Dungeon King: A Lady Knight Offered by My Goblins

Above Bogart’s head, a massive Magic Circle appeared. 

Light shot out from within the circle, annihilating the Wraiths crawling out of the Space Magic Circles. Seeing Bogart remaining silent, Ethan opened his mouth again:

“…Wraiths, heed my summons, become my loyal servants, never to betray…”

The Wraiths from the Space Magic Circles, which had been momentarily subdued, once again roared with fervor. 

They were like hounds finding their master, ready to traverse mountains, valleys, and even through fire and brimstone to reach Ethan’s side.

Hearing the thunderous roars, a chill ran down Bogart’s spine as he loudly proclaimed, “Stop it now! The final step is to find the Grip of the Underworld – the staff of the God of Wraith!”

“The Grip of the Underworld?” Ethan’s expression shifted, intrigued. It sounded like a divine artifact.

“Where is it?” Ethan pressed further.

“It’s in someone else’s hands; you must retrieve it yourself,” Bogart replied swiftly, realizing the urgency. He knew if he didn’t answer promptly, Ethan would dare to recite the entire summoning curse.

Bogart was powerful, possessing the strength of an Angel deity. 

However, the Wraiths summoned by Ethan were also formidable, some even reaching the Demi-god level. 

This made Bogart apprehensive. 

If Ethan inadvertently summoned a deity-level Wraith, the entire library would be thrown into chaos.

Would the treasures accumulated over hundreds of thousands of years by the Wraith Cult be destroyed in a single moment by Ethan’s hand?

Indeed, as Ethan ceased his provocation, the Wraiths from the other dimensions began to recede.

Bogart unleashed the Light Forbidden Spell [Salvation of All Beings], obliterating the Wraiths that had already emerged and instilling fear in those attempting to break through. 

Observing the library’s space returning to tranquility, Bogart wiped away non-existent sweat and said, panting, “Ethan, is this all something you just learned?”

Learning? 

Ethan didn’t need to actually learn; as soon as the books were recorded into his system, he automatically assimilated and understood the arcane knowledge. 

“Of course. Those parchment scrolls of the Wraith Cult? I just had to glance at them to learn,” Ethan stated matter-of-factly, without a hint of emotion.

Bogart’s lips quivered, as if he wanted to say something, but ultimately, he remained silent. 

Just a glance and he learned? 

Could Ethan really be a reincarnation of the supreme deity? 

Was he the chosen son of god by the supreme deity himself?

Bogart’s mind was in turmoil, his heart pounding wildly. 

Could the restoration of the Wraith Cult’s glory fall upon Ethan’s shoulders? 

As Ethan’s guardian, would he not share in the glory?

“Hey, what are you thinking about?” Ethan called out, observing Bogart’s dazed expression and pursing his lips. Surely, at his age, he wasn’t succumbing to senility.

Snapping back to reality, Bogart looked at Ethan with fervent eyes: “Nothing much, just astonished by the strength of your talent.”

Ethan was already immune to such low-level, blatant flattery. 

His subordinates and NPCs in Dark Lord City had long since raised his threshold for vanity fulfillment. “Cut the useless talk. Tell me where the Grip of the Underworld is. Is it a divine artifact?”

Watching Ethan’s impatient demeanor, Bogart coughed softly and adjusted his appearance: “Please allow me to introduce myself. My name is Bogart, one of the ten Entourages of the God of Wraith.”

“Ten Entourages?” Ethan thought of the Wraith giant guarding the gate. “Then, do you know Sheimodo?”

“Of course,” Bogart replied with a warm smile. “Sheimodo and I are well-acquainted, both serving under the supreme deity.”

Ethan slightly tilted his head back in a gesture of respect. 

A supreme deity, certainly a deity. 

Working close to a deity, Bogart’s strength must also be formidable.

“Please continue,” Ethan said.

Bogart’s smile remained, speaking gently as a soft breeze: “The Grip of the Underworld is indeed a divine artifact, the scepter of the Lord of Wraiths. Possessing it grants control over the entire netherworld, making all Wraiths your servants.”

Ethan’s heart nearly skipped a beat. 

The Grip of the Underworld, now that’s a true divine artifact. 

What was the Blasphemous Spear in comparison? 

Indeed, a divine artifact engraved with the Law couldn’t match up to one that had been used by a deity. I think you should take a look at

A deity’s divine artifact, steeped in time, inscribed with countless Runes of Law, possessed infinite power.

Compared to that, the Runes of Law on the Blasphemous Spear were too few. 

Against truly formidable divine artifacts, it was insignificant. 

Ethan could almost picture the Grip of the Underworld covered in Runes of Law, each movement wielding immense power.

“Where is the Grip of the Underworld?” Ethan asked eagerly.

Bogart extended his hand, and a mirror of light appeared in the air. 

In it, Fernard was buried in a mountain of books, appearing distracted and daydreaming. 

Ethan could tell at a glance that the youngster was lost in thought.

Beside Fernard stood a massive throne, and next to it leaned a staff about three to four meters long. 

The staff, twisted from three colors, was topped with a skull radiating a holy light. 

“The Grip of the Underworld is right beside this person,” Bogart stated without hesitation, blatantly betraying Fernard.

Ethan had no interest in the throne; his sole focus was on obtaining the Grip of the Underworld. 

“Who is this person?” he asked warily.

“He is named Fernard, a member of the trialists of the god,” Bogart replied, conveniently omitting his relationship with Fernard.

Hearing the term “trialist of the god,” Ethan felt a jolt in his heart. 

He instinctively measured Fernard against himself. 

Given his own ascent to the status of trialist of the god through sheer power, Fernard’s strength likely wasn’t lacking and might even surpass his own.

Ethan realized the challenge ahead. 

Facing an adversary whose strength was nearly equal to his own and whose capabilities were unknown required extreme caution and strategic planning.

“You should go and take the Grip of the Underworld now,” Bogart urged in Ethan’s ear.

Ethan frowned, a sly smile playing on his lips. “You seem in a hurry. Do you have a conflict with this person?”

Disgust flashed across Bogart’s aged face. “A conflict? No. But Fernard is lazy, negligent, and he has used the Grip of the Underworld carelessly and chaotically on multiple occasions. As the divine artifact that belongs personally to the Lord of Wraiths, having it in the hands of someone like Fernard is an insult to my lord.”

Ethan’s curiosity piqued, he responded indifferently, “Hmph, you clearly possess strong power. Why don’t you confront him and take back the Grip of the Underworld?”

Bogart’s wrinkled face revealed a trace of embarrassment, his cheeks even reddening slightly, though it was hardly noticeable given his aged appearance. 

He sighed, “Ah, because he was the trialist of the god appointed by me, I cannot lay a hand on him.”

The turn of events surprised Ethan. Bogart was Fernard’s chosen trialist of the god. 

Feeling Bogart’s awkwardness under his gaze, Ethan listened as Bogart spread his hands in a helpless gesture, “Who knew? Such a person managed to obtain the Grip of the Underworld. I thought he was chosen by the lord, but now it seems he must have acquired it accidentally. The Wraith Cult has been without a leader for many years, and in my haste, I gave Fernard the trialist of the god mark. But now, it appears to have been a mere accident.”

The trialist of the god mark – Ethan stretched out his hand, looking at his palm. 

He was about to mention that the mark of the trialist of the god was this, but then he noticed the gold-embossed skull emblem in his palm had become incredibly dull and unclear. 

Surprised, he asked, “What’s going on? Why has my gold-embossed skull emblem become so dull and indistinct?”

Bogart’s mouth curved into a reassuring smile, “Don’t worry, this is normal. The trialist of the god mark is essentially a manifestation of powerful energy, and this gold-embossed skull emblem is, in fact, that energy.”

“You just used the Wraith Summoning Forbidden Spell, which caused the energy of the gold-embossed skull emblem to be expended, hence its dimmed appearance.”

“So that’s how it is,” Ethan realized, a hint of understanding dawning in his voice. 

He had harbored some doubts in his mind, considering his own abilities seemed inadequate for casting the Wraith Summoning Forbidden Spell, yet he had executed it with surprising ease. 

He had thought it was perhaps due to the specific location he was in.

Inside, Bogart cursed Sheimodo for not making the critical details clear to Ethan. 

Thus, he felt compelled to explain it himself with great attention to detail.

“This gold-embossed skull emblem, which is not only the mark of the trialist of the god but also a blessing from the supreme deity, possesses power equivalent to a full-force attack of a deity-level entity. It serves as both protection and a reward for each trialist of the god.”

“The reason I was so urgently trying to stop you,” Bogart continued, his eyes flickering away momentarily, yet steadying as he spoke, “was not because of fear… ahem… It was primarily because I was concerned about you depleting the energy of the gold-embossed skull emblem.”

“What does it mean if it’s fully depleted?” Ethan asked, his curiosity piqued.

Bogart’s voice took on a solemn tone as he explained, “Once it’s depleted, it signifies that you have lost the qualification of the trial of the god, and you will be expelled from this realm.”

“And to have wasted such a blessing on me, that’s truly regrettable,” he added, an undercurrent of remorse in his tone.

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