Chapter 109: Ancient Spirits of Valor

“Who are you?”

Wade thought to himself – I’m a baker. I died ten years ago, then some bastard probably dug up my grave, and now I’m a skeleton. Don’t mind all this blood on me, I’m actually great at baking bread. Miss Dragonkin, want me to bake you a loaf?

If he actually said that, the dragonkin would probably spit blood in disbelief.

It sounded like the drunken ramblings of someone high on drugs – the kind of nonsense nobody would believe. Even from the dragonkin’s perspective, it would just sound insane.

Yet reality was this absurd and unreasonable.

When Wade had been baking bread daily in Helburg ten years ago, how could he have imagined that a decade later, he’d become a skeleton wearing Viking pirate gear, fighting at the edge of the icy sea?

If someone had told him that back then, he’d have thought them a lunatic and immediately called the guards to haul them away.

Wade silently sighed to himself. The question seemed simple, but he genuinely didn’t know how to answer.

However, after the dragonkin spoke in Common Tongue, Wade tapped his sword hilt against the prison bars in response. 

This was his way of signaling – I understand Common Tongue, keep using it to communicate.

The tapping also served as his attempt to establish dialogue.

Since the dragonkin knew so many languages, Wade figured she must be literate. 

If speech wasn’t possible, they could write. That’s how he’d communicated with the Tanians before.

But the same problem remained – no writing tools available.

Wade was gaining profound appreciation for the daily struggles of being mute. While others spoke effortlessly, he had to painstakingly write each character – when writing was even possible at all – and the recipient might not even be literate.

Yet seeing the bloody ice wall Mia had created gave Wade sudden inspiration.

Perhaps Mia could serve as his scribe.

He attempted mental communication with Mia. The little ghost floated to his side, somewhat understanding as she released magical energy.

Blood began flowing under magical control. Mia could manipulate blood’s movement – just as she shaped ice and snow with magic, she could also make liquids take desired forms.

So Wade had Mia write messages in blood on the ground.

The problem was Mia barely understood the concept of writing. She’d been illiterate in life, and no one had taught her after death.

As a ghost, she’d only recently “turned one month old.” While her magical skills advanced rapidly, culturally speaking… well, she remained completely illiterate.

Though Common Tongue wasn’t a complex pictographic system – just a simple alphabetic language – expecting someone without basics to write complex sentences was too much.

Wade had Mia write only the simplest phrases.

Blood flowed into the cell, forming words before the dragonkin:

[We come from afar]

[No intent to kill]

These were the two brief phrases Wade had Mia write. The characters looked slightly awkward, though Mia’s control kept them neatly formed – just with the stiffness of someone long unpracticed, giving them an odd appearance.

The dragonkin stared dumbfounded at the bloody words.

The dead from distant lands had truly communicated with her.

These undead before her showed none of the mindless aggression lower undead held toward the living.

They were rational, possessing intelligence like living beings.

Initially, the dragonkin had assumed these undead were some necromancer’s minions. 

Having witnessed the battle between pirates and slave traders from her cell, and seeing the undead dressed like Viking pirates, she’d thought a necromancer had joined the fray.

But now it appeared no necromancer was involved – these undead themselves possessed intelligence.

[We come from afar] – the dragonkin pondered this phrase.

What constituted “afar”? 

Distance could make somewhere far, but the truest distance was the flow of time and history.

She’d tried multiple languages to communicate, yet the undead only responded to Common Tongue.

The most widespread, longest-enduring language on the continent.

Though now called “Human Common Tongue,” in ancient times all races had used it.

The dragonkin knew its true name – Norse. That was its original name. During the Golden Age, a vast federation spanning most of the continent had united various races under Norse.

Now, after countless millennia and epochal changes, that federation was forgotten, most unaware of Common Tongue’s origins – yet Norse survived, still used as the universal language.

Norse had barely changed. The dragonkin had read third-era stone tablets and could fluently read the original “Saga” inscriptions in Common Tongue.

Logically, intelligent undead would be at least Gold-rank.

Yet from the recent battle, while the undead defeated the soldiers, it wasn’t completely one-sided.

If they’d been high-level undead like death knights or liches, those Icelanders wouldn’t have stood a chance.

A death knight could drain lives just by standing there. Liches needed no explanation – their transformation rituals and spells had been lost long ago. Any remaining liches were ancient beings surviving multiple epochs.

Each of those ancient liches was a terrifying monster obsessed only with the most profound, forbidden magical research, holed up in towers or desolate tombs, caring nothing beyond knowledge and worldly mysteries.

Liches wouldn’t bother conversing with a dragonkin. These undead weren’t that kind of evil high-level undead.

The dragonkin sensed they might be benevolent. That ice wall had protected even her.

The three young Icelandic recruits had merely been tied up and placed in a corner.

It seemed the undead were deliberating how to handle the living prisoners, not simply killing them for convenience.

Spirits of Valor.

The term suddenly surfaced in the dragonkin’s mind – entities seemingly similar to undead yet fundamentally different.

In ancient wars, to combat powerful shadows, blessed warriors voluntarily became Spirits of Valor, continuing to fight for justice even after death.

The dragonkin had only heard legends – that when shadows descended, Spirits of Valor sensing evil would awaken and return.

These skeletons before her seemed like awakened Spirits of Valor.

They truly came from afar – the distant river of time. Awakening to a world no longer familiar, their memories likely fragmented. After millennia, who could remember their original selves?

The more she thought, the more convinced the dragonkin became.

The Spirits’ power was still awakening, hence their current weakness, but their combat skills remained – that sword formation was ancient Norse technique long abandoned today.

Indeed, they had no intent to kill, merely confused by present circumstances. The Icelandic soldiers attacked first, forcing self-defense.

And seeing the dragonkin’s plight, they’d shown compassion, extending aid with the protective ice wall.

Otherwise, why would mere skeletons bother blocking arrows?