Ghost Knight King's Dungeon Project

Chapter 59 [Marching Through Graves and Swamps]

In the heart of the barren plains, large stalks of tall grass were cut down and roots uprooted, revealing a majestic fortress built of massive molten stone. The fortress features a church-like Gothic spire and columns, with gray-white square pillars and knight sculptures holding swords scattered around it.

The massive gray-white rock features a simple bas-relief effect, carving dozens of faintly visible skull outlines, as if the souls imprisoned within the rock are supporting the entire structure.

Low, tombstone-shaped stone slabs cluster around the brick foundation, forming a small fence around the edge of the drainage ditch.

Inside the shrine stood a stone-carved human figure in an empty robe, as well as stone-carved armor, with cold, dark bronze weapons held loosely in their hands.

Four small gargoyles crouch around the Gothic stone spire, specially carved with the one-eyed bell-shaped helmets unique to Samael's men.

The imposing spires, the dark and heavy rocks, and the faintly visible skull-like faces of the dead create a solemn temple atmosphere, like a small chapel dedicated to the god of death.

"That's enough, really enough! Please stop! This is just a temporary warehouse and war bunker for storing the undead," Samael pleaded. "Don't add any more carvings or decorations, really, no more. Please stop!"

The craftsmen, including Yaqi, paused for a moment, looked at each other, exchanged glances, and then buried themselves in carving more details.

They carried a small bucket filled with smoldering enchanted charcoal. The craftsmen raised the tips of their chisels and flicked them in the pale psionic flames, imbuing the tips with faint blue patterns of enchanted fire.

Molded stone is easily shaped under the high temperature of the magic hammer, like soft mud made by mixing clay and water - this is the characteristic of the psionic material [molded stone]. The contact with the high temperature of the magic metal can act as a one-time catalyst, temporarily melting and softening a small area of ​​the molten stone to facilitate carving and bonding.

Groups of cave dwellers carried large blocks of melt-molded stone, and another batch of cut stones arrived, which were piled up next to the craftsmen according to size.

"Please, everyone, stop! I just wanted a bunker, a small warehouse to store the undead! This is outrageous!" Samael broke down. "My other brethren live in matchboxes and basements! I just wanted you to help me figure out why my matchbox has turned into a little chapel dedicated to the Grim Reaper?"

“Boss, you really don’t understand the demon race at all.” Yachi, holding a hammer and chisel, stood with his hands on his hips and looked at Samael helplessly. “You should have known what the consequences would be if you presented a demon architect with an ugly, box-like building.”

"Also, to correct you, this isn't a church; it just borrows design elements from one." Architect Steven pointed this out seriously. "Go inside and take a look. We've divided the building into a throne room, a workshop for dark bronze, a storage area for enchanted charcoal and a metal materials warehouse, as well as two large, empty rooms for your future arrangements."

"A lookout point has been set up on the second-floor spire—didn't you say before that the Knights of the Skeleton Hearts' truce was ending today and that they needed to prepare to defend against an invasion? This lookout tower will give you the upper hand—"

“In addition, we have expanded the underground space. It is now divided into three levels, including a corpse storage area, a temporary storage area for the undead, and a storage point for Nether Bronze equipment,” architect Carson added. “We have built thick molten stone walls to insulate against heat and keep the temperature low—if you are still not comfortable with that, you can add another layer of Nether Bronze plating yourself.”

“Logically speaking, a small building of this scale is too weak, too limiting,” Archie shook his finger. “It simply cannot showcase the skills of our demon architects. Perhaps we should build a towering cathedral with a spire that reaches into the clouds, so that everyone can come here to kneel before Death—and then we must expand it further when we have the chance, so that everyone in the Skeleton Heart Plains can see the towering tower reaching the heavens—”

“Originally, I just wanted a small house.” Samael leaned against the sculpture of a knight in armor holding a bronze sword. “A simple little house, maybe just some molten stone bricks piled up…”

He looked at the gray-white boulder beside him, on which was roughly carved the outline of a huge sleeping skull, with hard, fierce, ancient and elegant lines.

"You've been with the demons for so long, how could you make such an unrealistic request?" The three architects shook their heads repeatedly. "We can't do it, we can't do it."

"That's about right, that's fine." Samael said helplessly, "Come on, this is too much, your work in the dungeon isn't finished yet."

"The underground city can be done slowly. Besides, we're already at the stage of carving the psionic runes on the dome's support pillars, and it will be completed soon. But we urgently need this undead structure on the surface!"

"What's the rush? To show off to my other kind and give them an rage buff?" Samael shook his head. "The tomb is already finished, so let's leave it at that for now."

"No! It's not finished yet! The Rotten Root Ball hasn't finished grinding the rock edges at the base of the wall. We can add five more sculptures here!" Before Archie and the other two architects could finish speaking, they were half-dragged and half-escorted by three Nether Bronze Corpse Knights who grabbed their arms. While struggling, they kept describing more architectural design ideas, kicking and kicking in dissatisfaction, and were dragged back into the tunnel of the underground city by the Corpse Knights.

"I'm going to fight! You're all incapable of fighting, so go back underground and hide! As for the matter I mentioned earlier about finding mineral veins and smelting metal, we'll talk about it later when I get back to the city." Samael shouted at the tunnel entrance, pulling over a huge molten stone slab to cover it. "Living people will activate the other knights' psionic amplifiers, enhancing their combat abilities. There can't be any living people on the surface!"

He turned his head and stared blankly at a group of cave dwellers carrying barrels of enchanted charcoal and a rotten root ball with a polishing stone on its head.

The cave dweller stared with tiny, bean-sized eyes and a large mouth full of sharp teeth. A single drop of saliva, trailing a thin thread, slowly slid down from the corner of its mouth.

"Oh my!" the rotten root ball exclaimed.

"Go, go! What are you standing there for? You all go back!" Samael lifted the molten stone slab, and the undead drove the cave dwellers and rotten root balls back into the insect passage.

He put the stone slab back on and looked around suspiciously.

A cold wind blew slowly across the plain, and the tall grass swayed.

He trotted along, peeking over the southern border.

Cluck cluck. Only one toad sat there, lost in thought, in the mud at the edge of the Great Swamp.

Samael followed the path worn into the high grasslands over the past few days and peeked over the northern border.

The wind blew across the gray moss-covered wilderness, and in the distance, there were shadows of cast-boned warhorses and cavalry, but they were all still as sculptures, like heroic spirits frozen in an oil painting.

He crossed the grasslands and arrived at the eastern border.

The fog around the lake had mostly dissipated, but visibility was still very low, with a dozen or so snake-like shadows twisting and turning in the fog, drifting erratically.

The three adjacent areas were all quiet... There was no major battle as expected? Samael pondered.

Today is the first day after the end of the Skeleton Heart truce, and surprisingly, no one immediately started punching each other like cavemen.

“I say, newcomer, what’s that about you—are you confused?” Rahado’s voice rang out in the fog.

Samael raised his helmet and watched as the lightly armored Rahador, wielding a large scythe, strolled to the border line, surrounded by three serpentine scythe-wielding corpse demons.

“I bet you’re wondering why everyone hasn’t started fighting each other like cavemen.” Rahado lazily extended his sharp, dark bronze fingertips, stroking the blade of his scythe. “Why don’t you think about what you would have been doing in your own territory if you knew war was coming?”

“A trap…” Samael stopped mid-sentence.

“Ah…” Rahado pointed his bronze index finger at Samael, “Cunning, you really did set a trap. I knew I’d been hearing construction-like noises along the border on this side of the High Grass Plains at night…”

“Oh…” Samael extended his bronze index finger and pointed at Rahador, “Looks like you’re the same…”

The two pointed at each other simultaneously, their helmets almost revealing a knowing, wicked grin.

As expected, the Ghost Knights were all "superior souls," and it was impossible to expect them to walk into the trap like wild beasts.

"What? You think we're all fools? That we'd wander into other knights' territories like headless flies?" Rahado chuckled, slowly retreating into the mist. "Don't think I didn't hear you digging holes in the tall grass plains last night to bury the undead..."

"What did you put in the flowerbeds by the lake this time? A tripwire? Or a beheading executioner?" Samael snorted.

"You even saw the Nether Bronze Decapitation Blades?" Rahado seemed a little annoyed. "How is that possible? They were serpentine, emerging from the bottom of the lake and crawling forward into the flower bushes... Wait a minute, do you have some kind of small-sized scout?"

"What is that?" Samael feigned ignorance, stuffing the rotten root ball into his breastplate even more tightly.

“Aha! You must have a small necromancer scout! You wait, until I find that little thing—what is it? Your grave?” Rahado stood on tiptoe and peered over Samael’s shoulder armor into the distance. In the center of the tall grass plain stood a temple-like building, its Gothic spires and crouching gargoyles quite conspicuous.

"What the hell is this? It's so cool!" Rahadu scoffed. "What... were you some kind of master architect in your past life?"

“It has nothing to do with you,” Samael said, blocking his own grave.

"Ha! You wait, once I conquer the entire Skeleton Heart Plain, rule over the other six knights, and enslave all the living, you will be my personal architect!" Rahado retreated triumphantly into the mist, the ethereal snake shadows slithering away, disappearing into the dark green bushes and sparse woodland hidden in the mist.

Are all the knights just going to sit there and wait for someone to invade? Samael pondered, "That's impossible."

He strolled slowly back to the border of the southern Great Swamp. The most feared ruler, Prange, was in this direction; logically, he should have been excited to send his elite undead forces into his territory, only to be caught in a pre-arranged trap—no, that's not right.

Prancing's tactical style does not rely on charges, nor even on undead elites.

The greatest threat comes from the strange weapons that Prange creates, as well as the undead byproducts.

Think about it carefully, if you were Prange, what would you do according to Prange's strategies and style?
On the border of the Great Swamp, a bell-helmeted sword and shield guard suddenly moved. His body, made of rotting flesh, slowly collapsed, his knees touching the ground, and he slowly fell forward.

Samael was startled and quickly ran towards the rotting corpse knight, bending down to uncover the bronze armor covering its decaying body.

The moment the armor was ripped off, a flesh-rotting worm as thick as an arm sprang out from the churned corpse's chest cavity, and a sharp copper drill bit lunged at Samael's helmet!
*Crack.* Samael raised his shield, and the rotting, fleshy worms slammed into its surface, only to be caught by Samael.

Similar to the flesh-eating worm pulled from the Queen of the Caves' festering wounds, this worm was thicker, larger, and reinforced with a large number of Nether Bronze components. Its facehugger-like body was dragged by a tanned bone tail used to grind flesh, and its segmented blades were coated with a cold Nether Bronze layer.

The carrion worm wore a fist-sized helmet of dark bronze on its head. On the eyeless undead head, it slowly grinned a small smile with its scattered teeth that sucked juices and tore flesh.

“Hello, new friend,” Planger’s voice chuckled. “Let me see what secrets you’ve hidden in your territory…”

This is bad! Samael suddenly realized. He wasn't the only one with small scouts like the Rot Root Ball.

The Nether Bronze Implant Helmet can be shrunk to the size of a fist, meaning that other Ghost Riders could theoretically also create small-sized elite Necromancer Sentinels.

Although scouts occupy a command position and reduce overall combat effectiveness, they play a crucial role in reconnaissance!

One after another, the rotting corpse knights beside him began to fall, their bodies exploding, their breastplates being ripped open. Swarms of rotting flesh worms, wearing bronze helmets on their heads, crawled rapidly toward the center of the tall grass plain, rushing toward the location of the pointed building.

Amidst the frantic clawing of Nightmare Rush, the Corpse-Rotting Worms, dragging their long tails, raced toward the center of the Tall Grass Plain at an incredible speed!
Seven or eight rotting corpse knights along the way raised their swords and shields, attempting to hinder the advance of the rotting corpse worms.

The carrion worms raised the bronze drill bit, leaped up, grabbed the armor and crawled, burrowing into the gaps in the armor, churning the flesh and destroying the internal structure, before bursting out of the chest like aliens and continuing their mad dash toward the center of the tall grass plain.

Before they reached the center of the tall grass plain, a dozen skeletal hands clad in bronze gauntlets suddenly emerged from the soil and gripped their necks tightly. With immense force, they crushed the undead heads beneath the bronze helmets, flattening them completely.

The wide-brimmed helmet fell off, and control was lost. The rotting flesh worms were also crushed to pieces by the bronze gauntlets.

The skeletal hands planted a day in advance had not been in vain. Samael raised the helmeted worm in his hand and stared at Prange's elite troops.

"After witnessing your tanned corpse parasite, do you think I wouldn't prepare countermeasures in advance?" He looked at the helmeted little undead in his palm.

"Oh, so it seems you're not fully prepared." The helmeted necromancer grinned, making a Planger-like sound.

Bang! Bang bang bang! A series of soft explosions rang out.

The rotting flesh worms, crushed by the bone hand in the soil, exploded, and acid seeped into the bronze gauntlets, corroding and festering the bone hand. The gauntlets, now without the support of the undead skeleton, also scattered on the ground.

The last surviving carrion worm crawled out of the armor of the sword and shield corpse knight, passed through the area blocked by the blasted bone hand, frantically pried open the entrance to the worm tunnel network covering the stone slab, squeezed a gap in the stone slab, and plunged in!
Oh no! Samael instinctively wanted to turn around and intercept, but then he heard a series of knocking sounds coming from the entrance of the wormhole network.

After a moment of silence, another loud explosion rang out.

Two cave dwellers, their heads covered in acid, poked their heads out of the cave entrance, clutching stone clubs made of melted stone, and threw the smashed carrion worms and the bronze helmets out of the tunnel.

They sniffed around with their beady eyes and big nostrils, then slowly retreated back into the tunnel, casually pulling the stone slab back to its original position.

The rotting flesh worm was beaten to death with sticks by the cave dwellers guarding the entrance to the worm tunnel network.

Samael shrugged, looking at the Prangg elite undead fleshworm in his hand.

"You're cooperating with monsters? You can control living things? And there's an underground labyrinth?" The carrion worm waved its segmented limbs. "Ah, no, I've seen these monsters before. My tomb was converted from their underground lair—how come they suddenly know how to use tools? This isn't right!"

"If you use all your command units on such small things, your frontal combat effectiveness will probably be greatly weakened, right?" Samael chuckled.

"Uh... Ah? What?" The carrion worm stared blankly.

*Crack.* Samael snapped the flesh worm's neck, and the small bronze helmet fell off, which Samael caught and melted into a pool of scrap bronze.

Clang! Clang! He struck the Nether Bronze Sword and Shield, summoning the rotting corpse knights that had been buried in the grass beforehand, and dressed them in Nether Bronze bell-shaped helmets to quickly fill the gaps in the command position.

Seize the opportunity and prepare for a counterattack!
"You think our frontal combat strength is insufficient, is that right?" A rumbling sound echoed between the tree trunks of the Great Swamp.

With a thunderous sound of footsteps and the splashing of water, the massive body made of humus slowly waded across the swamp.

The trunk, towering like a small hill, was formed from foul-smelling, bluish-brown silt, with roots and humus forming giant, tangled tendrils. Among the silt grew three deformed and grotesque skull faces, each adorned with a huge, wide-brimmed helmet of ghostly bronze.

Swamp Giant.

It carried no weapons, but instead had dozens of sharp, long, dark copper spikes inserted into its humus-based body, making it resemble a giant cactus beast. Any creature that dared to approach would be scratched by these filthy spikes.

"Insufficient frontal combat power, is that it?" A huge, crude frame was fixed to the back of the swamp monster, and Plang's eerie laughter came from the seat in the frame.

A boat-shaped helmet with a full-coverage perforated visor peeked out from the swamp troll's shoulder. The light and smooth bronze armor had shallow, fish-scale-like patterns, and wide, sharp, fin-like decorations extended from the back and arm armor.

Prange, carrying a violin-shaped shield, raised his violin bow and rapier high, flicked the bow, and threw a ball of rotting flesh at Samael.

boo.

Samael dodged to the side. The acid burst, sizzling as it corroded a patch of tall grass behind him.

Duckweed floated on the water as dozens of tanners, armed with harpoon guns, slowly advanced towards the border.

(End of this chapter)