe.

As the surrounding light suddenly dimmed, Priest Lyle, carrying the enchanted short sword, entered the inner sanctum of the temple.

Inside the inner sanctum stands a heavy, massive anvil, its surface marked with deep, intricate hammer marks, and its base inscribed with iron mantras:

"Use strength as fire, and wisdom as hammer."

Directly in front stood a towering iron statue, as large as a giant. It depicted a bearded man wielding a hammer, robust and strong, with a slight beer belly, but his arms were bulging with muscles.

Black Iron skillfully sculpted the features, creating a lifelike face. However, unlike typical icons, his face lacked divinity, appearing tired and melancholic, like someone who would silently drink strong liquor alone in a cabin during a blizzard.

The statue's eyes were empty, filled with an indescribable sadness, lost in the darkness of the inner sanctuary's dome.

Two other priests stood in the inner sanctuary, quietly waiting for Priest Lyle.

“I have brought the winning piece,” said Father Lyle. “I believe it is worthy of being dedicated to God.”

The other two priests carefully picked up the demon-quenched short sword from the cushion and examined it closely.

"Agreed. It is indeed an excellent piece of work." They nodded and wiped the fingerprints clean with a soft cloth.

The three arrived before the towering statue, which resembled a giant. One of the priests, Steelfire, pulled a serrated broadsword made of black iron from his waist—no, it was a huge iron key, as large as a broadsword.

He lifted a metal relief on the statue's base, revealing a stone keyhole underneath. He then inserted a serrated broadsword and twisted the hilt forcefully, as if piercing an enemy's wound and drawing blood.

With a click, the heavy door, driven by gears and magical mechanisms, swung open, revealing a narrow passage leading underground. The door was as thick as a giant solid block, half metal and half rock.

The three, led by Priest Lyle who was carrying a demon-forged short sword, and the other two priests who were holding torches, lined up and entered the narrow passage behind the door one by one.

Ding-a-ling! The bell by the door suddenly rang out the instant Bishop Lyle stepped into the underground passage.

The three priests paused, then turned to look at the bell at the door.

It was a simple yet durable magic detector. It contained an indicator potion in an iron can, along with a special boiling catalyst. The boiling lid would continuously spew out steam, which would drive a small fan blade to rotate and strike a bell.

"What's going on?" a priest asked Lyle. "Do you have any enchanted materials or bloodsteel on you?"

“No. I already removed my Bloodsteel Glory Ring beforehand.” Lyle shook his head.

“Oh, this time the creation is a weapon tempered with magic.” The third priest snapped out of his daze and pointed to the tempered short sword in Lyle’s arms.

"The magic concentration of this weapon has actually reached the level that triggers the detector?" Lyle was taken aback. "Is it that good?"

“This year’s champion is a promising talent,” another priest remarked.

The three continued along the tomb passage, skillfully deactivating the mechanisms and avoiding hidden traps. Walls that would crush inwards, trapdoors connecting crossbow bolts, collapsing rocks, and a massive iron hammer powered by a powerful magical mechanism capable of crushing a fully armored knight—all sorts of powerful mechanisms and traps appeared one after another.

Looking at these mechanisms and traps, a small thing hanging inside Lyle's robe with bronze limbs trembled slightly.

The walls of the tomb passage were filled with castings, some rusty and some not, ranging from weapons to farm tools to gears and machinery, making one wonder if the tomb was made of metal.

At the end of the labyrinthine tomb passages lies a spacious burial chamber. The chamber is filled with all sorts of magnificent castings, yet they are all covered in dust.

In the center of the tomb, surrounded by countless master-crafted works of artisans, lies a silent, mummified corpse.

On the back of the mummy's neck was a strange little chip that was half metal and half crystal.

Priest Lyle placed the enchanted short sword he was carrying before the mummified corpse. The three priests knelt before the corpse and recited a prayer in unison:
"Lord of the Forge, the Supreme Lord. The children of the furnace are dedicated to the First Lord of the Forge."

"In the long night, may it comfort your heart, which is as cold and lonely as a dusty furnace."

"Lord of the Forger, the Supreme Lord. Infinite glory is given to the First Lord of the Forger."

“All the hardships and tribulations have been forged by your own hands into a new and happy life.”

……

Amidst devout prayers, the small bronze helmet cautiously peeked out from inside the robe, gazing at the tiny red dot so close to the radar interface in the UI.

The attached scanner is now in use.

[Authorized user detected.]

[User Identity: Konstantin Ivanovich Lotnikov]

[Position: Metallurgical Engineer]

[Verification Successful]

[This user has obtained the same professional privileges as this user]

Materials Science Level 3 has been unlocked.

Artificial Life Science Level 2 has been unlocked.

[Level 3 of the fundamental phase transition has been unlocked]

……

Upon returning, the bell of the magic detector at the door suddenly rang out again.

The three of them looked at each other.

"Didn't we already put down the enchanted weapons?" Priest Lyle asked.

The three of them searched themselves and then went back and forth at the doorway, conducting tests. The magic detector, however, stopped beeping.

"Is this thing broken? It makes a normal sound for a while, then it makes random noises for a while," a priest said, scratching his head.

"Replace it immediately. There can't be anything broken in the temple," said Priest Lyle.

Behind them, a small helmet, its clattering limbs made of dark bronze, darted about like a spider, using its sharp limbs to grip the wall, leaping over it and landing squarely inside a dark bronze gauntlet.

"Let's go," Samael said in a low voice, and quickly left with Talia, who was keeping watch at the corner.

(End of this chapter)