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Chapter 89: The Dead and the King Part 5
The mercenary captain noticed Brandon’s movements and hesitated. “My lord?”
“I’m going around behind it,” Brandon cut him off, his voice firm.
Though a ghost knight was undead, its intelligence rivaled that of a living human. It wouldn’t remain idle while these pitiful creatures chipped away at its strength. Once its vitality dropped to about ten percent, it would retreat without hesitation. But Brandon had no intention of letting such a prize slip through his fingers.
“No, that’s too dangerous,” Tiger Finch interjected, his brow furrowing as he guessed what Brandon intended to do. “Let me take your place.”
“Do you even know what I’m planning?” Brandon countered. Truth be told, he didn’t want to undertake this task either. Though it had always fallen to him in the past to handle such risky endeavors, this time the opponent was no ordinary foe—it was a ghost knight. In this world, even the slightest mistake could cost a life. And not just a level or two, but death itself. Anyone facing such stakes would feel their heart pounding like a war drum.
His only advantage lay in his talent-Indomitable. So long as he protected his head and heart, he could at least ensure he wouldn’t die like some nameless passerby. At the very least, he could manage to write a will without issue.
“We’re here to serve you, my lord,” the mercenary captain said earnestly. “You needn’t risk yourself for every task.”
“I’d love nothing more than to sit this one out,” Brandon replied with a wry smile, pulling out a length of rope from earlier. “But alas, this isn’t something you can learn.”
“What do you mean?” Tiger Finch asked, confused.
“Do you know alchemy?”
The question left Tiger Finch speechless. If he knew alchemy, would he still be wasting his days as a mercenary? The middle-aged warrior rolled his eyes in exasperation.
---
The battle showed no signs of ending soon. The ghost knight’s defenses ranked among the toughest for a creature of its caliber—be it an elite thirty-five-level monster or even those nearing forty. Its gleaming, spectral full plate armor deflected most attacks with ease.
Among mercenaries, the four-armed crossbow—a weapon designed for soldiers of iron rank—was widely circulated despite being contraband. Nobles often turned a blind eye to its use, though its power was terrifying to common folk. For the ghost knight, however, the bolts felt like little more than insect bites.
Only when a bolt struck a critical point did it deal significant damage—and even then, the wounds amounted to mere fractions of its health. Moreover, the ghost knight wasn’t a stationary target. Though its agility had diminished near the altar’s edge and wind-binding arrows restricted its movement, the gap in skill remained vast. It dodged with fluid grace, evading blows like water slipping through cracks.
And that was before accounting for the forty percent chance physical attacks would fail against its ethereal form.
But Brandon wasn’t worried. Tiger Finch still had four ice-splitting arrows and six wind-binding ones left, enough to sustain their assault for over ten minutes. Ten minutes of relentless pressure from a dozen mid-tier iron-rank mercenaries would wear down even a thirty-five-level boss. And this was merely an elite.
While the ghost knight focused on batting away the attackers like a child swatting flies, Brandon slipped away unnoticed, circling far behind to position himself in the treeline. He kept his distance—not too close, lest the undead sense him, nor too far, where accuracy might falter. Half a training field’s length seemed ideal.
He was no longer the hundred-thirty-level master swordsman who could hit one’s right eye from hundreds of meters without missing. These days, caution was key.
Still, he hadn’t come to snipe from behind. Such tactics might work, but they wouldn’t make much difference unless he’d reached silver rank and possessed a bow-related skill capable of landing a devastating critical strike—one powerful enough to drain ten percent of the ghost knight’s health in one shot. Unfortunately, that wasn’t an option today.
Glancing briefly at the battlefield, where chaos reigned amidst shouts and clashing steel, Brandon contrasted it with the eerie silence enveloping his position. Taking a deep breath, he parted the underbrush and drew an alchemical array in the sandy soil with his longsword.
If Tama were here, he’d surely lament his wasted advice. After sketching an energy infusion array, Brandon added a blood-refining array. Clearly, he intended to push forbidden techniques to their limits once again.
He tossed the coil of rope into the center of the array, followed by the soul crystal he’d looted from the mid-tier skeletal wizard back in Ridenburg. Admittedly, parting with it pained him. Soul crystals from mid-tier skeletal wizards weren’t easy to acquire, especially now that Madara and Eruin had brokered peace. Who knew when the next war would come? Yet, lacking better alternatives, he saw no choice but to sacrifice this precious material.
After all, survival took precedence.
With a swift motion, he sliced his finger with the sword and let a drop of blood fall into the array. His heart clenched painfully as his vitality plummeted by over a third. Higher-grade materials demanded exponentially greater energy, and though he’d anticipated the cost, the sudden drain startled him.
Chuckling nervously, Brandon mused that it was fortunate his sole material wasn’t something absurd like a dragonheart. Otherwise, he’d have been reduced to a desiccated husk. Of course, if he did possess a dragonheart, he might as well trade it to Emperor Cruze for a dukedom instead.
Then again, speaking of rare materials… A thought struck him, and his hand instinctively moved to his satchel. Opening it, he caught sight of a golden glow pulsating rhythmically, like a heartbeat.
This was a secret he’d shared with no one, not because of pride, but because of its immense importance. He suspected who had placed it there, though their motives eluded him. Why would someone act so generously after only a fleeting encounter?
Was it entrapment? Or perhaps a test?
The uncertainty gnawed at him. While the item held value to others, it meant little to Brandon personally. With only four levels left until he unlocked his second talent, his goals were already set—and independent of this trinket. Frustrated, he pushed the matter aside. For now, the ghost knight remained his primary concern.
Turning back to the array, he examined the completed product. What had once been an ordinary rope now appeared pitch-black, radiating an ominous dark aura. At first glance, it seemed impossibly powerful, reminiscent of legendary binding artifacts described in ancient tales. Perhaps "Demon-Binding Cord" suited it better than "Immortal-Binding Rope."
Brandon couldn’t help but scoff at himself. He understood full well how crude this creation truly was. All he’d done was infuse the soul gem’s energy into the rope. But given the absurdly high quality of the raw materials, the result was anything but ordinary.
He imagined Tama’s reaction if he saw him squandering such resources. He’d probably send a soulwalker after him.
Ah, yes. In this timeline, the future Master Alchemist hadn’t yet forged that scythe rumored to be a half-divine artifact. Realizing his oversight, Brandon corrected his internal monologue.
Picking up the transformed rope, he gazed toward the battlefield, patiently awaiting the moment the fight concluded.
---
The ghost knight thrashed futilely, its Soul Lance striking a few mercenaries early on—but only grazing them with wind pressure. Soon, the mercenaries grew more cautious, revealing the undead’s true nature: a paper tiger. Though devoid of fear or frustration, the ghost knight began to grow impatient. Even its fiendish mount fidgeted restlessly, pawing the ground in irritation.
Tiger Finch watched anxiously, fearing another Thousand-Man Strike. However, having learned from its earlier blunder, the ghost knight exercised restraint. Another reckless move might cost it dearly.
Calculations ran through the ghost knight’s mind; it wouldn’t repeat such a basic error. Yet, perhaps it failed to recognize another fundamental mistake it kept making.
As the last ice-splitting arrow flew, the ghost knight finally succumbed after nearly ten minutes of combat. Frost encased its upper body, cracking audibly as it began to retreat. Its speed astonished everyone—far exceeding expectations. Despite the icy onslaught, its mobility remained largely unaffected.
Tiger Finch reacted swiftly, firing a wind-binding arrow. Alas, it achieved little effect.
A murmur of surprise rippled through the mercenaries. Some prepared to give chase, but Tiger Finch quickly halted them. “Are you mad? If it turns back for a counterattack, we’ll all perish!”
Losing their lives was one thing, but if Brandon fell, all hope would vanish.
Tiger Finch scanned the forest, trusting that their enigmatic lord would devise a plan. Unbeknownst to them, the mercenaries had developed faith in Brandon’s leadership.
And indeed—
Two shimmering silver arrows emerged from the shadows of the woods, trailing like threads of white light against the black canvas of night. They stood out starkly, impossible to ignore.
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