SSS Unknown: Dark Knight's Legacy

The [Undead King] leaned back on his obsidian throne, the quiet clatter of his skeletal fingers tapping against the armrest reverberating through the grand hall.

His hollow gaze burned with an unearthly light, watching his subordinates with piercing scrutiny as they delivered their reports.

"Good," he rumbled, his voice a deep, resonant echo that carried a chill to the farthest reaches of the chamber. "If the Ducherian Kingdom remains unaware of the rift, we hold the advantage. Ensure that it stays this way, Rubedo. I will not tolerate failures."

Rubedo, radiant in her crimson-purple gown, bowed deeply, her golden hair cascading like liquid fire. "Of course, Your Majesty. I will oversee the matter personally."

Turning his attention to another subordinate, the [Undead King] nodded deliberately. "Continue testing the limits of the rift. If only those with low magical energy can pass, then send the creatures. Quantity will compensate for any lack of individual strength. Overwhelm them."

"Understood, Your Majesty," the subordinate replied, their voice steady yet laced with tension.

The [Undead King] raised a hand, summoning an ethereal map into the air. The glowing projection depicted the western border, a pulsating crimson mark indicating the rift's location near the Ducherian Kingdom. His gaze lingered on the map as he addressed Rubedo once more.

"The Vermilion Executioner is no ordinary adversary. You understand what this means?"

Rubedo's fingers tightened around the hem of her gown, the weight of her king's words pressing upon her. "Yes, Your Majesty. Our contingencies are in place. Reinforcements are en route, and we could repeal her for now."

A sinister grin spread across the [Undead King]'s skeletal visage, the flickering light in the chamber accentuating the malice etched into his form. "Good. You understand the stakes. The rift is more than an anomaly—it is an opportunity. One that could redefine the balance of power in our favor."

He leaned forward, the glow of his burning eyes intensifying as shadows danced across the room. "Should the Ducherian Kingdom interfere, they will find themselves facing an enemy beyond their comprehension. Keep them blind to our movements for as long as possible."

"As you command, Your Majesty," Rubedo replied, her voice steady despite the unease that coiled within her.

With a dismissive wave, the [Undead King] dispersed the map, and the grand doors of the chamber closed as his subordinates departed. Left alone in the oppressive silence of his throne room, he allowed his thoughts to drift, his skeletal frame rigid against the obsidian seat.

"The world has changed," he murmured, his voice tinged with an ancient weariness. "I no longer have the power to restore it."

Once, his kingdom was a bastion of magic, an empire thriving on the endless currents of mana that saturated the atmosphere. The air itself had been a reservoir of vitality, nourishing his people—beings of magic who defied nature's laws. 

But the "flow" had shifted, leaving his realm starved of the lifeblood that sustained it.

For humanity, this change was imperceptible, a subtle shift with no bearing on their mundane existence. But for him, it was a harbinger of doom. Without magic, his kind would weaken, decay, and eventually fade into nothingness.

"This is why I seek the [Sword Of Desire]," he said, gripping his ornate golden staff. The artifact, engraved with arcane symbols, shimmered faintly in the dim light. It was both a weapon and a relic, a testament to the heights of his former power. "To wrest control of this world's destiny... to revive the glory of our nation."

In his other hand, he held a fragment of the fabled Sword of Desire, a shard that pulsed with unrestrained potential. The weapon of legend had once tamed the chaos of the ancient world, granting its wielder the power to reshape reality itself.

"The flow of magic may have forsaken us," he whispered, his burning gaze fixed on the fragment. "But with the Sword of Desire, I will command it. I will rekindle the spark of life and rebuild what was lost."

Rising from his throne, he struck the floor with his staff, the sound reverberating like thunder through the chamber. His voice boomed with authority as he issued his decree.

"Prepare the forces. We will claim the fragments and seize destiny itself. If fate denies us, then we shall carve our path through conquest."

His words echoed like a storm, the silence that followed heavy with resolve. 

The era of decline would end—not through chance, but through the indomitable will of the [Undead King].

***

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***

"Ahh, I hate this dungeon so much," Boar grumbled, breaking the tense silence that had settled over the group.

"I don't think it's that bad," Meat replied casually, his voice a soothing contrast to the discomfort that hung in the air. "I mean, the monsters here aren't all that strong, right?"

"Sure, but there's just... something creepy about this place," Boar muttered, eyes darting uneasily around the cavernous expanse, the darkness seeming to press in on them from all sides.

In the dim, flickering light of a modest campfire, the trio of soldiers sat together. Their voices, though low, carried easily through the quiet of the dungeon, creating a subtle hum against the backdrop of distant, eerie sounds. 

They were part of the magical kingdom's military, a force dispatched to clear the area, set up supply bases, and ensure it remained secure for future expansions.

The group was a mix of hardened veterans and young soldiers, each with their own battles fought and scars earned. 

Leading them was Steel, a battle-scarred Lizardman whose scales, once a vibrant green, were now darkened by years of combat. A deep gouge beneath his remaining eye, which was cold and watchful, spoke volumes of the dangerous life he had lived. 

Despite his age, Steel was still a formidable presence. Beside him were Boar and Meat, two young Ogres. They had hulking, muscular builds with dark skin that gleamed faintly in the firelight, their tusks jutting prominently from their jaws, making them both imposing and intimidating in their own right.

Steel, busy preparing their meal over the fire, glanced at the two young Ogres, his voice a calm contrast to their unease. "You youngsters worry too much. Come on, eat up. You'll need your strength," he said, his hands deftly working the campfire to cook their meal.

"Thanks, Steel," Meat replied, his voice warm but tinged with concern. He poked at his food absently, his brow furrowed. "But what about you? Aren't you still recovering from that last battle?"

"I'm fine, really," Steel answered with a dismissive wave, though his tone was slightly strained. "At my age, I just want to help guide the next generation. Besides, I've had worse."

"Your age?" Meat said, laughing lightly, but his curiosity clearly piqued. "Steel, you're only 35. Is that old for a Lizardman?"

Steel let out a dry chuckle, his one remaining eye narrowing in amusement. "For us, it is. We don't live long. The battle takes too much out of us."

Meat blinked, looking surprised. "That's... kind of rough."

"What about you Ogres?" Steel asked, nodding toward Boar.

Boar, sitting beside them, grunted in response. "Same," he said bluntly, his voice quieter. "Most of us don't make it past 40."

They all understood the toll their lives took—rapid physical development, constant battles, the brutal realities of survival. Non-human species like theirs were often short-lived compared to humans, but they gained strength and sometimes even evolved with each battle they survived. 

It was a life full of hardship, but also one that allowed them to push beyond their limits.

"Humans are amazing, aren't they?" Boar muttered bitterly, his eyes narrowing as he stared into the dancing flames. "They don't have to kill each other just to live longer."

Meat's expression softened slightly as he listened, but his voice remained calm. "But they still kill us," Boar added, his voice heavy with unspoken pain. "Why is that?"

Seated beside him, Meat forced a small, pained smile. "Not all humans are bad. It's just... we're too different. We look more like Goblins than we do them, you know? And that scares them. Makes us easy targets."

Boar chewed on his meat in silence, clearly wrestling with the words. His emotions churned, a blend of anger and sadness. He wasn't sure if he agreed or not, but his own experiences had left him distrustful of humans—something deeper than simple prejudice. It was personal.

"Besides," Meat added, trying to offer some comfort, "there are humans in our army too. We're not all enemies."

Boar snorted but didn't reply right away, his mind lingering on the horrors he'd witnessed. After a moment, he spoke, voice quieter but still firm. "Sure, some humans fight alongside us," he said, eyes staring into the flickering fire.

"But if even our own kind are willing to slaughter each other... what are we to them?"

Steel, who had been listening quietly from the edge of the firelight, moved closer. His voice, though weathered, was steady and filled with experience.

"Don't overthink it," he said, his tone more reassuring than the words themselves. "Humans are a prejudiced lot. Even among themselves, they squabble constantly. I've seen it."

He paused, his gaze turning inward for a moment, reflecting on the years of conflict he'd survived. "Still, can you blame them for fearing the threat our kingdom poses? Think about it."

"You're not wrong," Meat admitted, nodding slowly, his brow furrowing as he considered Steel's words. "In the past, our kingdom did wipe out many human nations. Their hatred isn't baseless."

Boar's fists clenched, the anger he'd buried rising to the surface. "I just hate humans," he muttered, his voice hoarse with rage. "I want to crush every last one of them."

His words hung heavily in the air, thick with the weight of years of hatred, years of pain. Boar's family had been slaughtered by humans, and in his quest for revenge, he had killed many in return.

He was a soldier at the kingdom's border, fighting for the future of his people, until the day he encountered the Red Executioner.

In a single night, his entire battalion was wiped out. Boar had only survived by feigning death, the horrors of that night forever burned into his mind.

Steel sighed, knowing all too well the pain that drove Boar. He could see the fire in his eyes, the deep, seething anger that was rooted in loss.

"Boar," Meat asked, his voice hesitant, almost afraid to push too hard. "Is that why you're here? Why you keep fighting?"

Boar's gaze flickered toward Meat, his expression dark but resolute. "Yeah," he said, his voice hardening. "Got a problem with that?"

Meat shook his head slowly, his eyes softening with understanding. "No," he said quietly, his voice filled with empathy. "Not at all."