The Skeleton Soldier Failed to Defend the Dungeon-Chapter 266: You Are Like Sand (7)

Shhhhhh...

Cold rain wrung out the last traces of warmth lingering in the air.

I’d visited Erast territory a few times before, but maybe I’d missed something. This city harbored the Empire’s elite assassins, so there was no way this place was ordinary. I needed to investigate it to the last detail.

I circled the castle with deliberate care. Even with my advanced necromantic knowledge, I didn’t spot anything unusual. Occult Knowledge also yielded nothing.

There must be something here.

Maybe I just lacked the skills or insight to perceive it yet. The thought made me all the more cautious.

I was still searching the area when I heard an unfamiliar voice.

"Boss, I trusted you, but something about this place feels off, doesn’t it?"

I silently approached. Near one of the outer spires, a group of men was drinking and chatting. Among them was a face I now knew all too well.

Long time no see... or not.

It was Rubia’s uncle, Kirk Ray. The men gathered around the crude table didn’t seem bound by strict hierarchy. They looked like his personal henchmen. My guess was that Rubia had driven him this far out from the inner keep. It was a strange but welcome sight.

One of the men blamed him without hesitation. "Honestly, commander, you should’ve had the guards under your thumb already."

I found it hard to tell who held authority among them.

"I didn’t think Rubia would grow claws. She used to be such a sweet kid."

"Making someone behave is easy."

A gaunt man clenched and unclenched his hand, twisting his lips into a smirk. "That’s my specialty."

"What if that inquisitor starts digging into the things we’ve done? I heard he’s not someone our people can bribe."

Kirk Ray tried to reassure them. "Relax. You think they’ve forgotten who we answer to?"

His face had that same aristocratic bone structure Rubia inherited, but while hers was polished and radiant, his was dulled by years of vice and neglect.

Then, a silent man in the corner asked, "The black ops... You mean that directive?"

"Shhh! Are you trying to die? You never know who’s listening. Anyway, no need to worry. I was sent here by them," Kirk hissed.

The black ops... Must be the ghosts.

So they were directly involved and even sent Kirk here themselves. I hadn’t realized the connection ran that deep. That was new intel. However, I remembered that after I’d gone on a rampage, the ghosts abandoned Kirk without a second thought. So, he was only ever a disposable pawn.

"What a joke, though. Giving up the inner keep and ending up like this."

Another man looked out the window and grumbled, "Where’s the rest of our guys?"

"Off enjoying themselves in Yublam. That place is different. Asphode’s got a tight grip on it..."

I continued watching them. They looked vicious, bulky, and hardened, but not a single one of them had the faintest hint of aura mastery. Wiping them out would take seconds, but that would be the wrong move.

As much as I hated it, Erast harbored the Empire’s finest ghosts, and it was strong enough to have installed this degenerate Kirk as lord. They were here, deeply involved. I probably had the power to win because I’d absorbed the might of the tower lords, but I still had no idea about the true power of the effeminate duke.

Back in the underground area in Grassmere, I couldn’t even fight her properly. Perhaps I could now hold my own for a few exchanges, but there was no guarantee that the power she had shown then was her full strength. Given how Leandro most likely died to her, the fine, golden-lacquered fingernails and the razor-thin aura that shimmered at her fingertips matched the wounds I’d seen on the marquis.

I thought I’d come back stronger than ever, but in truth, there wasn’t much I could do here in Erast.

There were two weeks until Leandro’s arrival.

If he rules in Rubia’s favor, could she become a lord without any backlash?

Yet, the lingering, undetectable ghosts unnerved me.

Why are they here? What are they waiting for?

I wasn’t foolish enough to provoke them blindly. Caution was key.

Still, I wouldn’t leave without doing something for Rubia. I couldn’t prepare for the ghosts or the duke, but I could handle Kirk Ray’s scum just fine. I couldn’t keep protecting her directly forever, not with Leandro on the way, but I could still do something.

Fwoosh!

I launched from the spire and shot out of the city. The first order of business was money. I crossed a stream and went for the dense underbrush. It was a patch where weeds had been intentionally overgrown. There wasn’t a sliver of moonlight, but darkness no longer hindered me in the slightest.

Ting.

As expected, it was still there. I dug lightly. There was a stash of silver ingots, easily worth several thousand roti. I unearthed three, then retrieved two more from separate burial spots.

Inside the final chest was a guild card from the merchant alliance, pristine and intact. If Asphode, the watch commander, found out all this was gone, he’d probably have a panic attack.

I should kill him before that happens for safety reasons. I already knew that wiping out the Yublam guards wouldn’t stir any real trouble, because only my rampage in Erast had triggered any major reaction. To deal with Asphode’s lot, I slipped into the castle once more, circling toward the watchtower.

Suddenly, I saw a familiar face below. I noticed Benson Pretcher, the bounty hunter who killed Rubia first. That bastard had smashed my skull again and again. Today, he also had his warhammer strapped to his back. It almost felt nostalgic to me.

He was trudging along cluelessly.

I took aim with just my own hands, no fancy wand.

Crackle...

My magic felt weak. A simple Level 3 Lightning spell made my hand bones tingle.

"Fuaaaaah..."

The bastard yawned with his mouth wide open. It was perfect.

Zap!

Benson swallowed the bolt whole. His tongue was fried before he could scream, and he convulsed violently.

Crackle! Zap!

Electric sparks danced across his rain-soaked frame. He collapsed face-first into a muddy puddle and twitched like a gutted fish.

"Ngghh... nngghhgh..." Benson mumbled.

He's still alive. What a tough bastard.

Without a wand, the spell I cast had been weak.

I really need to get a proper wand or staff.

I needed something with high resonance. Magical amplification mattered more than I thought.

Hmph...

As I mused over where to find a decent wand, Benson gave one last violent shudder and went still. Maybe he drowned in the mud. It wouldn’t be out of character, because he was no pure soul. I believed it suited him fine.

I combed through the guard barracks, looking for more familiar faces. Unfortunately, Asphode was nowhere to be found.

I couldn’t be bothered to torture them just to learn someone’s whereabouts. Not a single one of the man’s underlings had noticed me standing right behind them. They were hardly worth confronting one by one, but I still grabbed the thick tent canvas and tore it wide open.

Someone croaked, "Wh-who’s there?"

Only then did they finally turn around. I wrapped the torn cloth around their necks and hoisted them up onto the crossbeams one by one.

"Gugh, ugh!"

As I watched their limbs flail in the air, faces twisted in agony, I paused to think. Then I pulled out a sheet from the slave ledger I’d torn apart and scribbled on it with a feather pen.

Red Flake was here!

I shoved the message into each of their chests. The more I thought about it, the more satisfied I became with the setup. If it was a group like Red Flake, with guys like Lumen Valdorf or Starlight Blue Fox, this kind of thing would be child’s play. They seemed to want the world to see them as a righteous bunch anyway, so the narrative held water.

No one would risk poking around and stirring up trouble with Red Flake just because a few thugs died. Not that they could stir anything up if they tried. Each of their members was nearly the level of a swordmaster, or maybe even stronger. 𝐟𝐫𝕖𝗲𝘄𝚎𝗯𝕟𝐨𝕧𝐞𝚕.𝕔𝕠𝐦

"Hm..."

Suddenly, one of the men screamed, "Waaagh! What the hell is this?!"

Just as I was thinking I might need to hire someone else to clean up the remaining mess, two idiots walked in. It was Benson's fellow crossbowman and Asphode, the head of the Yublam guards.

"What the hell is going on?! Hey!"

"Keep it down."

I rammed a pen through each of their tongues, pinning them to their lower jaws.

"Guh! Argh!"

Right on cue. Couldn’t have timed it better.

I’d wondered what to do about the leftovers, but they just waltzed in. Maybe I was lucky for once.

Blood spurted from their mouths around the pens. I considered using a pen to write a message on the wall, but that sounded like too much effort. I decided to just kill them.

It was a good time to test some skills. I pulled up the list. These were poison skills absorbed from a serpent, one of Purson’s followers. They required a liquid medium to take effect. Human blood, for instance, worked just fine.

[Poison: Dull Tears]

[Disables the respiratory system. The victim dies by suffocation.]

"You fond of tears?" I asked.

Both of them frantically shook their heads.

I liked granting last wishes, so I skipped that question and asked another one. "How about flowers?"

They hesitated, then slowly nodded.

[Poison: Incurable Flower]

[Crystallizes the victim’s blood into sharp shards, shredding every vein and artery from the inside.]

[Activating Skill...]

Ssssssh...

Green light spread quickly from the blood-soaked pen and traveled into their mouths.

A chorus of screams erupted. Judging by the way blood seeped through their skin, the pain must’ve been unbearable. It was probably not the best skill for torture. They took longer to die than expected, and I couldn’t halt the effect midway. As the name suggested, it was incurable. There was no way to dissolve crystallized blood.

This is not exactly practical...

Eventually, their lifeless corpses dangled limp. I tossed them aside and stepped out. First things first: I needed new equipment. Since I was already in Yublam, I decided to drop by the old blacksmith’s house and clean it out. Last life, I’d seen armor made by a dwarf, but the old man’s craftsmanship was no joke either. This particular set had some dark memories attached to it.

I grabbed a black iron cylinder.

Clank.

[Fire of Grassmere]

The long tube spat out writhing, living fire. I gripped the manual pump handle lightly and aimed it forward. What this thing spewed made anything my magic could produce look weak. This cursed flame was relentless.

Magic and tech, there was no reason to dismiss one or the other. They could be mixed and matched as needed. Even that beetle the Starlight Blue Fox incinerated had been tech.

Didn't she call it a relic?

I still remember the way it glided. No flight spell I know could match that speed.

Click. Clack...

I went ahead and suited up inside the forge, gathering every high-quality piece of gear I could find. I tossed down a bar of silver on the floor and made my way toward Grassmere. It was time to spend some money.