The Undead Citadel
Dayton scanned his surroundings with sharp eyes.
"The air's changed."
"What do you mean?"
Zeon looked at him with a puzzled gaze.
Dayton didn't answer.
Zeon's face twisted in frustration, but Dayton paid it no mind.
Explaining everything step by step wouldn't help him grow.
He had to sense it himself, harbor doubts, and wrestle with them. That was the path to true growth.
That's how Dayton had grown, and now he was applying the same method to Zeon.
So far, Zeon had followed admirably, but he was still lacking.
He needed to agonize even more fiercely. Only then could he become far stronger than he was now.
The air in the heart of the desert was still scorching hot, as expected. But it carried a dank, insidious aura within it.
Zeon had roamed the deserts for a long time, but this was the first time he'd felt anything like it.
A moment later, Zeon tilted his head, sensing something off as well.
Dayton approved of Zeon's reaction and pressed on.
This was uncharted territory even for him.
People often thought all deserts looked the same, but that couldn't be further from the truth.
Each region had its own distinct features.
Some stretched into endless canyons, others were filled with flowing sands like rivers.
Those traits alone could give away a location. But he swore he'd never seen a place with these characteristics before.
At least not in any of the areas he'd wandered.
It was as if the very air harbored hostility toward humans.
Hummm!
Clayon let out a resonant sword cry.
Dayton nodded in response.
"I know, old friend!"
Even after a century of wandering the world, he never felt loneliness thanks to Clayon.
With Clayon always by his side, he hadn't succumbed to madness and had kept his sanity.
Crunch!
The sand beneath his feet crumbled finely and scattered in the wind.
It felt utterly different from any sand he'd trod before.
Desert sand lacked any cohesion to begin with. It didn't clump, so there was no reason it should shatter underfoot like this.
Everything here was different.
Dayton never let his guard down for a second as he advanced. But over the next few days, nothing happened—making his vigilance seem almost pointless.
Suddenly, an odd sight caught Dayton's eye.
"What's that?"
In the distance lay a vast ochre plain.
It stood in stark contrast to the sands of the deserts they'd crossed so far.
He'd lived in the desert for a hundred years, but he'd never seen a color like this.
Beyond the ochre plain, far in the hazy distance, something towered upright.
It was too remote to be sure, but it resembled a castle straight out of a storybook.
"A castle in the middle of the desert?"
Dayton's eyes darkened with intensity.
He'd seen Neo Seoul Colony and various other colonies with his own eyes.
None of them took the form of such a fortress.
There was no need for further thought.
Dayton headed straight for the castle.
He could feel Zeon hustling to keep up behind him.
Just for breaking the barrier that had blocked their path, Zeon had more than proven his worth. Dayton no longer needed him.
Yet he didn't tell Zeon to turn back.
As Zeon had said, they'd come this far together—they should see it through together.
No matter the outcome.
After trekking a full day, they finally reached the ochre plain.
The moment their feet touched it—
Krunch!
Something burst through the ground.
It was an arm.
Flesh rotted away to expose bone, the arm soon braced against the earth and hauled up a body.
What emerged onto the ochre plain was unmistakably a corpse.
A corpse clad in armor.
Half its flesh had decayed, bones gleaming white, yet for some reason, it moved as if alive.
Dayton instantly recognized what it was.
"An undead?"
A phenomenon where corpses rose and moved for whatever reason.
Dayton had heard tales, but this was his first time seeing one.
And it wasn't just one.
More undead burst from the ground in its wake.
Cloaks and armor fluttering in the wind, swords gripped in hand.
They looked just like a medieval order of knights.
Dayton glanced around.
He wondered if they'd unwittingly entered a dungeon.
In a dungeon, this would be nothing unusual.
Dungeons made anything possible.
Fragments of other dimensions, severed from reality.
Events beyond human imagination could happen there.
But this wasn't a dungeon.
This was unmistakably reality.
Undead rising in the real world.
"A dungeon-like phenomenon in a non-dungeon... Looks like I found the right place."
Dayton grinned.
Madness flickered in his eyes.
"Come at me! You unrested souls!"
His mad roar ignited the fray.
Grrraaah!
The undead knights charged at Dayton like maniacs.
Their bodies were rotting husks, but their skill remained undiminished—their movements were sharp and fluid.
Clang!
Dayton's blade clashed with the undead knights' swords, sparks flying with the screech of metal.
＊＊＊
The battle between Dayton and the undead knights was ferocious.
They fought with the prowess of their living days.
They held their own against the monstrous Dayton for a time—but only because he was holding back.
Splurch!
One swing from Dayton bisected an undead knight.
The severed halves tumbled pathetically across the ground.
A fatal wound for any living being. But these were undead knights.
Beings already dead.
They couldn't die twice.
Shlrp!
The upper and lower halves knitted back together, good as new in seconds.
Zeon muttered to himself.
"So that's why they call 'em undead."
He wasn't joining the fight—just watching.
This wasn't his battle.
It was Dayton's.
Just as Dayton had observed from the sidelines in the sand dungeon, now it was Zeon's turn.
His role had ended with dispelling the barrier.
From here on, he was a mere spectator.
Unless Dayton said otherwise.
"Kuhahaha!"
Dayton's mad, guttural laughter echoed.
He seemed genuinely thrilled.
His foes were dead men, but also knights.
Sword wielders.
The swordsmanship they'd honed in life manifested through their decayed bodies.
Clashing blades with blades—it had been ages.
Dayton forwent mana entirely, facing the undead knights with pure swordplay. Even then, they were no match.
Slash!
Every swing of Clayon felled an undead knight, cleaving them in two. But they regenerated and charged again.
No fear of death, no pain.
In some ways, they resembled the Sand Soldiers Zeon had fought.
There was another similarity.
Their numbers.
Pop! Pop!
More undead knights erupted from the ground endlessly.
Hundreds at least, by rough count.
They swarmed Dayton in a frenzy.
Zeon stood right there, yet they ignored him completely, targeting only Dayton.
Dayton cleaved through them relentlessly, advancing.
His goal was the distant castle.
Now he could see it clearly.
It took the form of a medieval fortress, though not exactly.
This one was far more elegant, yet sharper.
Its walls were etched with indecipherable runes.
Faded to a deep gray now, they must have been vibrant when new.
Zeon felt like he'd seen those runes somewhere before.
Racking his brain, he pulled a book from his subspace.
It was from the elf village Dayton had massacred.
Flipping it open, he found text identical to the castle walls.
"Connected to elves?"
But it didn't quite fit as elven architecture.
As he'd seen in the elf village Dayton wiped out, they lacked the capacity for structures this massive.
Besides, the undead knights blocking Dayton were all human.
If the castle truly belonged to elves, the knights would be undead elves.
The undead knights threw themselves at Dayton body and soul. But he was like a colossal tidal wave.
He shattered and swept away everything in his path.
They regenerated their broken forms and charged, but the result was the same.
Dayton smashed and advanced until he reached the castle.
Boom!
He smashed through the gates and entered. At once, the undead knights ceased their assault.
Zeon eyed them curiously.
They stood motionless, like machines with the power cut.
"What the hell?"
Thanks to that, Zeon entered the castle without resistance.
Dayton slammed Clayon into the floor and bellowed.
"Come out, lord of the castle!"
Hummm!
His shout became a gale that shook the vast fortress.
Then—
As if in answer, brilliant light bloomed from the castle floor.
The light traced lines, drawing a pattern across the stone.
In moments, a massive diagram was complete.
A hexagram encircled by rings, crammed with elven script between them.
"A magic circle?"
The circle flared intensely, and something emerged from within.
Towering at least twice the height of the undead knights, with a massive build.
A helmet crowned with three horns, armor of unknown metal, a tattered gray cloak over the shoulders, and a greatsword at the waist as huge as Clayon.
Red flames flickered within the helmet, ominous darkness cloaking its form.
This was the castle's master.
Dayton bared his white teeth in a grin.
"What's your name, knight?"
Zeon figured the knight wouldn't answer.
Its vocal cords were rotted away—it couldn't speak.
But reality defied him.
"A...ka...ruk!"
A cavernous voice rumbled from the knight's mouth.
Dayton replied.
"I'm Dayton. Akaruk!"
"Day...ton! Kill me... end this curse..."
The knight's words cut off abruptly.
Instead, a sinister gray aura rose from its body.
The aura draped the cloak like a living thing, writhing.
Whoosh!
Gray aura cloaked the greatsword as well.
Groooar!
The castle trembled as if in an earthquake.
Dayton gripped Clayon reverse and said,
"Very well! I'll grant you death, you who were once a knight..."