Chapter 104: The Mage's Numbers
Everyone was stunned. That bear-like Viking berserker had died so easily. Time seemed to freeze for a moment, with expressions of shock and terror frozen on every face.
Wade turned his gaze toward the pirates. Every single one of these pirates had blood on their hands. They had come to these lands during wartime—certainly not to uphold justice—so he showed no mercy.
Only the most ruthless pirates dared act so brazenly near the Dragon’s Spine. Their crimes were enough to hang them ten times over. Their decorations told the story—some even wore human skulls around their necks, the severed halves lined with silver edges, transformed into drinking cups. After pillaging, these Vikings would sit in their victims’ homes, guzzling ale.
Since Wade had encountered these Viking pirates, he might as well rid the world of this scourge.
Mia was even more enthusiastic than him about killing pirates. She had never forgotten those Vikings who laughed amidst the flames. Her hatred for Viking pirates ran bone-deep, and these bastards had attacked her and Wade first.
Wade could feel Mia’s fury. In the dim light, the pirates probably hadn’t noticed the palm-sized ghost, but they soon experienced her wrath firsthand.
The snow beneath the pirates’ feet began moving. From her sled, Mia released magical energy that spread through the snow toward the pirates.
Crack!
The snow suddenly transformed into ice spikes shooting upward.
The frost-powered ghost reshaped the ice effortlessly. Massive spikes impaled the pirates’ bodies, piercing through leather armor and all. Several pirates found themselves skewered through the torso.
The two-meter-long spikes were sharp as spears, their entire protruding sections stained red with blood. Entrails and organs dangled from the icy protrusions.
Seven pirates died instantly. The frozen expressions on their faces showed only confusion—they hadn’t even realized what happened before the massive spikes ended their lives, at least granting them painless deaths.
In this snow-covered environment, Mia’s combat effectiveness multiplied. The terrain gave her tremendous advantage. In warmer climates, she couldn’t have instantly created spikes this large—just freezing the water would have drained much of her magic.
But here in the snowfields, ice and snow were everywhere. She didn’t need to freeze anything—just compress and shape existing snow, then launch it. This was far simpler than creating ice puppets or controlling bone beasts. For her, it was as easy as clenching a fist and releasing magic.
She had reached the power level of a third-circle mage. Among professionals of the same rank, mages commanded the highest status.
Not because magic required more talent, making mages inherently superior. Even if baking bread became ten times harder than learning spells, a baker would never surpass a mage in status.
What made mages noble was their mysterious spellcasting abilities, their reality-defying magic, their power to eliminate enemies from great distances. What made mages noble were their numbers.
A third-circle mage capable of casting fireball could become a mobile artillery platform in wartime. When facing monsters you couldn’t defeat, a fireball scroll might save your life.
In armies, third-circle mages sometimes held higher status than Silver-rank commanders because they could accomplish what warriors and archers couldn’t.
Mia’s current power made her a terrifying frost ghost. Though palm-sized and seemingly harmless, she showed no mercy when killing.
Wade always treated her like a child—her temperament and playfulness did resemble a child’s—but one shouldn’t forget her true nature. She was a phantom born from death and suffering. By human standards, she was unquestionably a monster, a cursed undead.
If she continued advancing, she would become a soul-sucking banshee that made people tremble in fear. Such spiritual beings, composed of soul and magic, were closer to mystery and spirituality than human casters.
It seemed Wade wouldn’t need to act. Ice spikes kept rising, impaling pirate after pirate like criminals on execution racks, their deaths gruesome.
As for the black-clad men, Wade and Mia hadn’t attacked them yet. Wisely, they didn’t provoke the duo either, just ran around in panic.
These men had already been broken by the Viking pirates. Now facing supernatural undead, they couldn’t muster any resistance, only thinking of escape.
Wade let them run. Where could they go in this empty snowfield?
To Wade’s eyes, the remaining ten or so black-clad men stood out like candles in the dark. Unless they grew wings and flew away, he could track them wherever they fled.
Wade prioritized dealing with the pirates. Though the pirates scattered, realizing escape was impossible, they seemed to decide on a final desperate charge.
Now wary of the ice spikes, their erratic movements made Mia’s attacks harder to land.
Weapon-wielding Viking pirates roared as they charged the undead. In their faith, only warriors who died in battle could enter Tyr’s Valhalla, so true Viking pirates rarely fled combat.
The remaining dozen pirates charged with swords and axes raised.
Mia stopped summoning ice spikes, worried about accidentally hitting Wade. Instead, she concentrated pure frost energy, trying to freeze them to death.
But Wade stopped her this time—he wanted to see how those ancient military sword techniques performed in actual combat.
Mia obediently withdrew her magic but remained seated on the sled, coldly watching the pirates. Death was all she wished upon them.
The pirates crashed into the undead formation. Wade raised his sword as the skeletons formed defensive stances.
The undead moved like dancers—bones separating and reuniting in circles, resembling an operatic ballet where every sword swing felled a pirate.
This unit moved as one, with coordination surpassing even blood brothers who grew up together.
Pirates fell one after another—throats slit, hearts pierced, corpses littering the snow.
Some were professionals. The first berserker had been one, and among the last survivors were two more—both swordsmen.
Only Iron-rank swordsmen. Their combat skills involved powerful slashes and charges. Wade didn’t know the techniques’ names but recognized their rigidity—possessing supernatural power but no adaptability.
Once Wade discerned their patterns and starting motions, he directed the skeletons to evade.
Darkness fell as the sun disappeared below the horizon.
The two swordsmen fell to the skeletons’ twin-blade formation, helpless against it.
Mia extracted the pirates’ souls from their corpses, consuming them without hesitation. After spending magic controlling bone beasts for two days and a night straight, she needed sustenance.
After eliminating the pirates, Wade sent two skeletons to loot their equipment. More gear meant more armed skeletons. The heavy snow could carry plenty.
That left the unidentified black-clad men. Wade took five skeletons on the sled to hunt them down.
Despite their desperate running, the men were quickly overtaken.
Bone beasts blocked three black-clad men’s path as Wade stood on the sled, staring them down.
The middle man knelt. The other two immediately followed, trembling.
Perhaps recognizing the undead hadn’t intended to kill them yet, they chose surrender.