Chapter 109: The Widest Belt

Among experienced adventurers, there is an unwritten rule of survival: if you can successfully survive the first half-hour in a dangerous area under your own power, it means you already possess sufficient capability to establish a foothold there. Although this rule is not explicitly written on tavern walls like "No credit extensions" or "Strictly no harassing the waitresses," it is highly effective and widely applicable most of the time—and the same held true for us.

After enduring the difficult moments of the initial period, we had completely adapted to the combat intensity within Shardstone Fortress. The fortress guards densely populating this place could no longer pose a threat to our lives.

For me personally, the demise of the Undead Lich A-Visari was a double blessing: on one hand, an evil demon king threatening the safety of the world had perished; on the other hand, it meant I finally no longer had to face those decaying creatures covered in withered bones. I was thoroughly fed up with their extraordinary resistance to piercing attacks, which prevented my swordsmanship skills from unleashing even half their power in battle. When your teammates regularly dealt damage close to two hundred points, staring helplessly at your own "-20" or "-30" felt like a serious blow to anyone's self-esteem.

Much like the Undead Lich A-Visari, neither the Troll Shaman Archmage Taiken nor the Vampire Marquis Dobus could halt our footsteps in saving the world. Although these diligent magical scholars had created terrifying miracles comparable to divine might in the research and application of magic, their clumsy performance in combat hardly matched their status as nearly level-sixty master mages. Admittedly, they were proficient in many astonishingly powerful offensive spells, but these potent incantations all shared an incurable flaw: the greater the magic's power, the more tedious the chanting required, and the more time the caster needed to brew their emotions. Once drawn into fierce melee combat, they never again had the opportunity to display their magnificent and superb magic control techniques.

From the troll shaman's corpse, I also recovered the "Fragment Two of the Synthesizer." This was a crystal vessel that gave pause for thought. It was generally shaped like a trumpet-like bottle with a thin, long neck and a bulbous container at the base. Bizarrely, the neck had been drawn into an arc-shaped hollow pipe that pierced through the bottle wall and connected directly to the base. This allowed the inner and outer sides of this three-dimensional bottle to be miraculously unified; in other words, this "bottle" possessed only a single surface. If an ant were to crawl upon it, it could travel from the "outside" all the way to the "inside" without crossing any edges.

At first glance, aside from its eccentric shape, this vessel had nothing particularly special about it. Yet upon careful reflection, one would realize it was truly a marvelous contraption. This ugly "bottle" seemed implicitly imbued with some mysterious power, shattering all spatial laws known to us. In my view, this was quite simply an "impossible" object, and its existence seemed to carry a certain philosophical subversive significance. Holding it in my hand, I could clearly sense an unstable magical fluctuation flowing across its surface, as though it remained connected to some dark, gloomy, and terrifying place, ready to shatter the bonds of space at any moment. My soul felt as if it were adhered to its surface by a viscous substance, and with the slightest lapse in attention, it would be sucked away to the other side of space.

Up until now, I still had no idea what purpose these two "synthesizer fragments" served, nor what wondrous functions the "synthesizer" assembled from them possessed. But the one thing I did understand was this: these were the genius crystallization of the most learned and creative magic scholars of the Doomsday Empire. For gadgets meticulously tinkered together by these fellows, I didn't need to know what they were actually used for; I only needed to know that they must be utterly awesome, and that was quite enough.

When swarms of guards no longer posed a threat to us, and the three master mages were easily dispatched by us, these glorious battle records became a dangerous weight that imperceptibly shifted the scales of reason. Regarding the final evil commander of this fortress, who was also its highest ruler and strongest guardian—Black Knight Arthur Dengotte—we inevitably grew somewhat careless and failed to grant him sufficient attention. Our overly smooth combat journey made us take it for granted that this Black Knight "ought" to be no stronger than those three undeserving master mages, and "perhaps" he would be quite easy to deal with. Everyone knows that underestimating the enemy is a dangerous beginning and often becomes the seed of ultimate failure. Yet when you are truly immersed in it, such pleasant fantasies of belittling the enemy make one feel light as air, as if victory is already firmly grasped in one's palms, making one utterly reluctant to shake off this beautiful illusion.

By this time, who still cared that we were merely a group of ordinary adventurers who had just reached level fifty—or even had one member below level fifty—while the formidable opponent we faced stood a full ten levels higher than us?

The command tower of Shardstone Fortress was situated at the summit of the easternmost peak, backed by bottomless cliffs, making it the highest point of the entire fortress. This was a majestic, cylindrical, towering structure; walking around its perimeter would likely require no fewer than five hundred paces. On each floor, the interior space near the windows was partitioned into many small cubicles, most of which were originally used as quarters for garrisoned officers, with an occasional one or two serving as archives or offices. By now, these areas had all been occupied by armored troll "Elite Tusk Guards." These tall, blue-skinned monsters guarded the stairwells leading to the top of the tower in overlapping layers, and those gleaming longswords and dense volleys of crossbow bolts gave us quite a bit of trouble. Ultimately, however, we safely cleared the area against the odds and surged in one breath to the top floor.

The top floor of the command tower was a massive circular hall. Normally, only a single figure would inhabit this hall. He sat with his back facing us upon the only chair in the entire hall, the tall back of the chair blocking his silhouette. The only reason I could be certain someone occupied the chair was because I saw his left hand, clad in a silver metal glove, resting on the armrest, its fingers and index finger occasionally tapping lightly. Sunlight spilled in from his side, casting a dark, gloomy shadow upon the floor.

Floating above the back of the chair was a line of red soul runes: precisely "Black Knight Arthur Dengotte."

The wall directly in front of the chair had been completely destroyed by siege engines, vanishing without a trace. Roughly half of the left and right walls were ruined, and less than a third of the roof remained. The entire top floor was practically an entirely exposed, vacant platform. Looking out, the scenery of the entire fortress came into view without obstruction. With the aid of binoculars, I could even spot those wandering walking corpses and corrupted beasts patrolling the fortress's outer perimeter, to say nothing of the guards patrolling within. It seemed that everything we had done along this path was clearly under the surveillance of this Lord Black Knight.

We had rampaged wildly and wreaked havoc through his castle, while he sat enthroned at the highest point of the castle, watching coldly with utter indifference. I did not understand why he was so indulgent toward his enemies, but the fact that he could watch his subordinates be eliminated by us without batting an eye instilled a piercing chill from the depths of my heart.

When we approached to within about ten paces of him, Sir Arthur Dengotte stood up and turned toward us.

"Oh..."

I immediately let out a startled, soft gasp, staring incredulously at his face, frozen in place at a complete loss.

***

There were enemies of three races within the fortress: the decaying, the trolls, and the vampires. To ensure fairness, the supreme commander of this army would generally not be selected from any of these three races. Therefore, I had naturally assumed that the leader commanding this multi-ethnic mixed army would either be a towering, irritable demon or a cunning, treacherous dark elf. Yet, even if the Doomsday Emperor's personnel appointments completely disregarded fairness and equity, had Black Knight Arthur Dengotte been a member of the decaying, the trolls, or the vampires, it still would not have left me as astonished as I was now.

The supreme leader of Shardstone Fortress was tall and slender, with a cascade of silver-gray hair falling past her shoulders that concealed her ears. Her fair skin was delicate and smooth, her cheeks lacking even a trace of rosy vitality as if deprived of sunlight. Most striking of all were her pale blue eyes. They were as bright and cold as gems, and an indifferent gaze revealed a trace of thinly veiled mockery—though it was equally possible she had no intention of concealing it at all. She never stared intently at you; even when her gaze occasionally lingered on someone for a split second, it was merely a casual, nonchalant glance. Yet even so, you would feel that her gaze was harder to fend off than the sharpest sword, as though it could pierce your body at any moment and shoot a severe chill straight into your soul.

She wore a bright silver metal suit of armor. On the left side of the armor was a massive dragon-head-shaped shoulder guard, while her right shoulder and entire upper arm were left bare. Her hands wore a pair of exquisitely styled gauntlets. The chest portion of the armor featured an aesthetically pleasing V-shaped cutout, with the sturdy metal plates pressing against her full breasts to form a deep, precipitous cleavage. This V-shaped cutout was so shockingly bold that it differed by only a hair's breadth from a deeply yearning "H" shape—something that could not be described as anything other than a rather regrettable matter.

However, compared to her lower-body attire, this light armor with its V-shaped neckline plunging to her navel appeared rather conservative. On her feet, she wore metal boots that barely cleared her calves, leaving her firm, rounded thighs almost entirely exposed, save for a ring of exquisitely crafted metal miniskirt around her waist that symbolically covered her most private parts—I swear this was the shortest skirt I had ever seen in my life. Please forgive my upbringing and reticence for leaving me unable to describe in detail just how short this skirt truly was, but I can say with certainty that had it been even slightly shorter, it might well have become the widest belt I had ever laid eyes on.

Just as I have described, the legendary cruel and ruthless Black Knight Arthur Dengotte, who held life in contempt, was neither a demon nor a dark elf, nor was she a decaying creature, a troll, or a vampire. She did not belong to any of the five major races of the Doomsday Empire at all.

I dare swear to you by my very eyeballs: she was a human. Furthermore, she was a cold, alluring, and beautiful woman!

Faced with such an enemy, my mind went completely blank.

We had journeyed across mountains and rivers, experienced life and death multiple times, faced thousands of enemies, shed blood and sacrificed our lives to carve out a bloody, arduous path—all simply to rescue this native land that had given us life, and to save our kinsmen bound to us by blood.

Yet now, with this mission merely one final step away from successful completion and only a single enemy standing before us, I discovered that the mastermind who had personally engineered countless deaths, the villain determined to annihilate my homeland and my people, was actually my compatriot.

This reality, filled with dark and ironic mockery, left a haze in my heart so dense that even the pink silk panties faintly visible beneath the miniskirt lost much of their appeal.

"Ah, humans..." Sir Dengotte swept her gaze over us, then allowed her indifferent eyes to fall gently upon me, "...I have not seen my own compatriots in two hundred years..."

The Black Knight's voice was languid and soft, carrying a hint of sweet hoarseness, much like a sticky, glutinous piece of "Moon Creek honey" clinging tightly to the roof of one's throat—neither swallowable nor spit-out-able. It was breathtakingly sweet and soft.

"...Ever since the battle in the Nafison Wastelands, I have not seen a single human. Not just humans, but orcs, elves, dwarves... The treacherous races inhabiting the Faraway Continent, I have not laid eyes upon a single one." The Black Knight leaned against the edge of the chair, speaking in a low, gentle murmur, seemingly entirely devoid of hostility toward us. I was likely infected by this mood of hers and found myself unable to muster even a shred of fighting spirit. Not just me, but my companions also showed no intention of fighting—even though they all appeared somewhat impatient.

"Every time is like this, always chattering away for ages before a fight even starts..." B-flat Minor Nocturne muttered in a low voice complaint.

"What do you know? This is the main storyline plot; we have to experience the game's narrative. Always just fighting and killing every day is so boring..." Dinding Xiaoge shot the bard a glance. "...Look at Niu Baiwan, how composed he is! That's how you appreciate the deep cultural connotation of this game..."

True to Dinding Xiaoge's words, the ordinarily impatient Niu Baiwan displayed unexpected composure this time, sitting quietly and unhurriedly on the side, listening with rapt attention to Sir Dengotte's narration. His giant bovine eyes were wide open without a single blink, the whites of his eyes webbed with red blood vessels, making one genuinely worry whether he might pop his eyeballs out if he strained too hard. Following the direction of his gaze, his focused eyes seemed to fall precisely upon a soft valley between...

"Hey, Brother Niu, why are you having a nosebleed?" Fairy Descending to Earth suddenly cried out in surprise.

***

"You are so right..." B-flat Minor Nocturne patted Dinding Xiaoge's arm. "...It truly is a 'deep' cultural connotation..."

Dinding Xiaoge: "..."

How shameful! I cast a contemptuous glance at Niu Baiwan and subconsciously touched my own nostrils—well, fortunately, no blood was flowing.

Setting aside Niu Baiwan's unsightly behavior, Sir Arthur Dengotte's narrative continued:

"...Perhaps you feel curious because of my appearance; those hypocritical old fogies of the Continental Alliance certainly would not tell you the truth. They would only say that I, much like those trolls, am merely a traitor who betrayed the continent. They will not tell you who the true betrayer is—trading the lives of a million allies merely in exchange for a despicable victory. And this is precisely what I am going to tell you..."

"...Two hundred years ago, the trolls, much like the minotaurs, orcs, elves, dwarves, and half-orcs, were still an indigenous race living upon the Faraway Continent. When the Doomsday Empire launched its massive invasion, the trolls also joined the Continental Alliance, bravely taking up arms to defend the land of their birth with their lives, and defending every living thing upon this land..."

"...In one particular battle, under the command of the Alliance Headquarters, the trolls threw the strength of their entire race into holding back the main force of the Imperial army in the Nafison Wastelands, fighting tenaciously against overwhelming odds. That was a period of despairing terror; every day tens of thousands of deaths occurred, brave troll tribes perished one after another, and even the old and the children were sent onto the battlefield. Urgent requests for reinforcements were sent to the Alliance Headquarters every day, only to sink into the sea with no news or response..."

"...And I was simply an ordinary liaison officer dispatched by the Alliance Headquarters to the trolls at that time."

"...I carried the urgent appeals for reinforcements, rushing day and night without rest to the holy city of Fleshit, reporting the dangers faced by the trolls to Lord Dedotan. Yet he merely waved a hand, dismissing me. He lacked even the slightest interest in hearing about the terrifying plight of those ugly allies..."

"...That night, by sheer coincidence, I overheard the most despicable and shameless matter in this world: it was a trap. While the trolls struggled desperately on the brink of extinction and fought for their lives, Lord Dedotan—the wisest Lord Dedotan, the most benevolent Lord Dedotan, the greatest Lord Dedotan, the 'Guardian of the Firmament' Lord Dedotan—had already dispatched the elite troops of the Alliance into enemy-occupied territory, seizing cities and territory while the enemy lacked the leisure to divide their forces, achieving the most glorious victory since the outbreak of war..."

"A filthy victory!" The woman roared, heavily striking the armrest of the chair beside her, instantly shattering the sturdy chair into a pile of splinters.

"While those shameless nobles intoxicated themselves in unprecedented honor and victory, troll children who had just grown their tender tusks were walking toward death in droves! How could they bear it, simply because the trolls were the race with the fewest members and the weakest strength in the Alliance? And while they shared their glory, those who had been abandoned were still using every last ounce of strength to fight, still loyally guarding the flanks of their so-called 'allies,' still longing for reinforcements that existed only in illusion!"

"I left! I returned to that wasteland swallowed by death, and told Mlak, the High Priest of the trolls and the 'Hand of the Void,' that they had been abandoned, that their sacrifice was meaningless, and that the other people living with them upon this land were not worthy of such defense by them."

"Thus the trolls surrendered, under my persuasion. Had I not returned, those brave and simple warriors surely would have continued fighting until every last drop of troll blue blood was spent. Their heroic deeds earned the respect of the Doomsday Emperor, and they became part of the Empire. And I, as the sole human within the Empire, also acquired greater power—power that allowed me to live until today, granting me the opportunity to return once more to this filthy land."

"And what I desire is to completely annihilate all the despicable and ugly creatures on this continent; decay and destruction shall be the most fitting endings for you all. Now, no matter what else you do, it will be of no avail. The poison corrupting the world has completely succeeded." With that, the Black Knight laughed wildly with triumph, drawing a cyan-gray viscous potion from beneath her cloak. If everything she claimed was true, then this vial of potion was the potent poison capable of turning all living beings into decaying walking corpses.

"Then, let the destruction of this world begin with you..." At these words, a piercing, bone-chilling frost suddenly erupted within Sir Dengotte's gaze!