Chapter 100: Pirate Equipment Set

The heavy oak sled lay quietly amidst withered bushes, its runners made of oak and metal nails buried in snow. The brackets connecting the runners to the baseboard were frozen solid with a layer of thick ice, slender icicles growing along the edges. Under the pale sunlight, those finger-length icicles sparkled transparently.

This snow sled had been abandoned here for over a month. Before leaving last time, Wade had stored its canvas cover and performed basic preservation on the remaining items, covering the weapons and armor with waterproof canvas. Now snow had completely filled the sled’s platform, even burying the oak benches meant for sitting, leaving only small exposed wooden frames visible.

Wade displayed his double-sided card and summoned ten skeletons. A full day had passed, resetting his summoning power. Together with the skeletons, he cleared the frozen icicles from the sled, snapping them off by hand and using stones to shatter thinner ice layers, peeling them away like eggshells.

Mia used her magic to remove the accumulated snow inside. Extending her small hand, she released her magical power like a miniature tornado, sending the white snow swirling into the air, creating a light snowfall. Wade and his team cleaned this oak sled that had endured over a month of exposure.

Removing the canvas cover exposed numerous one-handed swords to sunlight. Aside from the rusted sword Wade had taken earlier, eight spare swords remained on the sled. Most were typical Viking swords – shorter than knight’s swords at less than one meter, slightly longer than Wade’s arm, estimated around 80 centimeters. The pommels had cloud-shaped counterweights with three or five arcs.

Many Viking swords were single-edged. A brand new Viking sword could sell for about fifteen silver coins – these were steel swords of good quality, more expensive than ordinary iron swords. In Icelandic armies, usually only cavalry could afford a fine Viking sword. Even secondhand Viking swords could be worth around a thousand silver coins.

Sven Freud’s crew had been exceptionally wealthy, equipping every member with swords while keeping eight spares. Through plundering, they had lined their pockets handsomely. Additionally, there were over ten sets of sealskin armor with matching helmets and leg guards, thick wool fabrics, and five bearskin sleeping bags stored at the sled’s rear.

The wool fabrics served as Viking bedding for warmth, while the sleeping bags were personal items for elite warriors and helmsmen. These seemingly plain items were actually quite valuable. But the most precious item was the oak sled itself – far more expensive than carriages or carts. To compare, this heavy sled was like a northern nation’s war chariot, military equipment capable of battlefield maneuvers, worth as much as a small transport ship. In perpetually frozen regions, carriages couldn’t compete with sleds.

Wade had returned specifically for this sled and its equipment. With this being wartime’s beginning and over half the pirate crew dead here, Wade was certain those cowardly pirates wouldn’t return. After all, moving this sled required more than a few people – at least ten strong adult men and four to five reindeer or tundra horses to pull it away. Even then, it could only serve as transportation with no market for resale.

During war, encountering armies while transporting such valuable equipment as leaderless pirates would predictably end badly. Had Sven survived – a Silver-rank professional warrior leading them – armies might have negotiated to hire them as mercenaries. But with Sven dead, a dozen remnants without professional status couldn’t expect bargaining power. Any army discovering this sled would confiscate it unconditionally, likely conscripting the pirates as cannon fodder or shackling them for labor.

The pirates had fled in terror, so Wade was certain the sled remained untouched. Those who escaped valued their lives more – those who prioritized money over survival had died in the village.

Wade drew a Viking sword with a metallic ring as the sharp blade left its sheath. All swords had been maintained, their oiled surfaces gleaming. Testing a blade on nearby bushes, the shrub cleanly severed at his swing. He then thrust downward through the cut branch, skewering it precisely on his swordtip. Wade’s control was exact – these dehydrated branches were brittle, requiring perfect force to pierce without shattering. A dull blade couldn’t have lifted the wood fragment – it would have simply smashed it.

These were fine swords, far superior to the iron sword Wade had originally taken. He’d avoided using Viking swords initially to prevent suspicion – these blades were virtual signatures of Icelanders and Viking pirates, standing out conspicuously in Tania. The pointed iron helmets and sealskin armor also offered better protection than the rags and clothes Wade had originally scavenged, deliberately choosing nondescript items with no identifiable craftsmanship.

Back then, Wade had lacked understanding of his location, condition, or dimensional travel, opting for conservative choices to minimize risks. But now, after his journey, he possessed sufficient intelligence. He no longer needed to disguise himself as human to infiltrate towns. Besides, in war-torn regions, no peaceful towns existed – military control differed completely from civilian governance, making infiltration impossible through mere clothing changes.

No more concealment was necessary. This time, Wade didn’t use an enclosed helmet to hide his skull. He donned pirate armor, wore their iron helmet, and wielded their sword. From behind, he resembled a lean Viking pirate – his skeletal gaps lacked muscular filling. But facing him would terrify anyone – children would tremble and cover their mouths at the sight. Dark soul fire burned in his hollow eye sockets as ten skeletons clad in pirate gear and swords stood behind him.

The undead encircled the sled with drawn blades, embodying ancient legends from the Northern Tia region – tales of ghost ships in fog and spectral hunters in darkness. The age-old Wild Hunt myth seemed to have returned to the land that birthed its telling.