Dungeon King: The Hidden Ruler-Chapter 98: [The Throne of Kharnath-Dur 1] This Was No Raid

Raven crouched beside the weary dwarf, her armor dulled and dented by years rather than battle. The shadows of House Seravin’s grand hall stretched over her, almost hiding her from sight.

They hadn’t offered her a seat. No steward. No escort. Just a quiet dismissal—"wait there." And so she did. Hours passed, players walked by, nobles drank and posed. She never moved.

She could have left. But she didn’t.

She was watching. Waiting. For someone who noticed what others ignored.

"You got eyes that notice," she rasped. "That’s rare. If you’re heading west... the gates of Kharnath-Dur have reopened. It lies near Emberwatch, hidden some place where others now call Gravewake Hollow. We need able hands. Not for gold. For survival."

A system ping flickered across Raven’s HUD.

[System Prompt: Accept Quest – " Enter the Depth of Kharnath-Dur" (0/1)]

Raven blinked. Kharnath-Dur? Near Emberwatch?

All he knew was that Emberwatch housed Gravewake Hollow, a dungeon everyone dismissed as a haunted crypt. But he remembered something from beta testing—that place was too structured for a mere mausoleum. Vaulted streets. Collapsed archways. Pillars laid with purpose.

It was a part of an abandoned underground city.

"No one remembers us," the dwarf said. "While the Velkarin, Meridian, Cindraleth, three world factions above warred—metal, magic, and wood—we stayed below. Pride fought pride. We stayed silent."

Raven tilted his head. "Why surface now?"

Her gaze hardened. "Something ancient has awoken beneath the deep-rock. Older than our ancestors. Older than the war itself. We can no longer fight it alone."

Raven thought.

Gravewake Hollow was never meant for a long quest chain, let alone a full PvE mission arc. Just a quick dungeon. Nothing special.

This might be the getaway scenario he needed—from the heat of Titan and Helix. From the eye of the audit.

"I assume that the entrance is hidden?" he asked, clicking the Yes prompt to accept the mission.

"You are correct. I will lead you there." The NPC got up and led the way to the Seravin Manor portal.

The portal flared once, then spat them out into Emberwatch’s jagged edge—stone platforms slick with frost and ash. Wind howled between broken war machines and makeshift barricades.

Before Raven could orient himself, a young dwarf sprinted up from the barricade line.

"Ambassador Durnehra! The merchant group from our city has been ambushed!"

Durnehra’s eyes snapped toward him. "Where?"

"North trail. Just past the old rune pit. The cargo was marked for the outlying enclaves—if it’s lost, so are they."

She turned to Raven without pause. "We go. Now."

Raven exhaled. So much for a quiet start.

As they spotted the merchant group of dwarves in the distance—wounded, sprawled across the ground, their caravan shattered and looted—Durnehra’s tone sharpened. "Give me the brief."

The scout fell into step beside her. "It happened fast. The caravan was ambushed near the rune pits. Raiders from the Ashen Knives—mercenaries, not bandits. They took everything and vanished into the stone clefts."

"Ashen Knives?" Raven asked, his brow twitching. "Never heard of them."

The scout grimaced. "Mercenary clan. Exiles and debt-runners mostly—too dishonorable for Velkarin oaths, too stubborn to die. They sell bladework to the highest bidder, no questions asked. Lately, they’ve been targeting supply routes like ours."

"They’ve been hitting our supply lines for months," Durnehra muttered. "But never this bold."

The scout continued, "The convoy was carrying food and core-forged parts from Varkhollow—meant for Kharnath-Dur’s next lunar cycle. Some of the enclave folk chased after them."

"You let unarmed civilians chase armed mercenaries?" Raven cut in.

The scout scoffed. "Have you seen them? They’d bite a stone before giving up their bread. But before we could rally our guards, Commander Ironsong arrived. Said he was tracking the Knives. He told us to hold position, then went after the raiders."

A system ping flickered across Raven’s HUD.

[System Prompt: Accept Quest – " Solve the Ambush of the Caravan Envoy" (0/1)]

"I’ll go help the commander," Raven said flatly.

The scout blinked. "Didn’t even hesitate. I like you already. But be warned—Ironsong’s tough, but the Ashen Knives aren’t just looters. They won’t stop until every last crate is ash."

"Aren’t you coming with me?"

"Eventually. Maybe. Look around—we’ve got wounded, and no telling if the Knives will loop back. Someone has to keep these folk breathing."

Raven adjusted his cloak. He had never equipped his sovereign armor to begin with—this wasn’t the kind of mission that needed it.

He wore only his default summoner robe—dull grey and nondescript.

At his sides, he equipped a pair of curved daggers.

No bosses. No chains.

Not yet.

He turned to Durnehra. "Where was Ironsong last seen?"

"Crossing the north pass," she answered, tending to a wounded guard. "Beyond the rune pit, through the ridgeline."

"Understood."

He slipped out through the broken barricades and into the frozen ridge.

The air thinned. Snow crackled underfoot. The path narrowed between jagged stone formations—a natural choke point.

The ambush came fast.

One mercenary dropped from a ledge. Two more stepped from the rocks.

Raven smiled faintly. No shouting. No panic. Professionals.

The first came with a lunge—predictable. Raven twisted left, slicing the attacker’s thigh. The man dropped.

The second swung wide with a short sword. Raven ducked low and cracked his hilt into the attacker’s jaw.

The third paused. Too late. Raven swept his legs and pinned him with a dagger to the throat.

"Wrong target," he said quietly. "You should’ve brought four."

He tied them with their own gear, dragged them behind a rock outcrop, then turned back toward the trail.

Backtracking briefly, he called out to Durnehra.

"These three are yours. I didn’t kill them so you can start interrogating."

Without waiting, he turned and continued toward the north pass—the snowy ridge rising ahead, wind whispering through stone.

The trail twisted upward, narrow and wind-carved. Snow kicked up in drifts around Raven’s boots as he moved through the ridge. Sharp stone jutted out like broken teeth.

Halfway up, a body slumped against the rocks—barely breathing, wrapped in frayed wool.

A dwarf. Not a soldier.

As Raven knelt, the man’s eyes cracked open, glazed and wild.

"You... you’re not one of them... Listen... others ran... fled into the ice caves..."

Raven’s gaze shifted up the slope. A narrow cleft cut into the mountain—jagged, rimmed with frost. He helped the dwarf sit upright, handed him a flask, and stepped forward.

The cave was deathly still.

No monsters. No growls. Just a cold that sank into the bones.

He saw them not long after entering—figures slumped, frozen mid-sprint, eyes wide in terror. Dozens. Civilians. Enclave traders.

A sudden gust blew through the chamber, and with it, a whisper—like blades unsheathing beneath the earth.

At the far end of the ice-walled cavern, a dwarven warrior stood against a shattered brazier, one leg bloodied, her axe cracked but still in hand. ƒreewebɳovel.com

She looked up as Raven approached.

"You’re not one of ours. Doesn’t matter. You’ve got eyes—so you can see. They’re all dead."

Raven’s eyes swept the cave. His expression didn’t change—but something in him cooled. The silence here was heavier than any raid room, any PvP killfeed. Just still air and death. He gave a short nod.

"Name’s Ulneth. Ironsong’s patrol. We chased the Knives up here... Didn’t expect their leader to be with them."

She spat blood to the side. "That monster froze the cave solid before we could strike. Called the ice like it answered to him. Left us a tomb, and called it a warning."

Raven’s voice came quiet, clipped. "These bodies..."

Ulneth’s voice dropped bitter. "Our supply runners, merchants, and aides. They came here looking for shelter after the caravan was hit."

He didn’t interrupt. Just let the silence push her forward.

"Rather than just slay them, he froze them in place using magic. Either as a deterrent to scare off Kharnath-Dur’s remaining forces... or to trap Ironsong’s reinforcements and deliver a message."

Raven’s tone hardened. "That’s not strategy. That’s cruelty."

"These bastards want us to starve," Ulneth growled. "They only targeted our merchant envoy."

"They’ll pay for this," Raven muttered, his steps already taking him deeper, the air growing colder around him.

The path split ahead—three diverging trails, each framed by weather-worn stone markers and half-buried torch sconces.

A novice would follow the signs. Raven didn’t.

He checked the snow first. Wind patterns, sediment disruption, compression depth—game logic dressed as realism. The bridge to the east was severed too cleanly. The scorch marks near the old mine were oddly symmetrical, as if staged. And the blood at the rune circle? Already crusted black.

But to the west, along the cliffside—barely noticeable—fresh depressions. Not system-marked footprints. Lighter. Spaced with intent.

He crouched beside them, fingers brushing the snow. The edge hadn’t frozen over. No frost crystal bloom. Whoever passed here had done so less than five minutes ago.

Too clean. Too recent.

He stood, scanning the narrowing gorge.

"Found you," he whispered, and headed west.

The trail ended at a jagged outcrop, just high enough to peer over. Raven crouched low.

Below, nestled in a half-collapsed rock basin, was a small encampment—four figures, gathered around a fire. Three looked like standard mercenaries, but the fourth stood out. A mage. Tall, wrapped in layered leather and frost-woven robes, gesturing sharply as she gave orders.

Raven moved in silence, weaving between boulders. Close. Closer—

Then the mage turned her head. Her eyes met his directly.

"Eyes up," she said, too calm.

The mercenaries whirled. Raven didn’t wait.

He vaulted down the ledge, kicking snow into their faces. The first attacker swung wide—Raven caught the arm, twisted it, and used the momentum to flip the man into the second.

A boot came flying at him—he ducked, countered with a sweeping leg, and sent the attacker skidding over the ice.

Another came from the side. Raven blocked with a forearm, spun around the enemy’s back, and elbowed him in the kidney.

The mage raised her hand to cast—but Raven closed the distance in two strides, launched off a nearby crate, and drop-kicked her through the side of a tent.

Snow settled. Raven rose slowly, stepping between the groaning bodies.

No hesitation. No mercy.

One slash silenced the first. A second dagger found the neck of the next. The third tried to crawl—Raven planted a boot and ended it clean. The mage staggered, blood staining her robes, trying to cast—Raven’s blade caught her throat mid-chant.

Silence returned. The snow drank the blood like ink into paper.

Raven exhaled, adjusted his collar, and crouched beside the mage’s fallen body. A leather satchel hung from her hip, partially burned but intact.

He opened it, rifling through frost-dampened scrolls and ration tags—until he found a folded parchment.

Dwarven script. Ink still crisp.

A schedule. Supply routes. Departure times. Names.

Today’s envoy.

His eyes narrowed.

This wasn’t just a random raid.

This was planned.

Targeted.

He folded the letter, slipped it inside his robe, and stood. Wind howled faintly through the ridge.

Whoever coordinated this wasn’t just trying to disrupt—

They wanted Kharnath-Dur to fall.

And someone had given them the key.

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