Chapter 137: The Path of Life
The head bloated with fat rolled across the snow like a ball. Its eyelids blinked halfway as it gazed at the collapsing body behind, the mouth on the severed head slightly opening and closing as if trying to utter something, but no sound came out.
The arrogant Sir Bowers had died just like that – beheaded by an angry young man from a fisherman’s family.
Yet no one could avenge Sir Bowers. His personal guards had been impaled by continuous ice spikes.
The bone-drawn sleigh arrived like the grim reaper itself. In an instant, dozens of skeletal soldiers appeared on the snow sled.
The skeletons leaped down from the snow, forming circular battle formations in groups of five. With synchronized thrusts, each strike cleanly eliminated an Icelandic soldier.
Seeing the situation turn dire, the Icelandic knight on his tundra horse turned and fled.
The moment the snow appeared, he had already begun his retreat.
Amid the drawn-out sound of hoofbeats, the knight pulled sharply on the reins, making his horse rear up before galloping away in panic without looking back.
Wade noticed the knight’s glance backward. Through the visor of his helmet, their eyes met.
Ice spikes erupted from the snow but failed to pierce the knight’s mount.
The knight had escaped too far. To save the villagers about to be executed, Wade hadn’t prioritized dealing with the Icelandic knight, allowing his escape.
Only the Icelandic knight managed to flee the fishing village. Sir Bowers’ personal guards and several Icelandic soldiers all fell to the skeletons’ spears.
Half of the red sun slowly dipped below the horizon. Beneath this semicircle of sunset, the terrified villagers huddled together.
Parents clutched their children; families and friends pressed close for comfort.
The young man who had beheaded the noble took advantage of the chaos to cut others’ bonds too.
Everyone trembled in their tight circle, surrounded by skeletal soldiers.
Facing these terrifying undead that seemed straight from the underworld, the fishermen could only feel fear.
Yet the knife-wielding youth mustered his courage to stand at the front of the crowd, confronting the bones.
Wade saw the young man’s hands shaking, his legs trembling, yet he still shielded the elderly and his younger sister behind him.
He had found the courage to kill a brutal noble, and now faced these lifeless bones.
Wade stood before the youth, who licked his chapped lips in silence. Then Wade sheathed his sword.
Behind him, the skeletal soldiers uniformly withdrew their weapons in perfect sync.
Only then did the youth realize these skeletons hadn’t killed a single villager.
The earlier ice spikes had only targeted Sir Bowers’ personal guards. Since arriving at the fishing village, they had only slain the violent outsiders.
An unbelievable thought formed in the young man’s mind:
Could these skeletons… be here to help them?
As the youth and villagers trembled, Wade looked at the corpses scattered through the village.
The departed souls spoke to him, making their desperate pleas.
Wade crouched halfway and extended his hand. Wisps of soul floated from the dead villagers’ bodies.
Flickering like fireflies in the night.
Wade saw visions of the nobles and Icelanders committing atrocities, heard the noble’s commands clearly.
So this poor nation had already surrendered to the Icelanders.
These pitiful souls begged for their families’ survival.
The first to resist had known exactly what fate awaited those condemned to slavery.
They had tried negotiating with Sir Bowers, begging for more time to gather sufficient food and valuables.
But the fat noble had predetermined the villagers’ fate before setting out. He ordered them all bound, then gathered everyone in the village clearing to publicly behead their chosen representatives.
Killing the village leaders served as warning – disobedience meant death.
These departed souls yearned to find a path to survival for those who had believed in them.
Just to keep living – even this humble wish proved nearly impossible.
Wade sighed silently, his heart heavy.
The lingering wisps of will drifted past Wade. A woman holding a swaddled infant saw one particular light and suddenly burst into tears.
The little girl who had been slapped by the noble whispered timidly to the maiden beside her:
“Big sister… is that father?”
The maiden knelt and hugged her sister tightly.
Her hands, roughened by endless labor, bore frostbite wounds that still oozed blood.
The light hovered above the maiden’s head. A breeze brushed through her hair like a gentle caress.
She saw her father’s faint image – the reliable, stubble-faced man smiling at her.
Tears flowed uncontrollably as the maiden sobbed against her younger sister.
“Papa! Big sister, look! It’s Papa!”
“Mmm.” The maiden wiped her tears.
The souls finally drifted toward Wade, joining him just like Alvado’s departed souls had, becoming one with the fifty-three spirits already accompanying him.
Night fell. On the distant horizon, Dragon’s Spine divided the world like an impassable wall.
“Papa! Papa!”
“Vaisha! Come back!”
The little girl called to her father in childish tones.
She slipped past the youth, crossed that invisible boundary, and approached the skeletons.
Suddenly she froze, falling into the snow.
The skeletons terrified her beyond tears.
Yet one skeleton crouched and extended its hand.
“Danger!” the youth shouted, starting forward.
But he stopped after half a step.
The girl reached out and grasped the icy hand.
In the faint glow, the lifeless bones helped the little girl up, simply brushing snow from her clothes.
Several days later, at the cliffside port:
The dragonkin led a group piloting snow sleds across the tundra.
The heavy oak sleds carried weather-beaten fishermen in tattered clothes.
The dragonkin bowed to the skeleton in black robes: “Come down now. I’ll take you somewhere warm.”
With uneasy hearts, the fishermen boarded the sleds, making a wide detour across the tundra.
The sleds finally stopped at a cave beneath the cliffs. Inside the vast cavern, warm charcoal fires burned.
They instinctively gathered around the fires for warmth while ratfolk and catfolk deeper in the cave observed the newcomers with curiosity.
Over the central firepit, a massive iron pot bubbled with steaming white fish soup, its mouthwatering aroma filling the air.
“Eat. This fish soup was prepared especially for you.”
Stone bowls and spoons already lay arranged before the pot.