Chapter 38: Radiant-Class Weapon

At night, the men took turns keeping watch.

Under Lucas’s guidance, they set up simple trigger traps around the camp.

The materials were cowbells and grass ropes. The cowbells hung from taut grass ropes stretched between trees, with the rope height mimicking the leg lift of a deer to ensure only large creatures would trigger them.

Additionally, they scattered winter wolf urine and powdered dung around as territorial markers.

The urine and feces had been collected during dissection. Winter wolves were apex predators in the wild and, like hunting dogs, marked their territory with urine. Scent-sensitive beasts would instinctively avoid areas carrying a winter wolf’s scent.

This was an effective and convenient precaution that adventurers often used when camping in the wild.

After setting up defenses, women, elders, and children were given priority to rest in the tents.

The younger men laid out grass mats by the fire, covering themselves with wool blankets as they slept leaning against each other.

Wade sat alone by an outer campfire, cradling his sword.

He didn’t need sleep. Five days had passed since his skeletal form arrived in the snow plains, yet he felt no fatigue.

Mia was different – she spent half of each day dormant. Right now, she was sleeping in a small cloth pouch Wade had hung inside his clothing.

Wade had specifically tied this pouch near his ribs as a tiny sleeping bag for the little ghost.

He pretended to maintain his iron sword, taking out a bowl of mutton fat to coat the blade. Wealthy adventurers could afford alchemist-made sword oils that provided temporary enhancements like “Sharpness,” “Magic Piercing,” or “Fortification.”

Poor adventurers made do with animal fats – mutton, pork, or beef tallow would suffice to lubricate and protect their blades from wear during combat.

Wade seemed to cherish this old iron sword dearly, which only made the sheathed sword at his waist more intriguing.

Lucas speculated that must be the wandering knight’s primary weapon, while the plain iron sword was merely a backup.

He probably used the iron sword against ordinary foes, reserving the better blade for more formidable monsters.

Perhaps it was even a graded supernatural sword.

Fine-class, Excellent-class, or higher still – a Radiant-class weapon imbued with magical properties or divine runes. Which category did it belong to?

Could it possibly be even rarer – a Destiny-class weapon bound to its wielder’s soul?

Lucas remembered the bard who had stayed in his village one spring during his childhood. That long-eared male elf had taken temporary lodging because he adored the Tania lilies that bloomed only during the tundra’s brief spring.

With poetic words, the elf had filled young Lucas’s ears with wondrous adventure tales.

Lucas had always loved stories about adventurers discovering treasures.

His eyes would shine while listening, and when he left home at sixteen to seek his fortune, he often dreamed of braving perilous ruins to find an ancient sword waiting millennia just for him.

In those dreams, he’d raise the sword, light would pierce the heavens, and he’d become its destined master – slaying evil dragons, driving out villains, with bards singing of his deeds.

The dreams showed him as peerlessly heroic, though waking always revealed only drool-stained clothes.

After seventeen years of struggle, all he’d managed to afford was a Fine-class Tania military spear.

Not exactly common goods, but only graded as Fine due to traces of dragonblood ore used in its forging. It possessed no special attributes, its sole virtue being durability.

Extremely durable – his old companion had lasted nearly a decade with only a few shaft repairs, the spearpoint remaining as sturdy as ever. Unlike Lucas himself, who’d gone from a fresh-faced youth to a scruffy-bearded man, his prime long past.

Come to think of it, that Viking pirate captain’s sword was likely a genuine Radiant-class weapon.

Radiant-class weapons started at a hundred gold coins – enough to make any poor man sigh in resignation.

Lucas accepted he’d probably never own such a weapon in this lifetime.

He’d made peace with reality – he wasn’t the protagonist of adventure tales, not even a supporting character. At best, he was background scenery, standing around in adventurer guilds while real heroes took quests.

People like this wandering knight, or that mysterious savior of the village – they were the true protagonists.

Suddenly curious, Lucas wondered what past experiences had shaped the knight now polishing his blade.

He chuckled wryly upon realizing this thought.

Thirty-three years old, yet he still hadn’t outgrown this habit.

But that was just him – if not for this insatiable curiosity, he’d never have become an adventurer anyway.

Having slept enough in the oxcart during daytime, Lucas felt no drowsiness and walked over to Wade.

“Sir Wade, may I join you?”

Wade looked up at Lucas. He didn’t mind company by the fire.

But Wade gave the impression of a solitary eccentric, making Lucas’s approach puzzling.

Was he trying to be friendly?

Or probing for information?

Hard to guess Lucas’s intentions with so little interaction between them.

Wade didn’t refuse, nodding permission for Lucas to sit wherever by the fire.

It suited him anyway – he wanted to learn more about professional warriors.

Lucas sat opposite Wade but didn’t barrage him with questions. Instead, he explained their group’s circumstances.

“Sir Wade, you might wonder why we’re driving livestock through deep winter with women, children and elders in tow.”

“As you see, we’re no merchant caravan – just homeless refugees.”

“A Viking pirate band attacked our village over ten days ago. They burned our homes, leaving the area unsafe. We voted as survivors to journey together to Alvado and seek refuge with the viscount.”

Lucas continued unprompted, vividly recounting the pirate attack details.

He was quite eloquent, with keen attention to particulars.

From his perspective, Wade heard the full account of that day’s events.

Incidentally, he also learned his supernatural longsword was graded as Radiant-class – truly a rare treasure.

Lucas concluded, “In the end, we never learned that hero’s identity. May the goddess bless and protect him.”

Wade thought, I’m right here, perfectly safe – though you’d jump out of your skin if I took off this helmet and stared at you face-to-face.

But Wade kept these thoughts to himself, instead writing in the snow with a stick.

He asked whether Lucas could discern any special properties of the longsword.

Not that he expected genuine appraisal.

Still, this former adventer might offer useful insights.