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Chapter 87: The Dead and the King Part 3
The ghost knight had already noticed the disturbance. Without a sound, it turned its steed, raised its lance, and with a sweep of its arm, the air—thick with an icy mist under the moonless night—split apart like a curtain. A vacuum ribbon tore through the forest, cleaving the darkness. Brandon shoved Tiger Finch aside and rolled in the opposite direction just in time. Three deafening explosions followed as the towering trees that stood in the path of the vacuum detonated one by one, their trunks splitting as though an invisible blade had sliced them clean through. Splinters flew everywhere.
The ghost knight lowered its hand, revealing a path ten feet wide carved straight into the heart of the woods. Nothing now stood between it and Brandon.
"Soul Lance," Brandon muttered under his breath, his voice laced with frustration. "Damn it all, did it have to unleash its big move so soon?" He wiped the cold sweat from his brow, silently thanking whatever gods were listening for his quick reflexes. As soon as he’d seen the ghost knight raise its right hand, he’d known something was wrong. The Soul Lance wasn’t just any attack—it carried armor-piercing properties and extended reach, much like his own Sword of the White Crow. Had they not dodged when they did, both he and Tiger Finch would likely be lying dead on the forest floor, their bodies cold and lifeless. As for the plan to lure enemies? That thought now seemed laughable.
Tiger Finch, too, was shaken to his core. He’d heard tales of ghost knights before—stories whispered around campfires—but facing one in person was another matter entirely. Its power far surpassed anything he’d imagined. Cursing under his breath, he spat on the ground. Here he was, a man nearing middle age, forced to fight like some greenhorn recruit. This world truly moved too fast for comfort. Glancing at Brandon, he saw the young lord’s face set in grim determination, seemingly unfazed by the ghost knight’s devastating assault. Tiger Finch couldn’t help but suck in a sharp breath.
“We can’t beat it,” Tiger Finch called out, his voice hoarse. A seasoned mercenary captain, he quickly assessed the situation and shouted from where he lay sprawled on the ground. “We’re no match for that thing!”
But Brandon merely gestured for silence.
He raised his shortbow, his hands steady despite the adrenaline coursing through him. Now that he could see the ghost knight clearly, its form sent chills down his spine. It looked like a figure stepped straight out of the enchanted scrolls painted by the master scribes of Vonder—a classical knight clad in gothic plate armor, its entire body shrouded in a faint, ethereal glow. Even its mount radiated menace, though it wasn’t a horse at all but a demonic spirit bound to serve. The knight’s lance resembled a long silver dart, gripped tightly in its gauntleted hand, its tip pointed toward the earth while a translucent thread of shimmering light trailed behind it.
It was an illusion caused by the soul essence swirling around the weapon.
At the Gold Rank, whether one was a warrior, mage, knight, or practitioner of any other craft, they began to exhibit traces of elemental affinity. Tiger Finch scrambled to his feet, attempting to stop Brandon’s next move, to drag him back. In the mercenary captain’s eyes, his lord—or summoner, depending on how you looked at it—was utterly mad. They were no match for this monster. The ghost knight’s strength far exceeded his understanding of what lower-tier Gold-Rank combatants were capable of.
But Brandon ignored him completely. Drawing a silver arrow, he took aim and loosed it. The ice-splitting arrow arced gracefully over the ghost knight’s head, exploding behind it with a resounding crack. A burst of silvery frost grazed the creature’s left shoulder, leaving a patch of white rime. Brandon flushed slightly, clearing his throat to mask his embarrassment—he’d forgotten that he was no longer the expert archer he once was, with a bow skill level of forty-plus. Still, the explosion slowed the ghost knight’s movements ever so slightly. When it swung its lance again, the strike went wide, and a streak of silver light soared harmlessly overhead. Tiger Finch turned to look behind them and froze. The canopy of trees that had been there moments ago was gone, reduced to bare stumps.
His mouth hung open, unable to draw breath. The Rubis mercenaries prided themselves on their bravery, but this battle transcended comprehension. Was this undead monstrosity some kind of walking artillery?
Three seconds.
Noticing that Tiger Finch hadn’t commented on his failed shot, Brandon exhaled in relief. Silently counting in his mind, he drew another arrow. He knew the Soul Lance consumed vast amounts of soulfire; after two consecutive uses, the ghost knight would need time to cool down. Having faced such undead before, Brandon understood this well enough to remain calm. Kneeling like a statue, he steadied his aim, taking longer this time. To Tiger Finch, it seemed suicidal, but Brandon didn’t budge an inch.
He had three seconds.
The second ice-splitting arrow missed again, but the third struck true, hitting the ghost knight square in the waist. Silver shards of ice exploded outward, enveloping half its body in a gray mist. Brandon glanced at the retinal display showing the damage dealt: thirteen points. A mere scratch for the ghost knight, but the frost coating its armor increased its attack and recovery delays by 12.5%.
The effect matched his memories exactly. Brandon allowed himself a small sigh of relief. Though the ghost knight was incorporeal, magic enchanted arrows weren’t subject to physical penalties. Unfortunately, the Elementalists’ low levels meant their debuffs were minimal; otherwise, the knight’s speed would have dropped by more than half. But it was enough. He still had four arrows left.
“It actually work?” Tiger Finch asked, his keen eye catching the subtle change in the ghost knight’s movements.
“Of course,” Brandon snapped irritably. He’d expected nothing less from someone who only seemed to slow him down.
“But even so, we’re still no match for it, my lord.”
“And your point is?”
“Let’s retreat! I’d rather take on a Blackfire Cultist than this thing.” Tiger Finch’s voice rose in desperation.
Brandon ignored him, instead tossing a bundle of azure enchanted arrows at the mercenary captain. Tiger Finch caught them reflexively, blinking in confusion. “What’s this for?”
“What do you think? Help me out, unless you’re here just to spectate.”
Though Tiger Finch didn’t understand the reference, he could tell Brandon was dissatisfied with his earlier performance. For a moment, the usually gruff mercenary flushed red, muttering curses under his breath. Did the young lord expect everyone to face these horrors with the same unflinching resolve? Was it courage or sheer madness? Either way, the Rubis people revered valor, and though Tiger Finch wouldn’t admit it aloud, he found himself begrudgingly respecting his summoner.
By now, Brandon had fired a fourth ice-splitting arrow within three seconds. This one struck the ghost knight’s right shoulder, encasing its armor in thick layers of crystalline frost. The undead’s efficiency had dropped by over thirty percent. Most would have seized the opportunity to press their advantage, but Brandon remained silent, grabbing Tiger Finch and sprinting away.
No sooner had they fled than the ghost knight and its demonic steed pivoted and accelerated—not a simple pursuit, but a full-fledged Charge, the signature technique of knights and warriors alike.
Brandon activated his own Charge ability.
Man and undead raced through the forest, black and silver lines cutting through the trees. For a fleeting moment, the scene was eerily beautiful, like a static painting interrupted by two parallel lines stretching infinitely forward. Time seemed to freeze, yet the lines kept moving.
Pursuit and flight.
When Brandon finally stopped, Tiger Finch could barely speak. “My lord… was that…”
“The Charge. A basic skill for any knight.” Brandon gave him a sidelong glance. “You call yourself a veteran Rubis mercenary and don’t even recognize this?”
“No, I mean… how did you know it would charge at that exact moment?”
“Oh. When I was in the mountainous regions of Orlkash, mounted rangers often found themselves pitted against ghost knights. Haven't I told you this story before?” Brandon shrugged, distracted. Truthfully, he was terrified, his heart pounding wildly. He glanced back to see the ghost knight halt almost simultaneously. The creature’s slender, silver-clad hand tightened on the reins, and twin pale flames flickered beneath its visor, staring directly at him.
Its gaze seemed to ask: Who are you? A worthy opponent? Where do you hail from?
Initially separated by nearly a hundred meters, the distance between them had shrunk to fifty. Brandon realized his prediction had been accurate to within a meter.
He was fighting on instinct alone now.
A warrior’s instinct.
---
Not only Tiger Finch doubted Brandon’s words. When the two straight lines split the forest, Antietta gasped softly. Behind her, the mercenaries were silent, stunned by the precision of Brandon and the ghost knight’s actions. It was as if the latter’s every move had been anticipated. Only after nearly a full second did they realize how perilous the encounter had been.
Roma bit her lip, her bright eyes fixed on the scene, a spark of excitement dancing in them.
“If the younger generation of Highland Knights in Karasu are all like this, then Eruin would already be among the strongest nations.” The noblewoman drew a quick breath. “That liar…”
But Brandon wasn’t nearly as optimistic. The ghost knight was fast, its Charge still cooling down, and its soulfire replenishing rapidly. And its ultimate techniques were far from exhausted. As soon as he stopped, Brandon signaled to Tiger Finch, urging him to follow. Together, they darted into a low-lying area in the valley, weaving between jagged rocks that neutralized the ghost knight’s mounted advantage.
But Brandon wasn’t retreating blindly. The ice-splitting arrows had bought him time, and now he intended to use it wisely.
“Tiger Finch.”
“Yes?”
“Wind-binding Arrows.”
“What?”
Brandon gestured again, and this time, the mercenary captain understood. Though he’d opposed engaging the monster earlier, he found himself instinctively falling into sync with the rhythm of the battle.
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