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Chapter 85: The Dead and the King Part 1
Under the silver glow of the moon, the rider appeared like a translucent crystal statue, shimmering faintly beneath the veil of fine dust. Clutching a long, silvery lance, it circled the outer perimeter of the temple once before vanishing from sight on the other side of the wall. The entire spectacle was eerily silent. Yet, in that fleeting glimpse, Brandon had already gauged the essence of this spectral knight—a territorial monster. In an instant, he devised his strategy.
Turning back to face thirteen pairs of eyes—each tinged with shades of doubt, anxiety, and unease—he addressed them. Among them stood Tiger Finch, the captain of the mercenaries, who, like the others, held their breaths as they awaited his command. Antietta, her hand pressed delicately over her mouth, coughed softly twice before drawing in a deep breath, attempting to steady herself.
But there was one pair of chestnut-brown eyes that shone brightly, like stars in the heavens, devoid of fear or hesitation. Her gaze remained fixed upon the direction of the temple, brimming with curiosity. Brandon’s heart skipped a beat, and instinctively, he paid closer attention to the young girl, wary of her slipping away on some reckless whim. For Roma, she seemed entirely capable of such impulsive behavior. To her, it seemed, danger might as well be a foreign concept.
At times, Brandon couldn’t help but wonder how her aunt—a woman he’d never met—had managed to raise Roma into such a self-assured character. He doubted any ordinary household could have achieved such a feat. But now was not the time for idle musings. Clearing his throat, he spoke: “The plan is simple.” Pushing aside the bushes, he scanned the area briefly before raising his sword to point at a distant hillside. “Do you see that Goran-Elsun black pine? Take your positions there and wait for me to lure it to you.”
That was it?
All present exchanged bewildered glances.
“But… what exactly are we supposed to do, my lord?” Tiger Finch asked, half-doubtful.
Brandon glanced at him, inwardly rolling his eyes. Did he really need to spell it out? Once the creature entered the ambush zone, the next step was obvious—attack with everything they had. Yet, this was precisely where players differed from these native inhabitants. Players wouldn’t hesitate; they’d simply strike first and ask questions later, knowing full well that death was merely a minor setback.
Pausing momentarily, Brandon replied matter-of-factly, “Well… obviously, with all your might…” Then, realizing the disconnect, he opted for a simpler explanation. “In other words, pretend it stole your wife and slaughtered your children.”
Stole your wife and slaughtered your children?
Tiger Finch blinked, confusion etched across his face. “But, my lord, if we’re being honest… my wife perished long ago during the war with Cruzean.”
Brandon pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling deeply. “Then imagine it owes your mercenary band a million torr and refuses to pay up.”
Shock rippled through Rubis’ Mercenaries. Never in their storied history had anyone dared renege on their payment. Cutting off someone’s livelihood was akin to slaying their kin—a debt that could not go unpaid without dire consequences.
Twelve pairs of eyes burned crimson with fury. Tiger Finch gripped his battle axe so tightly it creaked under the strain. “By Marsha’s grace, so it’s one of those dishonorable Angevins after all!” he roared. “Fear not, my lord. By the name of Marsha herself, we shall grind that accursed undead into dust and teach it just how costly crossing Rubis truly is!”
Antietta stood awkwardly to the side, listening to the mercenary captain spout vulgarities she’d rarely encountered as a noble lady of Braggs. The sheer crudeness of his words nearly overwhelmed her, but she steeled herself, biting her lip. After clearing her throat, she whispered timidly, her cheeks flushed:
“Sir Brandon, this is a ghost knight from legend. Are you certain we can defeat it?” Unlike the mercenaries, bound to him by the magic of summoning, she harbored doubts. His plan seemed far too simplistic. Was dealing with a spectral knight truly so straightforward that anyone could attempt it?
They were merely a small band of ordinary mercenaries, not swordmasters, archmages, sorcerers, or elven adepts. From the sparse descriptions in ancient texts, this ghost knight possessed strength rivaling an upper-tier silver-rank knight, nearing the Gold Rank. How were they to contend with such a foe? Ambush alone wouldn’t elevate their combat prowess. Or was their purpose merely to startle it?
Even granting that possibility, one had to consider that undead creatures lacked the capacity for fear.
“Of course,” Brandon replied with unwavering certainty.
“Why?”
Antietta blurted out before she could stop herself.
“Because it won’t attack us—or rather, it can’t.”
“Can’t?” Antietta gaped, dumbfounded. What kind of reasoning was that? Why couldn’t the ghost knight attack them? Was it clumsy? Or perhaps the knight was secretly a pacifist? A flicker of irritation flared within her. This was no time for jests. Yet, recalling Brandon’s impeccable track record, even the most absurd plans somehow became plausible when executed by him.
What baffled her most was that he was invariably proven right.
Realizing this, Antietta forced herself to calm down. Still, she couldn’t resist murmuring, “Such an explanation… how am I supposed to accept it? I am your advisor, Sir Brandon…”
Brandon shrugged, struggling to articulate further.
Few monsters patrolled fixed routes, indicating this ghost knight’s strong territorial instincts. In gaming terms, such creatures were classified as “Lord Monsters.” These beings shared a common trait: they remained confined to specific areas, retreating immediately upon breaching their boundaries, regardless of circumstances.
These monsters were rare due to exploitable mechanics—players often used this quirk to slay foes far stronger than themselves. Consequently, most Lord Monsters were ferocious and predominantly ranged attackers. Take, for instance, the sealed Black Dragon of Canoru Gorge, Fuchsia Caelestis, or the dread dragon, the mentor to the canine god Auglais, nicknamed “Master” by players. Though restricted to a three-mile radius, its attacks reached up to a hundred miles away, making it one of North Vonder’s apex predators.
Even more extreme were those invincible outside their domains, like Earthbound Spirit Caor.
Yet Brandon knew of a third category: plot-driven Lord Monsters designed to place powerful adversaries in lower-level zones, allowing appropriately leveled players to defeat them as quest bosses. Clearly, this ghost knight fell into that category. The original guide, written by players unfamiliar with the nuances of the “Amber Sword,” advocated brute force. But Brandon saw no need for such complexity.
Truthfully, he actually felt a pang of frustration. Even if they chose to fight the ghost knight directly, he knew he had the means to defeat it. But since the encounter was designed as a “plot kill,” the quality of the loot would plummet by fifty percent—a steep price to pay. This penalty effectively erased any bonus rewards for taking on such a high-level foe, and then some.
It wasn’t just a minor loss; it was a bitter blow to the potential spoils.
He didn’t know how this world functioned, but based on his experience, he suspected it wouldn’t differ significantly.
Meeting Antietta’s gaze with steady chestnut-brown eyes, he withheld the full explanation. He understood why the ghost knight couldn’t stray far from the temple. These malevolent spirits originated from the defiant resistance of ancient elven emperors, their negative emotions crystallized into entities. Before they could escape their lairs, Marsha had sealed the altar. Many high-ranking priests and monks had perished in the process, a secret the royal family guarded jealously. With the altar deprived of magic energy, the spirits struggled to sustain themselves.
Only a faint residue of power kept the temple intact, confining the spirits nearby.
Explaining this, however, required delving into the intricacies of souls and magic energy cores—knowledge central to the Temple of Flames. While Brandon, as a player, could speak freely, revealing such secrets while masquerading as a Highland Knight would invite suspicion. Besides, Antietta was far too perceptive.
“Perhaps,” he said finally, deadpan, “I find the ghost knight rather benign-looking. Maybe it won’t harm us.”
“Sir Brandon,” Antietta sighed deeply.
“It’ll be fine,” he reassured her, patting her shoulder. “Relax. Take a page from Roma’s book. When have I ever lied to you?”
Take a page from Roma?
Antietta glanced at Roma, who was idly staring toward the temple, seemingly hoping for another glimpse of the ghost knight.
“Frequently…” she muttered under her breath, though she knew Brandon had never been wrong. It was as though he foresaw every outcome.
Brandon chuckled, sensing her acquiescence. Waving the others into position, he borrowed a heavy crossbow from Tiger Finch, cocking it with his foot. Crossbows were prized among players for drawing aggro. Watching Brandon’s actions, Tiger Finch frowned deeply.
“My lord, allow me to lure the undead instead,” he offered hesitantly.
“No need. I’m an expert at this,” Brandon declared confidently, tapping the taut string, which hummed ominously, ready to fire at a moment’s notice.
Tiger Finch watched nervously, convinced the young lord was dangerously inexperienced. Suggesting otherwise bordered on disrespect in Vonder, where a noble’s reputation surpassed life itself. Yet, abandoning his lord to peril was unthinkable.
Fortunately, Antietta noticed the mercenary captain’s concern and whispered, “Sir Brandon, are you certain?”
Brandon gave her a curious look. “What’s there to worry about?”
She stifled a groan, resisting the urge to roll her eyes.
Chuckling, Brandon added, “I know what concerns you both. If we secure the ‘Ghost Knight Crystal,’ I’ll treat you to the finest inn in Ampersal—let’s call it a celebration.”
Ghost Knight Crystal?
The two exchanged puzzled looks. What was that? And what did “celebration” entail?
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