Ghost Knight King's Dungeon Project

Chapter 83 [Sacred Iron and a Helping Hand]

The semi-molten holy iron gleamed with a blazing, fiery light in the mold, like a shimmering eye gazing upon Samael.

Samael hesitated for a moment, holding the rod-shaped bronze frame that he intended to use as the hilt and spine of his sword, and tried to insert the bronze rod into it.

The moment the tip of the Hellfire rod touched the Holy Iron, strange, bright sparks began to burst forth from the point of contact, like welding or burning magnesium. Dazzling white orbs of light flashed and scattered in all directions!
Small white orbs of light splashed onto the chest armor, and the usually numb and cold body of the Nether Bronze actually felt a series of sensations similar to "stinging".

The hilt of the Nether Bronze Sword in the gauntlet vibrated violently due to the explosion of the small white orb.

Using the necromancer strength of the Ghost Knight, Samael raised his shield with his left hand to block the bursting white sparks. Enduring the stinging pain, he barely managed to control his posture and forcefully thrust the spine of the Nether Bronze Sword into the Holy Iron mold, forming a knight's longsword with a Nether Bronze hilt and a Holy Iron blade.

Due to the heat-absorbing properties of the Nether Bronze, the Holy Iron cooled and solidified rapidly. He flicked his gauntlet, flung open the mold, and took out the cooled blade.

However, at the moment of demolding, the interior of the Nether Bronze and Holy Iron that came into contact suddenly exploded, and blinding pure white sparks burst out like fireworks, destroying the entire blade structure. The blade exploded in two, leaving only half of the hilt in hand.

No matter what method is used, the wraith copper and holy iron can never be welded together. The strong repulsive force and intense holy light reaction will repeatedly damage the structure, just like how it is difficult for like magnets to be forced together.

"Ugh..." Samael shook his stinging gauntlet and threw away the remaining half of the sword hilt with a clatter. The bronze gauntlet was covered with spots of burn marks, like whitish branding marks.

"Wow, it's so dazzling." Yachi's black spiral horns peeked out from the forge in the corner. He peered out, shielding his eyes with his hand, watching Samael fiddling with the blade through his fingers, barely managing to block out the flashing holy light.

"Yeah, it's really dazzling." Lysander peeked out from the other side of the furnace, took off the blindfold made of tattered rags, and squinted as if he had just woken up and was being directly exposed to the sun.

“Uh… speaking of which, what are you two hiding from?” Samael looked at the two technicians beside him. “I thought I was the only undead here.”

“Holy Light will have a disruptive effect on any creature rich in psionic energy.” Archie tapped the horn on the side of his head. “Demons, remember? Even magical beasts will be disoriented and retreat when they encounter Holy Light, let alone us demons.”

"I'd like to keep watching the processing details, but this white light is too dazzling. Even a living person can't look directly at a light source for a long time. My eyes hurt..." Lysander rubbed his eyes.

"So, is there any way to combine the Holy Iron and the Nether Bronze hilt?" Samael asked, twirling his gauntlets.

"Why must we combine Holy Iron and Hellfire?" Lysander asked.

“The key is the hilt, Lysander.” Samael pointed to another holy iron longsword on the table beside him, made entirely of holy iron, gleaming with a bright and clean luster.

“If it’s just about holding it, then it’s acceptable.” He extended his gauntlet, grasped the hilt of the Holy Iron Sword, and carefully raised the Holy Iron Longsword.

“But if I swing it hard—” Samael gestured, raising the gauntlet holding the sword and swinging it downwards.

At the moment of the swing, a burst of bright white sparks erupted at the point where the bronze gauntlets touched the hilt of the holy iron sword, illuminating the dimly lit smelting workshop.

"Ouch..." Samael groaned, dropping the Holy Iron Longsword amidst the exploding sparks, and slapping his burning Nether Bronze Gauntlets.

“I guess it’s because the Holy Iron can react to the boss’s intense life activities,” Archie said.

“No, no, no!” Lysander shook his head to correct him. “This is just the surface. We need to look beyond the surface to study the underlying reasons.”

He took out his runestone roulette wheel from his pocket, placed a transparent crystal shard in the catalyst groove, picked up two small pieces of enchanted charcoal from the side, stuffed them into the groove, and spun the wheel until faint blue patterns appeared on the surface of the crystal shard.

"After the transparent material undergoes heat quenching and magic treatment, the outline of the magic can be seen in a short time, allowing for a rough judgment of its flow and activity." He held up the small piece of transparent crystal, examining it closely. "This is one of the key technologies for manufacturing and repairing magic-powered machinery."

With the help of crystal fragments, a kind of vague outline flows and permeates the seemingly empty workshop, like a flowing shadow.

"Based on my judgment, what triggers the holy light reaction should be demonic matter—what you all call psionic energy. Holy iron reacts to intense psionic energy activity, thus producing holy light."

"Just like runes, spells, potions, and even some combat techniques that require mana, they can all trigger a reaction in the holy iron."

"According to Mr. Samael, this enchanted metal called 'Nether Copper' automatically absorbs heat from the environment to shape, maintain, and repair its form, a process that must also require the help of psionic energy."

Around Samael's body, faint shadowy outlines swirled across the surface of his armor.

"In other words, when the Nether Copper absorbs a large amount of heat, it triggers the flow of psionic energy in the surrounding environment, causing the Holy Iron to also be affected by intense psionic activity and produce a holy light reaction," Lysander explained.

“Under normal still conditions, slow heat absorption may not have much of an impact, but when you swing your sword violently, Mr. Samael, it may lead to increased energy consumption, accelerated heat absorption by the body, and trigger intense psionic activity.”

"During the casting process, the drastic difference in heat will also cause the black copper to absorb heat rapidly, thus producing a holy light reaction at the contact surface."

“Understood.” Samael nodded. “So, how do I learn to use the Holy Iron Weapon?”

“Perhaps we could use something like arrows? Long-range weapons?” Archie suggested.

“I’m worried that the Holy Iron Arrow might be lost in the chaos and fall into the hands of my other kind, with unimaginable consequences.” Samael shook his head. “However, large weapons like ballistae would be fine, because the arrows of ballistae are huge and easy to retrieve—but the arrows would need to be pierced and secured with chains to prevent loss.”

“Why not just replace the hilt with wood, like a normal sword?” Lysander suggested.

“Wood cannot withstand the force of attacks between ghost knights—our strength is comparable to that of industrial machines. Even a weapon made of Nether Bronze, if forged too thinly, could be smashed in two.” Samael carefully picked up the Holy Iron Longsword from the ground, as if holding a stun gun that had been activated at some unknown time, pinched the hilt with his fingertips, and tossed it onto the table.

"If it's not molded in one piece, the strength might not be enough."

“I can add a regular steel hilt and a steel handguard to it,” Archie volunteered. “Although it’s not as sturdy as a one-piece sword, it’s still better than wood.”

“Alright, this is troublesome.” Samael pushed the Holy Iron Longsword in front of Yachi. “If possible, it would be best to complete the modification of the Holy Iron weapon and the forging of the hilt before tonight—I have some business to attend to in the swamp to the south tonight—so, Yachi?”

"Hmm?" Archie looked up from rummaging through the pile of ore.

“You know what I’m going to say, Yachi.” Samael looked at him.

"I didn't know," Yachi said innocently.

“No need for too much decoration or carving,” Samael said. “Just add a simple hilt and handguard.”

“I’m sorry, boss, I can’t do it,” Yaqi said decisively and righteously.

“…” Samael wanted to sigh helplessly, but he didn’t have lungs or a trachea, nor did he have that function. “…Then, please simplify it as much as possible.”

That's why he preferred to get the blueprints from Yachi, studying them himself and piecing them together with the undead, rather than bothering the demon craftsmen to help build siege engines or large weapon structures—even if they could do it better.

Without exception, the demon artisans all have a passion for ornate and exquisite decorations. These artistic crafts seem to be an indispensable part of their lives—they can work very hard, but they absolutely cannot work in a shabby environment.

Even the interiors of the carriages from the exile era were covered with bas-reliefs, and even the rough felt for warmth was adorned with ornate patterns and vibrant colors. Making demons live in such a substandard environment for an extended period was an immense torment, more painful than killing them.

This habit resulted in a remarkably slow work pace. Although everything was orderly and methodical, it was still too slow for the siege weapons urgently needed on the battlefield; they simply couldn't keep up. As a leader, he could have used his authority to command them and force them to change these useless and inefficient habits. But he didn't; after all, he was Samael.

Yachi left happily with the Holy Iron Longsword, hammer, chisel, and carving knife, leaving only Samael and Lysander in the workshop.

The two were silent for a moment.

For some reason, neither of them has yet told the other demons about their search for the relics of the ancient king, nor have they yet revealed the war that may be coming next year.

"By the way, is Mr. Samael going to fight another Ghost Knight again?" Lysander watched Archie's departing figure.

“Yes.” Samael hesitated, knowing what Lysander meant. “I originally planned to go to the wasteland of Sokofa immediately to help you find those remains. But please forgive me, I must prioritize your safety and first decompose that ghost knight in the south, Prange.”

“Ah, of course, of course… I didn’t mean to rush you. But thank you for not forgetting.” Lysander nodded awkwardly. “I wish Mr. Samael all the best in his endeavors.”

“Don’t worry, Lysander. I know the situation is urgent, and this matter is constantly on my mind,” Samael said. “Moreover, if we use the right methods, turning enemies into allies can be done faster and easier than we think.”

"In fact, I may have less to do than I thought. Although the swamp is a complex terrain unsuitable for ordinary undead to enter and fight, one of my allies has already begun his operation—he has infiltrated deep into the southern swamp, behind enemy lines."

"Is it that tall knight with the antlers?" Lysander asked. "I find it hard to imagine such a huge body infiltrating behind enemy lines."

“No, no… Good heavens, I can hardly imagine Ansba sneaking in behind enemy lines, it’s a strange sight… I’m talking about another knight,” Samael said.

"Of course, he wasn't very willing to cooperate, and it might take a little pressure for him to complete the task I assigned him."

"To be honest, I have not yet trusted his loyalty, but I have never questioned his abilities either."

"As a versatile and outstanding assassin, a clean and swift killer, I believe he will be of great help to me."

……

In the heart of the Great Swamp, a serpentine carrion demon wearing the Rahador left arm guard restlessly rubbed the head of a harpoon spear made of dark bronze, kneading it into a lump of half-molten dark bronze before absentmindedly tossing it aside, idly wasting time.

Rahado felt uneasy. Very uneasy. Extremely uneasy.

About two hours have passed since the bell-shaped winged undead left.

Logically, his helmet should still be in the necropolis of Samael's tomb. After learning of these events, Samael should have gone to confront his helmet.

However, there has been no word from the helmet supplier for the past two hours.

If Samael had immediately become angry and questioned himself about whether he had gone back on his word again, and resolved the matter quickly, that would have been fine. However, the long silence made Rahado a little anxious, as if Samael had already forgotten about it.

Rahadu pondered anxiously.

Tonight, Samael will surely launch an attack, once again using those strange and unusual methods to create targeted and bizarre undead, break through the swamp's defenses, and capture Prange and his own arm armor.

He had no doubt about it—because he had indeed fought against Samael and been overwhelmed by Samael's tactical combinations.

Samael always seemed to have a backup plan; his helmet was always crammed with clear ideas. Even if he borrowed troops from three other knights, they would be split up and defeated one by one using different strategies.

In comparison, Prang's foolish plans are even less likely to outdo Samael's. At most, they would only infect the living with toxins and diseases, give Samael an anger buff, and remove Samael's only weakness, "good-natured good guy".

After much deliberation, it seemed that only by dealing with Prange and taking back the dismantled armor of Prange could he have a chance to gain trust and freedom.

"What are you standing there for? How come you've only made this much? Hurry up!" Pulange, wearing a crocodile skin apron, came over and impatiently urged Rahado's left arm, who was dawdling.

He was holding a large handful of dried straw paper, which looked like it was made of reed fibers, and he was throwing it into the opening of a copper pipe leading underground.

"Alright, alright." Rahado responded briskly, subtly glancing around at the undead and taking stock of Prange's men.

Not all of Prange's men were combat-capable. Only a small portion were tanned corpse hunters disguised in crocodile skin coats, while the majority were essentially useless humus-like undead mud balls, and a few were crawling scout parasitic undead.

This is the result of the combined effect of the swamp environment and Prange's tactical style—the mud necromancers, composed of deteriorating humus, can lurk among the silt at the bottom of the water, entangle any creatures that accidentally step into the water, and drown them in the sewage.

Prange's tactical style does not rely on direct combat, but rather on harassment and precision strikes through the production of large quantities of projectiles and gadgets. Therefore, for Prange, the workshops that manufacture projectiles are more important than direct combat power.

The tanners are too tall to navigate the narrow drying racks, crooked wooden platforms, and narrow tunnels easily; they can easily get stuck or knock over the racks.

In contrast, the mud undead, composed of degraded humus, can move through narrow gaps and carry a large amount of cargo, making them highly efficient in transporting and carrying.

Prang's main defenses come from the swampy environment and traps, with little protection for the core area... Rahado pondered, but the tanners here are ultimately acting normally, and if things really come to a head, they have a certain ability to resist.

Although he could easily cut off Prange's helmet, the Corpse Hunters wouldn't just stand there idly; their counterattack would begin within seconds. With such a small force, he couldn't possibly defeat more than thirty Corpse Hunters.

He needed to create some kind of chaos, to severely injure or destabilize Prange for a brief period. He looked around for any usable clues and suddenly remembered the bronze hand cannons that Prange had briefly lent him during the battle against Samael.

That thing is quite powerful... A single volley is enough to destroy the sturdy frame of a catapult made of rusted copper and logs.

If ammunition were unlimited, they might be able to defeat Samael. Rahadol recalled the explosive that Prange had previously stuffed into the Hellbronze hand cannon; it was a grayish-brown fibrous fragment that would explode violently upon contact with necromantic acid.

Fiber fragments… How are these fiber fragments produced in Prange? Rahador looked around, searching the chaotic Prange workshop for anything that might be related to fibers.

Finally, the serpentine corpse demon's gaze settled on a string of reed fiber paper.

The tanners gather reeds from the swamp, crush and shred the fibers, drain and dry them to make something similar to straw paper, and then what?
Collins-style helmets gazed at Prange.

To prevent the tanned corpses and mud lumps from ruining the straw paper, Purange personally carried a stack of dried straw paper and carefully moved it into a copper pipe leading underground.

Some tanned corpses and clumps of mud wandered around, pouring crushed, decaying humus and a large, sticky clump of plant matter, dripping brownish sap, into other pipe openings nearby, like some kind of plant root harvested from a swamp.

Prange carefully picked up a cup of necromancer, scooped up a little bit of necromantic acid, diluted it with swamp water, and then carefully and slowly poured it into the necromancer pipe leading underground, making sure it moistened the dry straw paper.

After finishing all this, he smugly closed the cap on the copper pipe and went to work on the fungal block on the other side.

Hmm...interesting. Rahado chuckled to himself.

(End of this chapter)