Dungeon King: A Lady Knight Offered by My Goblins

Fernard sat on his throne, frustration mounting as he swept aside the mountainous piles of books surrounding him. 

His anger, no longer containable, erupted: “Bogart? How much longer must I be buried in these books?”

Behind Fernard’s throne, a Wraith materialized, utterly different from Sheimodo. 

This Wraith, clad in a golden white robe, exuded a gentle demeanor. 

His face, revealed beneath the brim of his robe’s hood, was creased with wrinkles. 

Had Bogart not been floating, no one would have guessed this elderly figure was a Wraith.

Bogart’s face carried a warm smile as he spoke softly, like a gentle breeze and a light rain: “My lord, these books are the secret treasures of my Cult. You must master them; otherwise, you will never fully wield the power of my Cult.”

Fernard let out a long sigh, his resignation palpable as he sat back down. “You always say that. Is there ever an end to it?”

Complex emotions flickered across Bogart’s face. 

In his heart, he doubted Fernard’s suitability as a successor. Yet, bound by the staff in Fernard’s possession, Bogart was compelled to obey.

With a deep bow, he addressed Fernard solemnly: “My lord, this is your destiny. The supreme deity chose you, and with that choice comes the responsibility to bear the rise and fall, the honor and disgrace, of the Wraith Cult.”

“Destiny, destiny!” Fernard slammed his hand on the table. “Always about destiny. Had I known you’d use this to bind me, I would never have followed you into this place.”

Fernard was on the brink, his sanity teetering dangerously close to collapse. 

This tale traces back to his entry into a mysterious stele.

Upon entering the stele, Fernard found himself in the Deityforsaken Land. 

Perhaps it was a stroke of bizarre fortune, but he stumbled upon a staff. 

This staff, three to four meters in length, was an amalgamation of three colors: black, white, and gold. 

These colors intertwined, and the moment Fernard grasped it, he knew it was no ordinary item; it was a divine artifact, and even more potent than that.

With the staff in hand, Fernard began to traverse the land with an air of invincibility. 

The Deityforsaken Land, true to its name, was littered with treasures. 

Once, simply napping under a tree, Fernard unintentionally killed a Demi-god beast that attacked him, thanks to the staff’s intervention. 

Initially terrified, he was astonished at this turn of fortune, further convinced of the staff’s supreme divine nature.

He meticulously stripped the Demi-god beast of its valuable materials and fur, continuing his journey with the staff. 

Along the way, it automatically protected him, empowering his dominance in the Deityforsaken Land. 

Various grotesque creatures, appearing monstrous to Fernard, tried to capture him and seize his treasures, only to be vanquished by the staff.

With the staff at his side, Fernard roamed the mystical continent unchallenged. 

Coupled with his extraordinary luck, he seemed to encounter treasures at every turn, with all impending dangers effortlessly neutralized by the staff.

However, the staff’s power was not infinite. During a chase by the Deity Keeper’s alliance, the staff lost its effectiveness. 

In a desperate bid for survival, Fernard detonated the treasures he had gathered, hoping to protect himself.

The Deity Keepers, witnessing the scene, were almost spitting blood in frustration, wanting to plea to Fernard: 

“Stop blowing up your treasures! Won’t we stop chasing if you do?”

But Fernard, oblivious to the thoughts of the Deity Keepers, kept running blindly. 

It was not until his possessions dwindled to just three or four of the most valuable items that a divine intervention occurred. 

A holy light cascaded from the heavens.

Bogart, like a mythical figure from a dream, appeared before Fernard, rescuing him from his dire predicament. 

There was no doubt about Bogart’s formidable strength. 

After slaughtering the Deity Keepers, he even managed to capture Fernard, who had fled a thousand miles away.

Seeing Bogart catching up, Fernard was ready to trigger the self-destruction of his remaining treasures in a final act of self-preservation. 

But Bogart knelt on one knee before him.

“My lord, I have finally found you.”

Fernard, stunned, spoke hesitantly, “Are you sure you’re not mistaking me for someone else?”

Bogart, gazing at the staff in Fernard’s hand, his eyes fervent and resolute, declared, “The supreme deity has chosen you. You are our new master! The glory of our Wraith Cult awaits your revival.”

Fernard’s mind briefly went blank before he pieced it all together. Behind every divine artifact was the presence of a deity. 

Due to their extraordinary powers, deities typically had only one divine artifact, representing their legacy.

However, divine artifacts are often distant from their deities, usually because the deities have either perished or fallen into a deep slumber. 

Thus, most finders of a divine artifact would at best gain its miraculous powers, and the luckier ones might learn something from the imprints left on the artifact by the deity.

But this staff was different. 

Its legacy was unbroken, and there was even a dedicated force to safeguard and guide the bearer of the staff, ensuring the continuity of the deity’s legacy.

Having figured everything out, Fernard stood with his hands on his hips, laughing uproariously towards the heavens. 

His laughter was so overwhelming that Bogart felt a twinge of embarrassment. 

After the laughter subsided and introductions were exchanged, Fernard, filled with passion and waving the staff, exclaimed, “Let’s go! What are we waiting for? It’s time to inherit the legacy of the supreme deity.”

Bogart, mistaking Fernard’s enthusiasm as characteristic, smiled broadly, his face beaming like a blooming chrysanthemum. 

He led Fernard to the throne, but contrary to Fernard’s expectations of divine empowerment or transmission of powers, Bogart’s approach was different.

He brought books to Fernard daily, insisting that he memorize their contents while also ingraining the doctrines of the Wraith Cult in his mind.

Initially, Fernard’s enthusiasm did not wane, fueled by the prospect of inheriting a deity’s legacy. 

Fearing that a lack of diligence might lead to missing out on this opportunity, he persevered for a long time. 

In this space, devoid of the passage of time, resembling stagnant water, Fernard, bolstered by his energy-transformed body and the soul fruits he had consumed, memorized enough books to form a mountain.

Yet, his reward was an unending supply of more books from Bogart. 

Finally, Fernard could take no more and exploded in frustration. Listening to Fernard’s outburst, Bogart felt even more convinced that Fernard might not be the ideal successor. 

Yet, understanding the impetuosity of youth, having once been young himself, Bogart sighed deeply, his tone tinged with a hint of melancholy:

“I understand this seems unfair to you, my lord, but by choosing the supreme deity…” he trailed off, “the trial left behind is just this way, unalterable by anyone.”

Fernard’s features scrunched together in exasperation as he said with a grimace, “Bogart, how can you still not see it? Could it be that it’s precisely because of these rules set by the supreme deity that our Cult has dwindled in talent, struggling to pass on its legacy, leading to our current plight?”

“And what if,” he continued, “you just directly bestowed the supreme deity’s legacy upon me? Wouldn’t that be the same?”

Fernard looked at Bogart with hope, but Bogart’s eyes, pure and a bit stern, replied, “My lord, your way of thinking is not correct.”

Resigned, Fernard shook his head speechlessly and slumped back onto the throne, muttering, “It’s like playing the lute to a cow.”

The standoff between the two persisted. Gritting his teeth, Fernard couldn’t hold back any longer and pleaded, “Bogart, can’t you at least let me go out for some fresh air? I’ve lost track of how many days I’ve been here…”

Bogart, serious-faced and earnest, responded, “The continuity of the legacy must not be broken.”

Suddenly, Fernard stood up, about to use his authority as the master to command Bogart, when an obscure black hole appeared in the vague space. 

It gradually revealed a mirror-like image. In this image, Ethan was wandering in a library, leaning against the shelves, engrossed in a book.

Fernard rushed to the ‘mirror,’ pointing at the scene and exclaimed, “What’s this all about?”

Bogart, taken aback for a moment, noticed with his attentive eyes a gold-embossed skull emblem in Ethan’s palm. Although it was faint, he saw it clearly.

“Hmm? A new inheritor has appeared?” Bogart murmured to himself.

Fernard’s hair practically stood on end in shock: “A new inheritor? Why haven’t you told me about this?”

Bogart, equally astonished, muttered to himself, “When the supreme deity vanished, ten Entourages were given the quest to help find a successor. But aside from me, the other Entourages ceased their public activities. Where did this person find the trial of the god mark? Could there be Entourages acting in secret?”

Fernard had no interest in hearing Bogart rehash old stories or delve into the tale of the ten Entourages. 

Clenching his teeth, he was focused on one question: “Can this person also receive the supreme deity’s legacy?”

Without hesitation, Bogart respectfully replied, “My lord, theoretically, anyone bearing the supreme deity’s trial of the god mark is eligible to receive the deity’s legacy.”

A flicker of concern crossed Fernard’s face as he glared at Ethan. 

His ambition to acquire the deity’s legacy and return to the Azure Empire for revenge against Flame City, and to humiliate the civil and military officials of Sourcewater City who had expelled him, was strong. 

Despite his grievances, he knew that his path to acquiring the deity’s legacy must not be disturbed by anyone.

“Bogart,” Fernard commanded, “I order you now, go and kill that man!”