Chapter 223
Chapter 223
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 223
Chapter Title: Knight of Prophecy 2
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Plank Martencias was born as a bastard of the Banreong royal family.
The problem was that the Banreong king's bastards were overflowing, and the king's church already had too many of his illegitimate children, so the church rejected him.
At this rate, the king's church in the Banreong region might end up filled with the Banreong king's offspring. There was even suspicion that the Banreong king intended to seize control of the king's church through his bastards.
In the end, Plank was sent to the Salvation Knight Order along with a donation.
Plank, who bore the blood of the Yaegas divine king, rose swiftly through the ranks within the Salvation Knight Order, steadily climbing until he reached the position just below the knight commander—the grand master.
And on that day, a prophecy came down from the great Three Archangels to Plank Martencias.
‘The knight you appoint last shall become the flower of knighthood.’
Plank Martencias was greatly disappointed upon hearing that prophecy.
Was it not saying that he himself was not the flower of knighthood?
No matter how hard he strove or cultivated his virtues, no matter what merits he achieved, he would merely be a stepping stone for the next generation's knight.
At the time, unaware of the ripples that prophecy would bring, he simply harbored resentment toward what he saw as a stingy pronouncement.
Afterward, he served for over thirty years as the Knight of Wisdom, symbolizing wisdom among the three virtues.
Under his command, the Salvation Knight Order enjoyed continued prosperity, but beneath the surface of that outward flourishing, it was crumbling from within. The order's white magic was growing weaker with each passing day.
Thanks to the endless influx of bastards from the Yaegas divine bloodline, white magic could maintain its facade, but if the mana continued to weaken, could they truly stand and fight as knights when the prophesied era of Jupiter arrived?
Yet far from the era of Jupiter, even Netherstrom remained still, and a long peace endured.
Even without relying much on white magic, with no Nether beasts challenging them, the fief continued to enjoy bountiful harvests, and the knight order prospered.
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The Whubris Peninsula had long been renowned for its fertile lands.
Crops grew so abundantly without any special fertilizers that countless kings had coveted it since ancient times, but Netherstrom lay before the Whubris Peninsula.
When Jupiter's gravitational pull strengthened and Netherstrom stirred, beasts would emerge and turn everything to ruin. Even ambitious kings who seized the Whubris Peninsula would exhaust all their strength fending off the invading beasts alone and ultimately perish.
In the end, no king could hold the Whubris Peninsula, leaving the Salvation Knight Order as the only masters of the land.
The Salvation Knight Order sustained itself with the yields from the peninsula's farmlands and, in exchange, stood at the forefront, battling the Nether beasts.
But with the peace persisting...
Military expenditures vanished, and immense wealth began to accumulate in the Salvation Knight Order. The knights started harboring impure thoughts, and Plank Martencias realized his own long-suppressed ambitions stirring once more.
Just then, a young man joined under his command—his name was Cohen Lionair.
He was the former prince of Asander.
Though not a bastard but a legitimate son, after his mother died and his father the king remarried, he became the new queen's greatest rival.
Unable to withstand the queen's schemes, he fled to the Salvation Knight Order to escape death.
Plank devised a plan to use Cohen to plant his influence in Asander and successfully executed it, restoring Cohen to the throne as king of Asander.
As the mentor of the newly ascended king, a great national preceptor, and himself of noble Banreong royal blood.
Plank's scheme had worked flawlessly, earning him renown as a great figure. Even vassals of the Banreong royal family approached him secretly, sounding him out on whether he might aim for the Banreong throne himself.
Everything was going too perfectly.
However...
As Plank returned from meeting Banreong nobles, a band of assassins ambushed him.
These assassins, accompanied by the emperor's heralds from the Herald Tribe, dispatched Plank's close aides and the Knights of Wisdom with astonishing skill, slaying them effortlessly.
Plank fought back against them, but in that moment, he spotted someone familiar in their swordsmanship and bearing.
“Have you lost your mind? Cohen! You are a king—how could you personally take part in an assassination? And collude with the Herald Tribe, no less?”
Cohen Lionair had come himself to kill his master, Plank.
“It was indeed I whom you appointed last, Master.”
“Fool! You are already king of Asander! To commit such an act over a ridiculous prophecy about the flower of knighthood—what nonsense is this? And how could one who assassinates his master claim to be the flower of knighthood?”
“Of course, this is merely collecting one more card. I may or may not use it, but I want good cards in my hand. And Sir Plank, Knight of Wisdom—if that title holds true, consider this: as a king, why would I spare someone who meddles in another nation's royal succession and tries to replace its king at his whim?”
Even without the prophecy, Cohen had reason to eliminate Plank. The prophecy was merely a spice that added a touch of intrigue.
“With the gold we received, our job ends here.”
“The rest is between you and your master.”
The Herald Tribe members dispatched the other knights around Sir Plank and withdrew. Cohen Lionair aimed his sword at Plank—the very swordsmanship Plank had taught him.
“Well then, Master. Please, show me the power of the Knight of Wisdom!”
“Fool!”
Plank clashed swords with his own disciple.
And he soon realized it.
The fact that he could not withstand the power of Cohen Lionair, who had become king and gained the divine king's scripture...
“What a disappointment, Master. So frail and enfeebled! What does this make me, for going to the trouble of trading with the Herald Tribe just to eliminate you?”
Cohen pierced Plank's heart with his sword and spoke calmly.
“Impressive...”
Plank could say nothing else.
“Thanks to having a fine master. But you’ve grown old, Master.”
And so Plank was slain by his disciple's hand, his corpse abandoned in the fields.
Yet for some reason, he awoke as a death knight, haunting the place of his demise and tormented by endless boredom.
He longed to know how much time had passed since his death, what had become of Cohen Lionair and the Salvation Knight Order afterward—but this desolate wilderness saw few travelers. And those who passed by froze at the sight of Plank, now a death knight, rendering conversation impossible.
Then suddenly, a female ghost appeared, begging him to save someone, and out of curiosity alone, he could not refuse.
Plank lightly descended the cliff to the riverbank where fierce rapids churned up endless white foam.
There lay a young man, who even from afar resembled the female ghost he had seen earlier.
“I thought it was a lover or sweetheart she wanted saved, but it was kin.”
Hyenas were swarming around the youth.
Was the Nether's power growing stronger? Shadows cloaked the hyenas' faces, and within those shadows, human visages floated.
“Sssss.”
“Meat...”
“I want to eat.”
The hyenas, emitting eerie sounds as they approached the youth's body, scattered the moment Plank drew near.
“...Plank of Wisdom.”
“Revenant who cannot die.”
“Slain by the hand of the disciple you raised—how dare you claim the name of wisdom while shamelessly wandering?”
The shadows amid the hyenas mocked and jeered at Plank.
Plank gave a wry smile and approached the youth. An untamed scent of life emanated from him—a captivating aroma that Plank, now undead, could clearly discern.
The youth had likely survived the brink of death through some miracle-like magic that barely patched his body together.
‘A king's miracle? Or Nether magic? Either way, this young man doesn't have many days left.’
As Plank placed his hand on his sword hilt, the hyenas retreated.
“We cannot fight Plank of Wisdom.”
“What suits the undying is a restless life and...”
“...an empty tedium.”
Jeering at Plank's plight, the hyenas vanished.
“What has become of this world, for such creatures to appear without any magic?”
Plank worried over the hyenas tainted by dark power, but it was no time for concern over others—he was a death knight himself, after all.
Pondering his own situation, he examined the youth, who lay curled up, shivering in the cold.
“Ah... of course.”
Sir Plank recalled the aura of chill radiating from him and gave a wry smile.
His death knight aura of cold was driving this ailing youth further toward death.
Plank gathered firewood around the youth, lit it, and stepped back from the flames.
“What a hassle and a farce. It had better be worth it.”
Fortunately, the youth soon regained consciousness.
He startled at the sight of Sir Plank and rose to his feet... but Plank merely watched him silently.
“...Who are you? Did you light this fire?”
“Yes, young man.”
“......”
“A very pretty young lady ghost up there called out to me, begging me to save you. So I came.”
“If I may be so bold, sir, you don't seem to be among the living.”
“Haha, sharp eyes. Not blind at all. I am Plank Martencias, Knight of Wisdom among the three virtue knights of the Salvation Knight Order. Or should I say I was? No, no. Even in death, I retain my essence as Plank. What I've lost here is, well, the status of Knight of Wisdom in the Salvation Knight Order. So just call me Plank.”
“A pretty young lady ghost...”
“She resembled you. Heh heh.”
At those words, the youth started and donned a mask over his face, as if he had been seen when he shouldn't have.
“Have you suffered much because of your face? With looks like that, man or woman, it must have been quite the headache.”
“No. This isn't... my face.”
“It's not your face?”
“It's the eye I took from my sister.”
“Hmm?”
Plank's interest was piqued by those words.
Took his sister's eye?
Moreover, the mask the youth wore and the curved bow at his waist marked him as one of the Herald Tribe.
“It’s a long story.”
“Perfect. The night is long, plenty of firewood remains, and this specter hungers for tales—so won’t you share yours? As payment for saving you.”