Ghost Knight King's Dungeon Project

Chapter 79 [Rahado teaches you how to recover from a low point]

The little gray mouse clung to a stalk of grass, slowly climbing to the top of a branch still covered in snow, and nibbled on a shriveled bean pod.

It trembled slightly in the cold winter air.

This was the first time Haixin had ever seen snow, and the first time in its short life that it had ever seen "snow".

Although these pure white, cold, fluffy snowflakes were fleeting, this brief snowfall revealed to it the technology of intelligent races far beyond its imagination, the great power it could not even see in its grandest dreams, and the vastness of the world. In the blink of an eye, those creations far superior to it could freeze the sky and scatter fragments.

Although its rudimentary mind could not comprehend all of this.

The Creator has no obligation to make it understand.

Click. The little gray mouse nibbled at the bean pods with its incisors. It was cold outside the burrow, and if it had a choice, it wouldn't want to leave its warm cave. But all the bean pods in the burrow had already been eaten.

Click. To avoid being eaten by insects, the seed pods of tall grass are very hard, and even after they mature, they are still difficult to fall off. It takes a certain amount of force to bite them off. If the seed pods are not damaged, the seeds cannot germinate normally.

The seeds of these tall grasses hang high on the branches, making them exceptionally conspicuous—a deliberate arrangement for birds and field mice—especially field mice, who bury the shelled seeds in their burrows as if by some elaborate design.

Click. The little gray field mouse nibbled at the seed husk.

Before winter came, it had buried seven burrows filled with shelled seeds, but the Creator had carefully designed their biological postures, and with the help of the poor memory preset by the engineers, it had long forgotten where those burrows were stored.

This allows the harvested, hulled seeds to be buried in forgotten, warm caves—and to sprout the following spring, growing into new tall grass plants.

Through careful design, this clumsy rodent became an integral part of this magnificent machine.

rustle.

The tall grass suddenly swayed, making a rustling sound.

The gray field mouse panicked and released the seed pod of the tall grass that it had just half-eaten, and ran wildly along the dirt path between the grass roots, trying to escape before the thing in the grass got close.

But it was all too late.

A small nail made of funerary copper flew through its body.

The wretched creature struggled for a moment, then lost its vitality.

As the tall grass stalks swayed slightly, a withered little paw made of rotting flesh reached out, grabbed the field mouse's carcass, and dragged it into the grass.

With a soft sizzling sound of flesh and blood merging, a small, serpentine undead, made of rotting flesh and wearing a Collins-style bronze helmet, wriggled out from between the roots of the grass.

This miniature undead was almost the size of a real snake, only as long as a human arm. It wore a helmet with Rahador's implant on its head, and two lizard-like, decaying scale claws extended from the side of its body. A sharp Nether copper scythe was welded to the tip of its tail, and seven or eight broken Nether copper nails were stuck in its body.

It appears to be a spike that broke off from the Darkbron Morning Star hammer during the battle the night before last.

"Damn it... Samael has collected all the stray undead from the bushes..." Using the undead snake's vision, Rahador controlled the corpse snake, muttering to himself, "To make this corpse snake stronger, I can only rely on these stupid rats..."

Although the helmet was sealed inside the Hellfire box, the Hellfire could not block Rahadur's control signals over the undead.

This was his last resort before surrendering, hidden in a border trench that had been bombed once. Once Ansba and Samael were busy conquering other knights, he could deploy all his forces to the front lines, leaving his rear vulnerable and unsuspecting, allowing him to attempt to rescue his true form.

Those flying undead with membranous wings were too large and were kept under strict guard after the war, making it almost impossible for them to complete this arduous escape mission.

Fortunately, Samael's elite units also suffered heavy losses in the undead civil war, and the number of corpse knights originally stationed in the tall grass was greatly reduced. In addition, the dense tall grass provided cover, allowing Rahador's corpse snakes to sneak through the gaps in the guards.

Footsteps echoed from the distant tall grass. The rotting corpse snake hastily pulled out a broken piece of dark copper nail and hammered it into its body to secure itself. It had scavenged these nails from the wreckage of the battlefield. With limited options, it needed to be extremely cautious to rescue its true form.

The cave dwellers made a sticky, arthropod-like sound as they carried molten stone building materials.

“Sin, thank you for your hard work, Architect Yevel.” Lysander’s voice rang out from somewhere in the distance. “Thank you… thank you for building a sanctuary for me—I rarely have the opportunity to speak face to face with high demons, so I’m a little nervous, please forgive me.”

“Oh, it’s alright. Actually, this is the first time I’ve had the chance to speak with such a learned anthropologist—the snowfall array the other day was truly eye-opening—if I have the chance, I’d also like to discuss some aspects of runic literature and psionic dynamics… ah, yes, humans should call it demonic dynamics.” Archie’s voice rang out, “Besides, I’m not a high demon either.”

"But those beautiful black horns of yours—"

“That’s a classification method you anthropologists came up with out of thin air. Every demon could potentially possess these characteristics,” Archie shrugged.

"Is that so?" Lysander exclaimed in surprise.

"We know very little about the social structure of the demon race. The only source of our knowledge is a very small number of demonized individuals who defected after serving the Demon King. However, even demonized individuals cannot get close to the core of the demon social system, and few are willing to cooperate with scholars in explaining things—if you don't mind, perhaps Mr. Yeviel could explain it to me..."

Lysander's thirst for knowledge once again took over his mind, and curiosity replaced thinking.

The sounds of conversation and trampling on the tall grass gradually faded away as the grass stalks moved.

Rahadu's carrion snake peeked out from the shadows, gazing at the silhouette above the tall grass in the distance, where the moving figures gradually disappeared.

Today's goal is an arm—if it can bring one back and hide it, it can absorb Nether Bronze, create new Nether Bronze helmets, produce new helmeted elites, and craft useful Nether Bronze necromancer weapons and necromancer equipment. It organized its plans.

Clang, clang, clang. New footsteps sounded again, accompanied by the soft clanging of the bronze.

The carrion snake retreated back into the shadows.

Samael's steady, muffled footsteps echoed not far ahead, mixed with the slow, quiet footsteps of a living person.

"Iron ore?" It sounded like a young girl, her voice slightly weary, carrying a hint of exhaustion and gentleness.

"You called me out just for the iron ore?" she teased, a hint of dissatisfaction mixed with a touch of amusement.

“Yes.” Samael’s slightly metallic voice rang out. “I’ve found a mine of hematite and magnetite. It would be best if the Earth-Eating Demon Worms could help with the excavation, and then we can send cave dwellers to expand the tunnels and transport the suitable minerals back—or, build a blast furnace on the spot and smelt them.”

He paused.

“In addition, I also hope that you can leave that unpleasant palace and go out for a walk,” he continued.

Something large darted swiftly through the grass, flapping about and flattening a large patch of tall grass, making a clicking sound as it mawed up and down, swaggering over every creature hidden in the grass, like some kind of overactive large dog.

Rats and insects scattered and fled from the grass, while Rahador's rotting corpse serpent hurriedly slithered back into the deeper shadows.

However, the large, dog-like thing seemed to notice something and began to growl and hum in the direction of the rotting corpse snake.

“Sometimes I think that perhaps we are all machines meticulously designed by the will of the Creator,” Samael’s voice said. “Some great force secretly controls everything, blocking other paths in the labyrinth and forcing us to move in the direction He wants.”

"For example—the extermination system of other ghost knights. Why do necromancers hate the living? For example, dungeons. Why must demons maintain dungeons? Perhaps these are all pre-set instincts, like cave dwellers, like tree monkeys, like field mice in tall grass..."

"You don't want me to rely on my psychic powers to maintain the dungeon, do you?" the young woman's voice asked.

Samael remained silent for a moment.

"I don't want to lose you," he said slowly. "Even the slightest possibility terrifies me."

The tall grass was quiet for a moment, except for the purring sound of the earth-devouring worm larvae.

Laughter—the girl covered her mouth slightly and let out a muffled laugh.

“My God, what’s so funny?” Samael’s annoyed voice rang out.

Thump. A soft sound, accompanied by the clicking of metal against the joints of the armor. It felt like a hand gripping the bronze arm, or a cheek resting against the shoulder armor.

“It’s really hard to imagine that you would feel fear.” The girl laughed so hard she almost fell over, shaking the armor’s arm guards back and forth with both hands. Her voice was cheerful. “I can’t imagine how a suit of armor could be so frightening, especially for you.”

“I feel fear,” Samael’s voice said. “If I were still an empty suit of armor, of course I wouldn’t feel fear; this cursed, numb life is almost torture. But I am different from my kind. I am no longer a cold, empty suit of armor. My empty body has been filled by you, filled by the trust, acceptance, and support of the living…”

He suddenly stopped talking.

"What's wrong with it?" With a soft clanging sound, Samael bent down, patted the earth-devouring demon worm that had been snorting and growling, and bent over to pat it.

"It's probably going to bully some small animals again. It often does this in its hibernation cage in the dungeon, purring and growling at the rotten root ball outside the cage..." the girl's voice said. Some kind of psionic signal was released from the young girl, and under the signal's control, the huge, dog-like carapace-like creature followed behind the two of them, somewhat reluctantly and slowly leaving.

Silence returned to the tall grass.

"Damn it, really..." Rahadu's Corpse Snake felt that it had suffered some real injury and sighed.

"Damn it, really..." Another voice rang out almost simultaneously, like an echo.

The Corpse Serpent in the Collins-style bronze helmet was startled. Suddenly, it stretched out its forepaws, which were covered in rotten scales, raised a broken spike, and hurled it fiercely at a gap in the grass stalks not far away.

With a muffled thud, the spike struck something, pinning it to the ground. But the other party made no sound.

After all, the undead have no sense of pain.

The rotting snake slithered through the roots, parted the pile of straw in front of it, and stared at a small undead parasitic corpse wearing a helmet of dark bronze.

"Uh...what a coincidence. You're also taking advantage of the post-war sparse guard to gather intelligence, Rahador?" The rotten, black, tanned undead was pinned to the ground by black copper nails, and a forced grin appeared on its eyeless face. "Oh, wait a minute, wasn't your original body destroyed by them?"

"Why bring up something you shouldn't talk about..." Rahadu's rotting corpse snake angrily flicked its tail, hurling the tip of its dark bronze scythe fiercely.

The tanned undead creature in Prange raised its tail blade, instinctively trying to block, but it was pinned to the spot by the black copper nails it had just been struck by, unable to move.

Moreover, the tannin parasite is designed to burrow into the bodies of large undead. Its body is slender and small, and its small blades also act as a mixer to amplify infection and decay wounds.

Rahador's carrion snake was designed to infiltrate, dart, tear, and hang upside down, and having just preyed on and assimilated a large number of rat carcasses from the tall grass, it was now as thick as a python.

The two were too different in size. The Corpse Serpent easily severed the tail blade of the Tantalizing Corpse Little Undead, raised the scythe at the end of its tail, and prepared to crush the other's helmet.

"Wait, wait!" Pulang shouted. "We can cooperate!"

"Cooperation my ass—I don't believe in cooperation. Only I am trustworthy." Rahado's Corpse Serpent swung its scythe tail, severing two claws from the Prange Corpse Little Undead.

“Listen to me, Rahador,” Prange said, “I have learned the secret to Samael’s strength—he is entangled with the living, and it must be the living who help him that allows him to always beat us—that is his secret to victory!”

"Huh?" Rahado was taken aback, and the movement of the scythe blade paused.

“Look, the combat techniques that Samael’s elite troops use are all techniques used by living people,” Prange explained. “You also heard it just now, the snowfall that Samael created the day before yesterday also came from a magic circle provided by a living scholar.”

"When I fought him, he also took out a flamethrower and burned my swamp troll—that flamethrower wasn't made of ghost copper, it must have been a weapon made by living people."

"He also has demon architects building houses for him, cave dwellers mining iron ore for him, and he can control living earth-eating demon worms, etc. All of this was done with the help of those living people."

"He... he even had a living girlfriend to help him get away with things!" Plang said indignantly. "While we were being tormented by this necromancy in the deathly dark tomb, he was flirting with his living girlfriend!"

"Once we get rid of all his living allies, he will lose his power and will no longer be able to defeat us! This plain, these undead, and this world are all our playground!"

“This…is an interesting idea…” Rahador’s Corpse Serpent stroked the chin of the Collins-style Nether Bronze Helmet with interest.

“Right, right?” Plang said excitedly. “What a brilliant idea—”

chapped.

With a crisp, light click, the sickle blade slid smoothly downwards, piercing a large hole in the helmet.

Prange's voice then abruptly stopped.

"Idiot, go be smart yourself." Rahador's Corpse Serpent pulled out the scythe blade from its tail.

"Do you really think I'm stupid? This is just giving the boss an rage buff. It's obvious that the only thing Boss Samael cares about is those living people. Right now, Boss Samael is still very friendly to everyone. If you really anger him, you'll be lucky if he dismantles your body and turns it into a bronze chamber pot, or kicks your helmet like a ball."

He snorted and suddenly realized that he had subconsciously called Samael "boss".

"Pah, pah, pah, what bad luck! I am the boss, I am the chosen one who will become the King of Ghost Knights!" The Corpse Snake twisted and turned, dragging the tattered remains of the little undead from Planger, and slithered towards a certain spot in the grass.

……

Hidden among the tall grass was a gigantic, half-hidden carrion crawler, its massive, spherical body formed from piles of rotting flesh, dragging thick, fleshy tendrils, and topped with a bronze bell-shaped helmet.

It resembled some kind of bizarre, tentacle-like octopus cat, with tentacles tucked under its body, curled up into a large, semi-square ball, and stood there blankly among the tall grass.

Within that mass of fleshy tendrils, one of Rahador's arm armors was wrapped around, with claw-shaped gauntlets and shoulder armor tightly connected to it.

Today, the sky above the skeleton was partly cloudy, with sunlight peeking through gaps in the clouds and shining on the rotting corpse crawler. It tilted its head slightly back, letting the sun shine on its helmet, staring blankly at the sky, its tentacles slowly relaxing, twitching and swaying like a cat's tail.

The implanted helmets seem to have given these undead some of the traits of monarchs, and their behavior patterns are different from ordinary undead, changing slightly with the monarch's mood.

Samael was probably in a relaxed state today, and his attention wasn't focused on this, which resulted in his necromancy being quite scattered.

As time passed, the patch of sunlight shifted slightly. To catch up with the warm patch of light through the gaps in its helmet, the rotting crawler, still dazed, writhed and moved in little by little.

This caused the arm armor to slowly slide out from under the body, wrapped around three tendrils, and dragged behind the huge crawler.

Rahadu's carrion snake cautiously slithered behind it, raised the bronze scythe blade on its tail, and carefully pried open a tentacle while observing the crawler's reaction.

The undead have no sense of touch or pain; they feel nothing when their limbs are broken. After all, they are like crude, cheap machines, only capable of repeating specific actions. Given their sheer numbers, there's little need for much attention or maintenance of such inexpensive machines.

Perhaps, the Ghost Knight is the same.

The crawler did not react and remained staring blankly at the sky.

The carrion snake twisted its body, trying to pry open the second tentacle wrapped around the arm armor. However, the second tentacle remained firmly coiled around the arm armor, showing no sign of loosening its grip.

Rahadu hesitated for a moment, while the Corpse Serpent warily watched the Corpse Crawler, then raised the scythe on its tail and severed the second tentacle.

The crawler moved slightly, but did not turn its head.

The destruction of the extremities did not cause any noticeable damage to this massive body; the damage was not even reflected in the UI panel.

As another Ghost Knight, Rahador was well aware of this.

No one can simultaneously keep a close eye on 101 complex and cumbersome data panels through the UI. Besides, Samael's main body is busy right now, probably working on something like iron ore.

Rahadu's carrion snake pried open the remaining broken tentacles of the arm armor, trying to drag it away, but missed the last tentacle.

The last tentacle wrapped around the arm armor, ripping the carrion snake that was about to drag it away flat on its face.

The crawler's tentacles twitched.

The carrion snake hurriedly scurried back into the grass, but Samael's crawler did not turn around.

The carrion snake slowly poked its head out of the grass, tugging at its arm for a long time, but the arm armor remained unmoved. It raised the bronze scythe welded to its tail, coiled it around its tentacle, and tried to cut it off.

The next second, the tentacle twisted unconsciously, wrapping around its tail scythe and arm armor together!
The Corpse Serpent struggled and thrashed about for a long time before finally using its claws, covered in rotten scales, to pull long nails of dark copper from its body and embed them in its tentacles, fixing it to the ground beside it.

As each spike was driven in, the last tentacle gradually became restricted in its movement, unable to wrap around the arm armor any longer, and slowly loosened its grip on the scythe blade at the tip of the rotting corpse snake's tail.

Rahado controlled his arm armor like a caterpillar, gripping the ground with his hand armor, bending his elbows, arching his arms, and dragging his arm and shoulder armor, slowly crawling into the grass.

The Corpse Serpent pulled out the pre-prepared remains of a Prange-tanned undead from the nearby bushes and stuffed them into the pile of tentacles as a substitute for its arm armor.

After completing all this, it triumphantly burrowed into the grass along with its caterpillar-like arm beetles, and slowly crawled back towards the edge of the tall grass along the cracks between the grass roots.

There lay an uncontrolled membranous carrion demon, wearing a Collins-style bronze helmet, its wings folded, its body crouched, lurking and waiting for the arm armor and carrion snakes to come to its aid.

Rahadu's self-rescue plan during his lowest point in life is complete (1/5).

(End of this chapter)