Chapter 79: Knightly Performance Review
As the Corpse King Golem brought its massive fists down again and again upon the crumbling top of the ziggurat, the ancient stones cracked and groaned beneath the punishment. Dust and shards of obsidian rained down like hail, the entire structure trembling as though it might collapse under the sheer ferocity of the undead giant’s blows.
The Dullahan, who until then had remained the grim sentinel of this temple, turned its full attention to the abomination. Its skeletal horse reared, ghostly fire burning in its hollow sockets. Without hesitation, the headless knight galloped up the steps of the ziggurat, its spectral speed a blur too quick for mortal eyes to follow. The sheer velocity created a keening wail of wind, a chilling echo across the cavern.
Then, to everyone’s surprise, the Dullahan raised its spectral voice—a sound so unnatural that even Karl’s skeletons faltered in their rhythm. It was a voice that reverberated through bone and spirit alike, commanding yet full of disdain:
"How dare you defile the temple of Thanatos?"
The words reverberated like the tolling of a cursed bell.
The Corpse King answered only with a roar—deep, guttural, a sound that rattled ribs and shook loose pebbles from the cavern ceiling. The air itself seemed to recoil.
The Dullahan, with unnerving composure, performed a move that no one expected. With a casual motion, it tossed its head into the air, releasing it from its arm. The decapitated skull floated for a heartbeat, then, with calculated precision, the knight struck it with the flat of its massive blade.
The skull turned into a projectile, whistling through the air faster than an arrow loosed from the strongest longbow. It smashed into the Corpse King’s chest with the force of a catapult stone. The hulking abomination staggered back, its titanic frame rocking as though a mountain had just shifted. The temple shook again under its weight, and for the first time, the golem looked stunned.
Seeing his opening, the Dullahan surged forward. Dark mana surged along the length of his blade, thick and noxious like living tar, oozing and writhing as if eager to consume. His skeletal horse leapt from one cracked stair to the next, hooves leaving spectral trails of pale blue fire in the air. He raised his cursed blade high, aiming for the Corpse King’s thick neck.
But just as the execution strike descended, another figure appeared.
Rook.
The samurai skeleton blurred forward, katana flashing with precise timing. His blade intercepted the Dullahan’s mana-coated greatsword. The impact rang like a bell, the clash of steel so violent that sparks burst forth like a shower of meteors. The ground beneath their feet cracked. The sheer pressure blasted back loose gravel and bone dust in a shockwave.
The Dullahan’s eyes widened in the darkness of his floating skull. That strike should have cut clean through anything that opposed it. Instead, he found resistance—unyielding, disciplined.
But Rook could not hold forever. The Dullahan’s unnatural strength overwhelmed him. The impact hurled the samurai off his feet, flinging him from the ziggurat’s edge. He crashed into the stone floor below with a deafening thud, his katana snapping in two with a metallic scream.
The Dullahan, momentarily thrown off balance by the unexpected interference, muttered in thought:
"Hmm... Who is this warrior? He fought with the instincts of a seasoned general. And yet—he is no mortal."
But the moment of reflection was his undoing.
He turned just in time to see the Corpse King’s massive fist—its rotten knuckles like boulders—lumbering toward him. He had no time to dodge. With a curse, he raised his sword and braced.
The impact was cataclysmic. The Dullahan was blasted from the ziggurat’s summit, his armored body flung like a ragdoll. He crashed into the battlefield below, tearing a gouge in the ground as he skidded. His skeletal horse screamed in spectral anguish before being seized by the golem itself. With terrifying ease, the Corpse King spun the spectral mount in a brutal arc and hurled it after its master.
Meanwhile, below, Rook pulled himself up from the rubble. His katana lay in pieces, the blade shattered by the earlier clash. He examined the broken weapon, irritation flashing in his burning sockets.
"Hmph. I need a new sword. A stronger one."
As fate would have it, a shambling undead soldier lunged toward him. Rook turned calmly, side-stepping the sluggish strike, and with one quick motion, punched its skull clean off. The headless corpse collapsed to dust. Rook caught the soldier’s sword mid-fall, testing the strange green-tinged steel with a few practice swings. He gave a curt nod.
"This will hold... for now."
He dashed back toward the fray, blade ready.
Across the battlefield, the Dullahan groaned, planting his greatsword into the dirt to steady himself. His mind churned with questions. He gazed at the battlefield in disbelief—his own undead legions, vast in number, being systematically torn apart by Karl’s skeletal soldiers, whose formations and discipline outmatched their sheer volume.
"Who are these people? They are undead, yet... not mine. I thought they were humans at first. Why... why do we fight? We are the undying, eternal. Why are we forced to destroy each other?"
For a fleeting moment, doubt crept into the knight’s ancient heart.
But then—
A voice. Hateful. Chaotic. Not his own.
It clawed into his mind like jagged nails on bone.
"#!KILL!!@#%%THEM!@@"
The knight growled, clutching his helm as if to silence the intrusion. For a moment, his true will flared—a spark of resistance, questioning his very existence.
But before he could process further, a sudden presence closed in.
Leo.
He closed in with frightening speed, his movement precise and sharp. His hand darted forward in a spear-hand strike, so fast the air cracked. The blow drove into the Dullahan’s chestplate with such force that the knight skidded backward, armored boots gouging deep trenches in the stone.
The Dullahan looked up, shocked. He had felt that strike—through his cursed armor, through his unnatural resilience. His hollow sockets flicked over Leo’s immaculate suit and tie.
"Who are you? Which house do you belong to, butler?" the knight demanded.
Leo straightened, dusting his pristine cuff as if he hadn’t just sent a legendary undead flying. His socket glimmered with calm amusement.
"I apologize, Sir Knight," Leo said politely, his voice smooth as silk. "But I belong to no house."
The Dullahan’s voice grew colder, his suspicion sharpening.
"Do not toy with me, butler. You have strength beyond mortals. That attire—white as bone. You must be a retainer of Duke Sigismund. Are you his family’s servant?"
Leo chuckled softly, the sound carrying a cutting edge of arrogance.
"I take that as a compliment, Sir Knight. But no—my loyalty belongs only to one."
The Dullahan tilted his headless helm, confused.
"And who, pray, is this master?"
Leo’s eyes gleamed faintly violet, his tone firm:
"Lord Karl Leech."
The knight froze. He had never heard the name before. His hollow sockets narrowed in confusion.
Before he could press further, Rook rejoined the fray, dashing forward with his newly-acquired blade. With a sharp upward slash, he nearly caught the knight. The Dullahan barely dodged, stumbling backward. But Rook was not finished. With a fluid twist, he delivered a devastating back kick, sending the knight skidding further across the dirt.
Now, side by side, Leo and Rook stood together, their gazes locked on the Dullahan.
Rook pointed his sword at him.
"You should remember our lord’s name well, Knight."
The Dullahan scoffed, summoning his head back into his grasp. He placed it under his arm, raising his sword once more.
"Very well. I always grant my opponents the honor of remembrance. That is... if they prove worthy of it."
His stance lowered, mana flaring once more. His faceless helm turned toward them, and though he had no lips to smirk with, the mocking edge in his voice carried it well.
"Let us see if your so-called ’Lord Leech’ can earn that right."
Rook and Leo stood side by side. The Dullahan raised its blade, its skull grinning with knightly arrogance."I may not be at my peak," it rasped, "but two overeager youths won’t be enough to bring me down."
In a blur, both undead lunged. Rook struck from behind, blade aimed for the torso, while Leo swept low for the legs. For the first time, the knight’s sockets widened—but he leapt back, landing smoothly. Their perfect timing hit nothing but air.
"Bravo!" the Dullahan’s voice echoed across the battlefield, mocking but genuine. "Almost flawless. Have you two trained together before?"
"Less talking," Rook growled, charging in again.
Steel screamed as their swords clashed. Sparks lit the cavern. Leo circled fast, his movements darting from blind spot to blind spot. The Dullahan’s blade locked with Rook’s, then gave a sharp one-inch shove. The shock traveled through Rook’s weapon like a pulse, throwing him off balance.
The knight smirked. "Strong... but predictable."
Leo darted in. The Dullahan slashed horizontally, expecting him to fall back. Instead, Leo dropped flat, kicked upward with both feet, and nearly toppled the knight. The Dullahan caught the blow with his armored forearm and laughed, amused. Then he seized Leo’s leg, spun, and hurled him straight into Rook.
The two crashed into the dirt, a heap of limbs and armor.
The knight planted his sword into the ground, pointing with calm authority. "You—" at Rook, "—too focused on one strike. And you—" at Leo, "—too weak in technique. Don’t use skills outside your mastery." He pulled his sword free and raised it high. "Again!"
Rook spat dirt, furious. Leo steadied his stance, eyes blazing. They were being mocked like trainees.
Rook muttered, "Let’s switch it up."Leo nodded.
The Dullahan’s sockets burned bright as he advanced. "No plan of yours will work. Feel honored—few ever sparred against the Great Knight Commander!" He dashed forward, sword wreathed in black mana. His severed head detached again, circling like a predator, ready to strike at any angle.
The ground trembled as the three clashed again.
From a rocky perch, Karl watched, legs dangling. He nibbled a jagged lump of sulfur like it was popcorn."Oooh, nice combo," he muttered, clapping lazily as Rook and Leo pressed the assault. Their movements were sharp, desperate, relentless—yet to him, it was nothing more than entertainment.
His gaze drifted to the ziggurat, where the Corpse King’s massive fists were crushing the undead knights and foot soldiers in swathes. His own thirty-five troops, in neat formations, were exploiting every gap against the massive numbers punching far above their weight with sheer discipline.
Karl yawned. A skeleton staggered nearby, rushed towards him in a daring move. Karl simply raised a hand and flicked a [Necrotic Bolt]. The soldier popped like an insect. He didn’t even looked at it and simply ignored it.
"This is getting dull," he said, stretching. "I need a real problem. Mana nodes don’t find themselves."