Chapter 13: Universal Gestures

“Nineteenth.”

Watching the pirate collapse before him, Wade counted silently in his mind.

He used his longsword to lift the pirate’s clothes, and sure enough, he saw the exact same oil pouch.

These pirates followed some kind of rule—each carried a bag of oil on them.

Wade looked at the burning houses with a thoughtful expression.

He picked up a pirate’s iron helmet and wore it to cover his skull, and also put on thick gloves on his hands.

He became even more careful while assassinating the pirates, making sure not to get a trace of oil on himself.

He reaped the pirates’ lives like a grim reaper. The pirates finally realized something was wrong—their numbers had been halved, yet no one knew who was responsible.

Wade could see that after the bodies were discovered, the remaining pirates gathered together, no longer moving in scattered groups. Every one of them converged toward the center.

That was the brightest spot in the entire village—a raging fire blazed, the licking flames melting the snow on the ground into water. One charred house collapsed under the heavy heat, glowing embers drifting, smoke billowing into the sky.

After killing another four pirates, Wade climbed onto a rooftop, standing on a roughly two-meter-high thatched shed, from where he could see the two people fighting in the firelight from a distance.

Mia sat on Wade’s shoulder. Wade had killed twenty-three pirates so far; twenty-three souls had been devoured by Mia. Even after consuming so many souls, she still hadn’t “grown legs,” merely clinging to Wade’s neck.

Snow continued to fall heavily. The Nidran lands where Wade had lived rarely saw snow in winter, let alone the barren wasteland full of sand and stones. Since Wade awakened in that wasteland, the only change in the sky was the pale moon.

This was Wade’s first time experiencing such heavy snowfall. The howling cold wind lifted the hooded sweatshirt he wore, and the northernmost snow seemed never-ending, as if it would bury everything beneath a pure white world.

Although a skeleton couldn’t feel hot or cold, Wade habitually tightened his hood.

He was somewhat surprised that the red-haired man wielding a spear hadn’t yet fallen.

About twenty minutes had passed since Wade first saw him. Without a wind-up watch, Wade couldn’t count the exact time, but the margin of error was probably no more than three minutes.

Wade had thought the man was already dead under the pirate leader’s sword, but he had actually been restraining the pirate captain alone.

However, his situation was dire. Suddenly, pirates around him began shooting arrows, and Wade saw a wooden arrow strike his back.

Wade quickly understood the reason the man could hold out so long was that others were merely spectators. The pirate leader was just toying with the man.

When Wade first arrived at the village, the pirates still had a hint of nervousness, but after killing a few people, they relaxed. They definitely never imagined half their number would die.

So just now, they had been watching the duel between their leader and the man like a spectator sport.

But now it was different. Twenty-three had died, and the people Wade killed were scattered across all directions of the village.

The surviving pirates could no longer treat this raid as a game. Each person’s nerves were taut as a bowstring, instinctively searching for the strongest in their ranks, gathering around their leader for inner comfort.

Wade was certain he had not been exposed; the pirates could not detect his presence. A skeleton undead like him was born for the night.

So many had died, yet no one knew the murderer’s true identity.

The fear of the unknown spread among the pirates.

In this world, the most terrifying thing was the unknown.

Humans were born afraid of the dark because they could not see what lurked within it.

The remaining pirates appeared orderly, but their morale was on the verge of collapse.

If their pillar of strength—the leader who led them to “unbeatable victories”—were defeated, they would surely lose their fighting spirit and panic to flee.

That would be the fastest way to end this raid.

Wade knew very well that he could no longer clear the pirates in his previous manner.

Those Vikings clustered together, raising shields, each nervously alert to everything in their sight.

If he fired one or two arrows from above and killed a few, he would be immediately discovered.

Skeletons had no wings and could not fly into the sky. Hidden in the shadows, Wade was a top assassin, but once exposed among the crowd, he was just a slightly stronger skeleton.

Five or six pirates wielding axes and longswords launching a pincer attack would be enough to chop him like firewood.

He lacked the ability to face the remaining pirates alone.

Therefore, the best tactic was decapitation.

Kill the pirate leader, and this tragedy would end.

There was only one chance. He climbed down from the eaves, deciding to get closer before making a move.

The position was still too far; the hunter’s bow had a range of only fifty meters. With the strong wind interference, the farther the distance, the worse the accuracy.

As he moved closer, the pirate leader, Sven, finally received a delayed report from his subordinates.

“Leader, Egil, Rast, and Oumu are all dead…”

Sven’s chief rower, Joseph Parker, reported to him.

Sven’s expression darkened. He couldn’t remember the names of all forty-three subordinates, but he knew who Oumu was—his rower. He had only two longships, each with a chief rower: Joseph and Oumu.

These two had followed Sven for a long time. For Viking pirates, an experienced rower was invaluable.

Sword fighters and archers could be found anywhere. The world was never short of swordsmen or bowmen, but a rower who knew how to read sea charts, steer, observe celestial phenomena, and identify constellations to determine directions by sight alone was an extremely rare talent.

Rowers were not for rough men to handle. Sven could not accept losing one of his only two chief rowers in such a small village. It was like losing an arm.

Just moments ago, Sven had been in a playful mood, but now his heart felt as if a blazing fire had exploded within.

It was like planning a casual outing but accidentally falling and throwing your precious sword off a cliff.

“How did Oumu die?” Sven asked in a low voice.

“His heart was stabbed through, and his throat was slit,” Joseph said quietly. “There were no signs of a fight at the scene. He was assassinated. The bodies we found were mostly like this, with a few others killed by arrows.”

“How many dead?” Sven suppressed his anger.

“Maybe more than a dozen,” Joseph said. “Leader, what’s the next step?”

Sven looked toward the red-haired man who had fallen. The man was covered in wounds; melting snow soaked his pant legs. He was gasping for breath, with five long arrows embedded in his back.

Despite this, he hadn’t fallen yet, barely standing by leaning on his spear.

The moment Sven’s gaze shifted to the red-haired man, pirates immediately raised bows and crossbows, aiming at him. At the order, he would be shot into a porcupine.

Sven raised his hand, signaling his men to lower their bows and arrows.

“Let me guess, you have a companion, right? Another professional, maybe a hunter specialization or rogue specialization? You two used to be adventurers or mercenaries?”

The man said nothing, only raised his hand and flipped Sven the middle finger.

“Tanians, you are very brave. Not bad,” Sven sneered. “I hope you can keep being this brave.”