Ghost Knight King's Dungeon Project

Chapter 50 [Night of the Corpse Heart: The Grave and the Midnight Diner]

The bizarre trees have roots that are intertwined like deformed tentacles, and their dull brownish-gray bark is scattered with copper-rust-blue spots that look like eyes. The dense green leaves are like the fuzzy fungus on the palm of a dead person.

The rotting flesh writhed, its fleshy tentacles and filthy, scaly claws clinging to the bark, slowly attaching and then pulling away, leaving behind a foul-smelling sap.

The festering figure crawled slowly among the rusty copper trees, like a scene from a zombie movie.

Ooh ooh ooh! Squeak! Squeak!

The tree monkeys' piercing cries echoed through the rusty copper forest as they grabbed taro-shaped rotten root balls and hurled them at the grotesque, decaying figure in front of them.

"Oh my gosh! Oh my gosh!" The horned taro root balls screamed as they were thrown out by the tree ghost monkeys. Their tiny claws, formed from roots, gripped the coppery-green sharp branches tightly and plunged them into the rotting flesh.

But this seemed to be of no use; the undead felt no pain.

The rotting corpse demon swayed through the woods, entangled by rotten root balls. With a heavy whooshing sound, it lashed out with its whip-like tentacles, trying to shake off the obstacles in its path.

Amidst the bronze-blue shadows of the trees, old Duke and two other demon exiles cautiously retreated, carrying heavy buckets of water.

This place is far too deep into the Plains of Bones, where dangerous undead like the Corpse Demon roam freely. Even outside of Samael's camp, the undead retain their instinct to kill the living.

With a crackling sound of tentacles lashing out, the three or four tangled rotten root balls were smashed to pieces by the fleshy tentacles. The Corpse Demon's limbs and tentacles clawed wildly, crawling and charging rapidly towards Old Duke and the others in a grotesque manner!

The old man did not retreat. Instead, he instinctively stepped forward to protect the other two, and reached out to draw a gold-inlaid dagger with an ebony hilt from his waist.

*Thud!* The short sword was violently smashed away by the fleshy tentacles, spinning and embedding itself in a nearby tree trunk.

In his panic, Old Duke backed away, only to trip over a piece of rusty copper tree root protruding from the soil, causing all three of them to fall backward at the same time.

His pupils reflected the frantically crawling and writhing corpse demon, its fleshy tentacles gradually enlarging. He instinctively closed his eyes and raised his arms, wanting to meet the impact that was enough to tear his body apart.

clang!clang!clang!
Just before the tentacles seized old Duke, the clanging of the Dark Copper Sword and Shield echoed throughout the Rust Copper Forest.

The fleshy tentacles froze, and the Corpse Demon curled its tendrils, bowing in a grotesque posture to pay homage to the distant Lord of the Nether Bronze.

“Elder Duke.” Samael sheathed his sword and shield and strode forward. “The depths of the Heart of Bones are still too dangerous. If you’re going to get away from my camp, perhaps you should take this with you.”

He extended his bronze gauntlets, holding in his palm a taro ball wearing a bronze bell-shaped helmet.

"Ouch!" shouted Taroball, wearing a bell-shaped helmet, raising the rusty copper branch in his hand and banging it against his own bronze helmet. The undead in the surrounding area then dispersed.

"Ah... Thank you very much, Your Excellency Knight." Old Duke slowly got up with the help of the other two men, then shook off their support.

"What are you doing! I'm not old! Why are you helping me?" He turned his head and glared at the two young exiles behind him, then turned to look at Samael with an awkward smile.

"I've often camped on the Skeleton Heart Plains for over a decade, but this is the first time I've ventured this deep into the Skeleton Heart. I momentarily forgot that the situation here is unique; it was my oversight."

He took the taro ball from Samael's head, which was topped with a bronze bell-shaped helmet, and placed it on the lid of the bucket next to him.

"Oh my! Oh my oh my!" Taro Ball sat on the bucket lid, clanging and banging on the bell-shaped helmet on its head.

“Also, even with this signal to drive us away, we must always be careful.” Samael pulled a gold-inlaid dagger with an ebony hilt from a nearby tree, held the blade, turned the hilt upside down, and handed it to old Duke.

"It can only repel ordinary undead, while other elite units of the Ghost Knights are unaffected by the Nether Bronze resonance signal. Be careful when encountering elite undead equipped with Nether Bronze armor and helmets." He pointed to the taro-shaped helmet. "My undead helmet is the One-Eyed Bell Helmet. When you encounter undead wearing Nether Bronze helmets outside the camp, please observe carefully. If it is not a Bell Helmet, stay away immediately."

"Thank you for the reminder." Old Duke nodded, took the short sword and sheathed it back at his waist. "However, water is of utmost importance. Everyone has been busy all day, and without clean water, it will seriously affect everyone's condition. In my haste, I neglected to take precautions."

Samael paused slightly, suddenly realizing that he had never needed to eat, drink, or rest. Occasionally picking through the market to bring Talia some food was merely a habitual way to change the subject and soothe her emotions.

The prolonged exposure to cold and the purely rational way of thinking almost made him forget the importance of water.

He snapped out of his daze and helped lift the two heavy buckets.

"Elder Duke, where will everyone live and what will they eat during the construction of the dungeon?" He awkwardly tried to inquire about topics he no longer needed, topics that belonged to the living but might be key to the construction of the dungeon. Although it seemed a bit strange for a dead person to care about the living.

“There’s not enough room in the carriage, but maybe the tents at the campsite won’t be enough?” He carried the bucket, looking around and examining the slightly brittle, frozen grass at his feet. “Also, although I can’t feel the temperature, has the weather gotten colder?”

"Oh my!" echoed the bell-shaped taro ball on the bucket lid.

“Yes. We need to build some more shelters in the camp. There are furs and felts in the wagons, which can be used to cover the shelters to keep warm.” Old Duke nodded, carrying buckets with two other exiles. “As for food—there is still some leftover food in the wagons, which we purchased while staying in Oak Knights’ territory. It should be enough for a week or two.”

“And what about a week or two later?” Samael asked.

"Perhaps it's hunting, perhaps it's mining. Although the pollution and destruction caused by the undead are quite severe, even the rotten root balls are edible. However, the magical beasts here are to be used as labor. If they are eaten, it will affect the work progress, which would be a bit of a loss," Old Duke replied slowly.

"If there's really no other way, perhaps we should send someone to drive away from Skeleton Heart to Oak Knight Territory or somewhere else to purchase another batch of human food, transport it back, and then continue working."

"So, how do they solve the food problem in the dungeon?"

“Gwyneth and the other gardeners carry a large number of seeds and have extensive experience in raising plants and animals. As long as the root rot balls stabilize the worm tunnel network with their roots, they can build a rich psionic garden ecosystem in the worm tunnel network in a very short time.” Old Duke chuckled. “At most, it will take a month or two of work, and then food will not be a problem.”

Samael tapped his helmet slowly, lost in thought. The dungeon for the living needed food. He remembered seeing something in the scan results of those tall grasses before; it said the seeds were edible, but the yield was very low, requiring symbiotic animals to care for them to increase production. He'd have to search the area near the tall grasses when he had the chance, to see if there were any of those so-called "symbiotic animals."

“Please tell me if there is anything I can do,” he replied. “I have been dead for so long that sometimes I forget what the living need.”

He vaguely felt that his words were a bit strange, but he didn't know how to add or explain them, so he didn't say anything more.

Back at camp, he put down his water bucket and watched as the exiles, exhausted from a day's work, rushed forward to drink, the clear water moistening their parched lips. The demons possessed the resilience of camels to hunger and thirst, but prolonged thirst was still unpleasant.

Food, water, warm shelter… and morale-boosting entertainment. I feel like I've missed a lot. Samael pondered.

Water source. Back in Fallenthorn City, there was a purified river as a water source. Within the Empire, there were always irrigation canals dug by farmers in the fields—the living need water, the underground city needs water, and I had actually forgotten to consider it.

He raised his sword and shield and struck them together.

clang!clang!clang!
Under Samael's command, the undead were driven to bind the stalks of tall grass into sturdy straw pillars, and to build the framework and outline of the huts with ropes woven from the torn fibers of the tall grass. A thick layer of grass was laid on the ground to insulate them from the cold and soil. Heavy fur felt was unloaded from the wagons and spread on the ground to cover the hut framework, thus constructing small huts.

The exiles cheered, laughed, and praised the undead for their swift movements.

"No way, if you guys are cold and wake up in the middle of the night, at least say something. You don't have to tough it out." He thought to himself. "I just don't feel the cold, I'm not some heartless contractor."

……

Two moons hang high in the sky, and night is about to fall.

In the dim, azure twilight, small flames flickered faintly—the glow of a molten stone calcining furnace.

The exiles had worked all day, and even the demons, known for their boundless energy, were exhausted from such intense work. They had no time for any random entertainment and quickly finished their meals before crawling into their tents to rest.

The camp quickly became empty, with the monsters either resting or hiding in the tall grass or rusty copper woods, leaving only all sorts of bizarre and grotesque undead.

As night fell, the undead deep within the Heart of the Dead became unusually active. Around a large circle centered on Samael, unsuppressed and uncontrolled undead would occasionally approach. Drawn by the living aura of the exiles, they would be suppressed upon getting close by Samael's high-level undead aura, thus standing dumbfounded at the edge of the aura's effect range, like devout believers kneeling and worshipping Samael, vaguely piecing together a circle of kneeling undead around the camp.

Looking down from beneath the twin moons, the circle resembles a giant eye made of rotting undead, with Samael as its pupil, coldly gazing at the bronze moon in the sky.

A campfire burned in the middle of the camp. Archie Yevel sat by the fire keeping watch, looking around at the bizarre scene of the undead kneeling silently around the camp, and seemed a little uneasy.

“Isn’t this a bit…” Archie muttered. “I’m not a coward, but I’ve never seen anything like this before.”

“I’ll keep watch, my friend Yachi,” Samael said, sitting down next to Yachi. “I don’t need to rest.”

“This…isn’t this inappropriate?” Yachi shook his head. “This is my responsibility.”

Samael didn't try to persuade him any further, he just waved his hand.

The Corpse Demon, wielding a war drum, sword, and shield in the Dark Bronze Knight Armor, trotted over from a distance, grabbed a piece of felt, and draped it over Archie's shoulders.

“Oh… thank you, boss.” Archie smiled. “Are you really a necromancer?”

“I don’t know,” Samael shook his head. “What about Talia?”

He looked around.

"It's probably near the furnace where the Molten Stone is being fired—she just mentioned that she was going to check on the Molten Stone production. Tomorrow, they'll start sending Rot Roots to reinforce the insect tunnels and begin formal construction." Samael nodded and headed towards the firelight of the furnace, but after walking halfway, he slowly stopped.

Talia stood before the furnace, examining the flames within. The warm firelight shone on her cheeks and eyes as she gazed silently at the flames. Two earth-devouring worm larvae frolicked at her feet.

She suddenly seemed to realize something and turned to look at Samael in the deep blue twilight.

Samael stood at a distance of more than ten meters from her, neither getting any closer nor moving any further away, simply standing quietly at a distance.

The sun had just set, and the light of day still lingered, but it was dyed a deep, dark blue by the night, making everything seem like puppets frozen in a black and blue glass.

Two bronze-white moons hung high in the azure twilight, lying between the two.

The warm, orange glow of the furnace illuminated Talia's face, which bore traces of carbon ash, but failed to illuminate Samael's dimly lit body.

Behind Samael, the undead wearing bronze bell-shaped helmets stood silently, guarding their monarch.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

“…Do me a favor, dig a circular tunnel,” he replied, “to gather the surrounding undead into an underground space closer to me. To prevent them from frightening the exiles when I wake up tomorrow morning.”

“It’s late at night now. If I use the resonant signal of the pyrotechnic copper, the knocking or drumming sound will disturb other people’s rest—they are tired after a long day and need to rest.”

Talia gazed at him silently.

“This underground space is a little further away from the insect tunnels of the underground city,” he said. “Once it gets out of my control, they will go out of control again and start trying to attack living people again. Keeping some distance will at least give us some reaction time in case of an emergency.”

Today, Old Duke was attacked by undead outside the range of the aura's suppression. He didn't want to take that risk again.

Talia waved her hand, and two earth-devouring worm larvae burrowed into the ground.

As debris flew and the sound of collapse echoed, the kneeling undead fell into the pit below, crowding together in the tunnel.

The larva of the demonic insect emerged from somewhere underground, poked its head out, and wandered back to Talia's side, its spiraling fangs rubbing against each other, making a hissing sound, as if it were asking for praise.

Samael nodded.

"Thank you," he said, then turned and walked toward the pit, bowing his head before it.

The undead in the pit raised their heads in unison, their festering, rotten gazes piercing through the suffocating cracks in the rocks and soil, staring intently at the monarch before the pit.

The larvae of the demon insects are small in size, and the tunnels they dig are very narrow, like some kind of passageway.

The tomb chamber... He stared blankly for a moment at the underground space teeming with the dead.

Perhaps... perhaps Rahador and the other six Ghost Knights were initially full of life, brimming with passion for this unfamiliar world. It was only when they gradually forgot what it felt like to be alive that they remained in their respective tombs, staring blankly at the silent undead.

Abandoned here, to suffer eternal torment... unable to eat, unable to sleep. Forward, forward, forward is only coldness...

“What are you doing?” Talia’s hand rested on his shoulder armor.

He slowly turned his head. There were ash marks on her cheeks, and her gray eyes reflected his own bronze armor.

“It’s just to ensure that this underground space is within the range of my aura suppression,” Samael replied.

“Then don’t just stand there like an idiot. Come sit with me for a while, okay?” Talia asked.

But she didn't seem to ask for his opinion. Instead, she forcefully grabbed his cold hand and dragged him to the orange-red flames of the furnace.

“Speak,” Talia said, looking at him.

“You don’t need to know…” Samael was halfway through his sentence when, with a clang, Talia ripped his helmet off.

“Speak.” Talia nimbly dodged his headless body as it tried to snatch back the helmet, then held the helmet and played hide-and-seek with the headless body around the furnace. “Hurry up! Don’t change the subject.”

After failing to regain control of the helmet, he gave up the struggle.

“…I have been dead for so long,” Samael’s helmet replied, “that I have begun to forget what it feels like to be alive.”

"I've thought about so many purely rational things that I seem to have gradually lost my emotions."

"It seems that all I have left is to push forward, push forward, push forward without sleep or rest, towards a single construction goal."

Talia held his helmet and slowly placed it back around his neck.

“No,” she said. “You’re still a gentle person, more vibrant than anyone else I’ve ever met. I think you’re just too tired.”

Samael remained silent.

The two sat side by side in front of the orange-red flames of the furnace, gazing at the two moons in the sky.

“You always do everything with a purpose, like a tightly wound machine, always on edge—in Fallenthorn City, you wandered around the market, but only to study the adventurers’ ecology. At the Forgers’ Festival, you said you were going to watch the forging competition, but you were actually trying to sneak into the temple, and then you refused the exiles’ song and dance performance that night.” Talia leaned against his shoulder armor. “You’re always so tense, it’s exhausting.”

“I don’t need to rest. I can use this time to…” Samael was interrupted by Talia halfway through his sentence.

“You don’t need sleep, not rest,” Talia corrected. “After killing Musa, you were daydreaming in the carriage, and a leaf fell on your helmet. You were spacing out like you were dozing off—I remember that moment clearly, in the autumn sunlight through the carriage window, with a leaf on your helmet. It was a rare moment of relaxation for you.”

“You should relax occasionally, instead of always being tense. Even just for a moment?” she said, looking at Samael. “Maybe that will make you feel alive.”

Samael remained silent for a moment.

“There are six ghost knights entrenched here,” he replied. “How can I possibly let my guard down? Once they realize we’re going to establish ourselves on this land, they’ll definitely come—”

“A brief respite won’t cause the world to collapse.” Talia gently pressed her hand on the side of his helmet. “It will just give you more motivation to keep going.”

“You get tired too. Since you’ve already told Rahado that you don’t hate anyone, then stop hating yourself for not being capable enough. It’s not your fault at all.” She leaned closer to his helmet and whispered, “Let yourself go.”

Her voice echoed in the bronze helmet, and Samael shuddered violently.

The flames of the furnace behind her had just gone out, and Talia's gray eyes gleamed in the dim, deep blue light of the day.

“Oh… flames… melting stone in the furnace…” The two paused for a moment, coughed, and stood up at the same time.

Samael grabbed a handful of tall grass stalks and stuffed them into the furnace, while Talia reached out and lit the pale psionic flames, then handed them into the fire.

The raging demonic fire burst forth from the furnace mouth, its flames licking at Samael's breastplate.

Samael suddenly froze.

In the long-dried, empty space, after losing his sense of smell and taste for so long, he tasted a strange, fresh scent of grass and leaves, slightly sour and bitter, like some kind of bizarre wild vegetable.

He looked down at the psionic flames licking his breastplate and the grass burning in the pale flames, and suddenly realized something.

The Nether Bronze Breastplate absorbs heat and psionic energy from the surrounding environment to power itself.

Using psionic flames to burn different enchanted materials produces different amounts of heat and psionic energy.

It has a flavor.

The next second, Samael shoved his upper body into the furnace, feeling the pale psionic flames carrying the sour and bitter smell of grass engulfing his entire body.

"Whoa whoa whoa!" He fluttered around in the furnace. "I can smell the straw! The psionic flames burning the enchanted materials! This is food too! My sun! My sun didn't set, it rose again!"

"What? What? Wait a minute, get out of the furnace first!" Talia exclaimed in panic, grabbing his legs and trying to pull him out of the raging furnace.

"Your fire!" Samael, having had enough of the bitter taste of the straw, pulled his upper body out of the furnace with a pop, shaking off the clods of dirt. "Psionic flames! Direct contact with psionic flames allows me to taste the fuel materials within!"

Talia paused for a moment, then couldn't help but laugh.

"What do you want to eat? I'll cook it for you to try!" She waved her hand, excitedly lighting the pale flame in her palm.

(End of this chapter)