Ghost Knight King's Dungeon Project

Chapter 90 [The Explosives Workshop]

"Ba~ba la ba~ba~ba la ba..."

Prang's helmet, suspended in the darkness by the chains of the Holy Iron, swayed precariously, humming a nonsensical tune.

The clanging of metal echoed in the corridor. Prange stopped his incoherent humming and stared at the door of the Holy Iron Confinement Chamber through his visor and boat-shaped helmet.

squeak-

The iron-clad doors of the St. Iron's solitary confinement cell were pushed open.

“Oh…it’s so bright…” Prang’s helmet swayed between the holy iron chains hanging from the ceiling.

With the clanging of chains, the undead dragged a huge helmet, along with its sheet metal breastplate, spiked shoulder armor, thick arm and leg armor, scattering and hanging it around him.

"Hey, could you please hang that sharp shoulder armor a little further away from me? It's about to poke me!" Prange demanded.

The death knight in the bell-shaped helmet nodded, moved the holy iron chain, confirmed the position of the hook on the ceiling, and hung it on the other side.

"Wow, look at this, that bulky muscle armor, and that wide helmet with its fat head and big ears, isn't that...?" Prange's visor and boat-shaped helmet swirled around in a sarcastic tone. "That big guy from the north, the one with Ansba—what's his name again? Dix?"

"...Shut up." The massive gladiator helmet of Deckon swayed helplessly in the air as the holy iron chains spun.

[Strong joint engagement is now enabled.] The Gladiator Helmet's UI flashed.

The psionic energy emanating from the Nether Copper passed through the surface of the Holy Iron, instantly creating a burst of bright light within the Holy Iron confinement chamber.

[Psionic isolation detected; limb signals blocked.]

[The closure process was interrupted.]

"Aaaaaaahhhhhh what are you doing, you brainless beast!" Prange howled in pain as the holy light stung him. "You're asking for trouble, don't drag me into this flash!"

Dekgon endured the stinging pain without uttering a sound, remaining silent for a moment.

He was trying to contact his remaining flesh-and-blood gladiator troops, those elite units with helmets who might still have a few that hadn't been completely wiped out.

[Psionic communication is blocked.] The UI only displays a cold, pale blue pop-up.

[Psionic implant communication failed.]

“So… this thing can isolate psychic energy, and it can produce a powerful flashbang that interferes with psychic energy.” Degun’s helmet growled, “The moment it flashes, it will interrupt the normal functioning of our bodies, interrupt all ongoing actions, and put us into a state of severe stiffness and weakness…”

"He can take advantage of this opportunity to dismantle and capture us with explosive destructive weapons."

"Is this the purpose of that iron plate on your body? To provide a protective layer, shielding your bronze body from this flash?" His helmet spun as he looked at Samael standing in the doorway. "To allow you to move normally in the flash?"

Samael, whose body was covered in white iron, nodded.

Although the white iron protective layer was damaged considerably by Deckon during the battle, and the holy light just now caused some stinging, the impact was not significant.

“I thought you were only concerned about appearances because you wouldn’t remove this layer of iron even though it affected your machine’s condition,” said the helmet of the Decgon. “I have to admit, you are indeed more ruthless than I thought—willing to endure the pain and self-harm by pouring molten iron on yourself in exchange for a combat advantage.”

"So, you've also tried modifying your body with other types of metals?" Samael asked. "Otherwise, you wouldn't know that mixing metals other than Nether Bronze into the body would cause pain."

“Yes—but I don’t have the ability to smelt metals, nor have I found any metal that is better than Hellbron,” Decgon replied. “So, I turned my attention to flesh and blood.”

Degon's helmet gazed at the white blade at Samael's waist—although it had only been used twice, the holy iron sword was already covered with rust spots and pitted scars, looking as broken as an antique sword that had just been dug out of the ground.

He struggled to shake his gladiator helmet, and with the help of the Ghost Knight's night vision, he stared in the darkness at the mottled rust marks on the walls of the solitary confinement cell, and at the rust on the Holy Iron chains that suspended Prancing.

Large chunks of rust were scattered on the floor of the room, like fallen leaves in autumn.

[Strong joint engagement is now enabled.] The Gladiator Helmet's UI flashed again.

Amidst the flashes of light reminiscent of welding arcs, Pulange screamed again: "Are you crazy! The new guy doesn't know anything. One try is enough! Why are you doing this? Do you have some weird fetish?"

[Psionic isolation detected; limb signals blocked.]

[The closure process was interrupted.]

"These lights will consume that iron-like metal, causing it to rust and break," Deckardon roared. "As long as I activate this light enough times, enough to consume all of that metal—"

A loud crash interrupted Deckon's words.

Prange, with his half-leg armor hanging beside him, wobbled as he lifted his boots and kicked the Deckgun helmet.

"What are you doing?" Deckgun roared.

"I want to change rooms!" Pulange screamed. "I don't want to be locked in a room with this lunatic!"

He was kicked around wildly by the hanging leg armor and boots, and flung around by the arm armor hanging in the corner, the scales of the dark bronze armor rattling.

"If you want to escape, go ahead! Staying here is fine too. There's no one alive here anyway, and the psionic vibrations are blocked. I'm happy to have some peace and quiet! It's a bit boring, but at least I don't have to be tormented by that stupid alarm and the amplifier's psionic pulses every day!"

“What’s the difference between that and the socially awkward coward Sokofa who’s hiding in his grave?” Dirkgon roared. “Why not just destroy me? Why make me continue to endure this torture?”

“We are of the same kind, and there is no need for us to fight each other,” Samael explained. “Besides, you are all excellent soldiers, outstanding talents. Perhaps one day you will change your minds and be willing to use your talents in a more valuable way.”

"I will eventually find a way to alleviate the effects of the extermination system and the undead bodies, please believe me." He placed his hand on his breastplate and nodded in acknowledgment. "Until then, the all-around isolation provided by the Holy Iron, avoiding contact with living beings, may make you a little more comfortable."

“Prang, you and Dekgon can share a room and chat to ease the tension and prevent the time from getting too boring. Also, I will come to visit you every day, sit with you, and go up to the sky with my helmet on.”

Samael carefully extended his gauntlet and removed Planger's ship-shaped helmet from the Holy Iron Chains. "Today, you'll come with me to take a look around the Great Swamp."

"Huh?" Pulange was stunned.

“Decogun, get used to the environment first. Once you can calmly accept all of this, I will take you out.” Samael looked at the huge gladiator helmet. “It’s unrealistic to try to weaken the Holy Iron Barrier by repeatedly using it up—I have more Holy Iron on hand. So, don’t torture yourselves.”

Dekgon snorted.

He waved his gauntlet, left the Holy Iron Confinement Chamber, and casually closed the rusty copper-wood door covered with iron.

He climbed the steps and returned to the entrance of his knight's tomb, where tall grass swayed in front of him.

Several winged ghouls hovered in the gray sky—since the method of creating these winged necromancers was developed, the sentry posts no longer needed so many ghoul knights to stand guard; just one or two winged necromancers were enough to monitor the entire sky.

Although no other ghost knights are invading now—Plang and Decogon have been temporarily placed under house arrest. Ansba is a relatively self-controlled ally, Rahador has also been quite well-behaved for the time being, and Soko Law stays in his territory and never goes out.

Only that strange Sinziro, deep in the volcanic system in the far south, is doing something unknown.

Wearing Prange's helmet, Samael traversed the swamp step by step—the path cleared by the previous collision of the legion's behemoths had been repaired by the rampant growth of plants. Although the mud still bore traces of the rotting legion's claw marks and dragging bodies, these had been covered by the trails of passing monsters and concealed by the growth of plants.

Most of the traps laid by Prange have been cleared, but a few traps remain in some locations. Floating in the swamp are the carcasses of some enormous, alligator-turtle-like monsters, trapped in Prange's animal snares, already beginning to rot after being submerged for so long.

Pale, large fish swam among the carcasses of alligator snapping turtles whose skulls had been smashed by animal traps, tearing at the swollen, foul-smelling flesh.

“You once said that the formula for nitrocellulose explosives was obtained through an exchange between you and Xinzro.” Samael looked at the boat-shaped helmet in his hand.

“Uh…yes,” Prange replied.

"Then how did Xinzro know how to use these organisms?" Samael asked. "The papermaking method using reed fiber, the fermentation method using nitrogen-containing rhizomes, the reaction medium of fungal blocks and deteriorating humus, a small amount of diluted necrotic acid as a catalyst, and most importantly, the biochemical reactions within the body of the Rotting Soil Roarer..."

"How did Xinziluo know all this? Logically speaking, he lives in the volcanic area and doesn't live in the swamp area at all, so how did he get this information?"

Pulange was taken aback.

“Perhaps… Xinziluo has some other source of information?” he hesitated.

“I’ve mentioned it to you before, Prange, about those [gods] who created our bodies and used our deaths to achieve their special purposes,” Samael said. “They also created these strange plants and animals, these intelligent races, in accordance with their pre-set functions and methods of use.”

"In other words, everything created in this world has functions pre-programmed by the gods. It's just that all intelligent beings are kept in the dark because they lack the necessary authority and don't know how to use them."

“I suspect that Sinziro found some of the gods’ remaining information among the volcanoes, which allowed him to understand the pre-set functions of these creations and thus initiate an alien project related to the gods.”

"Nitrocellulose explosives are a highly mature engineering product with a complete and complex process. They cannot be easily manufactured by simply figuring things out and randomly selecting plants to feed to the Roaring Rot. You are well aware of this."

“With this as evidence, you should now believe what I’ve said about the gods, right?” Samael waded through the swamp, stepping onto the muddy ground, and bypassed a seemingly flat clearing.

He lifted his boots and kicked a stone, which rolled across the open ground and struck a dead leaf.

With a crisp, loud snap, dust billowed across the open ground as the two enormous animal traps left behind by Prange were triggered. The copper springs snapped shut, and the traps sprang up from beneath the peat layer.

“Okay… what you’re talking about, all that nonsense about gods and stuff, maybe… it might actually be true?” Prange hesitated.

“These are indeed true.” Samael said helplessly. “I suspect that the annihilation system was designed by the gods to suppress key areas, deal with wars, and quell rebellions.”

"I heard from Rahado that your delivery capsule, that is, the coffin, was ejected from a volcano in this area."

"This place is staffed with a large number of knights equipped with extermination systems, and it also stores the production methods for weapons and ammunition such as explosives."

"Perhaps this means that the Heart of the Bones was once a heavily guarded military garrison, where ghost knights were stationed and no one was allowed to approach. Moreover, the gods once produced important resources underground here."

"Based on the information I gleaned from Lake Rahador and from that enormous, fog-generating serpent-like creature, this is some kind of massive complex industrial zone, the core industrial zone where the gods began creating the world, the starting point of everything."

"If we want to uncover the truth of all this, we must dig underground, search for the truth, and uncover all the secrets."

"That's why I need the help of my allies."

He passed through the site of the previous night's battle, rounded the aerial roots of a tangled mass of rusty copper trees, and with a rushing sound of water, stood the ruins of the Prange Swamp Workshop before him—restored.

Rahador's infiltration detonated the stored explosives, nearly leveling the entire workshop. But now, on the island in the heart of the swamp, the workshop's prototype has been rebuilt.

The undead in bell-shaped helmets carried rusted copper logs, wading back and forth through the swampy wasteland, supporting the roughly processed rusted copper logs once again.

The previous explosion had created a hole at the edge of the swamp, and the stagnant swampy sewage began to flow slowly through the small opening, making a gurgling sound. As it flowed, the water became much clearer.

A small wooden waterwheel sits at a gap in the edge of the swamp, slowly rotating under the thrust of the water flow. The winch on the side is driven, which in turn drives the gears, which in turn drive the pestle and the rotating agitator blades to crush the reed fibers and chop the nitrogen-fixing tubers.

One after another, the rotting earth roared and writhed in the middle of the pit, making loud "waaaah" noises.

“Among my demon friends are some architects and mechanics who know how to make simple waterwheels and crude workshop equipment such as millstones,” Samael said. “Roughly estimated, these machines can increase the workshop’s efficiency tenfold compared to the previous manual manufacturing by the necromancers.”

"The workshop is now operational and capable of mass-producing nitrocellulose explosives as a reliable weapon's ammunition supply."

“However, I think its potential is not limited to this – if you can accept some conditions and join us, this workshop can be given to you. I will provide you with materials, and you can unleash your creativity here.”

“Hmm…” Pulange looked at the scene in front of him with longing, hesitating.

“I’ll consider it,” he finally said. “I have to admit, you’re very good at persuading people.”

(End of this chapter)