Chapter 4: Nightfall

Staring at the distant flames, the little ghost became restless again.  

Originally, she had just been curled up in Wade’s arm, but now she kept squeezing through the gaps between his ribs, almost trying to crawl into the hollow chest cavity of the skeleton.  

Wade reached out his hand, attempting to soothe the little ghost.  

He sensed that a deeper connection had formed between him and the little ghost, as if an invisible thread linked their souls, allowing him to truly perceive her emotions.  

She was afraid of the village’s firelight, or rather, the pirates raging within that firelight.  

Simply patting her head was no longer enough to calm her down.  

Wade could only return inside the wooden cabin. Under the glow of the oil lamp, he looked down at his lower half, where only bare bones remained.  

At that moment, he realized something: his beloved round-headed mace and the shroud covering his waist were both missing.  

He was completely naked, with nothing brought along.  

In the dream, he was naked—could it be that it was the dream version of himself who arrived at this cabin?  

Wade’s mind filled with doubt as he took down the hunter’s hoodie hanging on the hook.  

He put on the clothes—a gray cashmere hoodie, soft and warm inside, tough and thick outside, yet not restricting movement.  

For Wade, the hoodie was quite loose.  

If he were alone, he wouldn’t care much; streaking around would be fine. But with a ghost girl watching, being so exposed wouldn’t do.  

He casually took down the curved blade and the longbow as well. Although he preferred using a mace, having weapons was better than none.  

Wade pulled up the hood, tugged at the hem to smooth out the wrinkles. The little ghost wriggled in his arms and slipped inside the hood, her bright eyes peeking out stealthily.  

It felt like she treated the hood as a shell, like a snail retreating into its shell, pressing tightly against Wade’s bones.  

Wade really wanted to see what he looked like now. If he had a big scythe, he might even look pretty stylish, but unfortunately, there was no mirror in the cabin.  

He moved a bit, and the friction of his bones creaked and clicked.  

At that moment, an unusual noise made him look toward the door.  

In his view appeared two flames.  

Completely different from the soul fire of a skeleton, when Wade was on the wasteland, he could only rely on sound to judge the location of others of his kind. This was the first time he saw such fire—steady, continuous, full of life.  

Those were living people. The undead were very sensitive to the living; the dead longed for life and thus craved the flesh and souls of the living.  

Who were they?  

Villagers who escaped from that village?  

Or pirates?  

Doubt surged in Wade’s mind. He did not want to scare the villagers; he disliked unnecessary conflicts and misunderstandings. But if they were pirates…  

Wade crept closer to the wooden door, crawling along the planks.  

Skeletons could sense sound through vibrations; even the faintest noise could be detected.  

Wade kept as much of his body in contact with the ground as possible, focusing intensely on listening.  

Heavy footsteps sounded, accompanied by the clinking of iron.  

They walked at a steady, unhurried pace, breathing calmly, strolling leisurely.  

If they were fleeing villagers, they wouldn’t be so composed and unhurried.  

It had to be two pirates approaching the cabin.  

Maybe they were tracking the girl’s bloodstains, or following footprints.  

What led them here no longer mattered; what was important was how to deal with it.  

The ground was covered in snow, which disturbed Wade’s hearing. The two were very close now.  

A skeleton that cannot speak obviously cannot communicate with Viking pirates.  

Even a speaking skeleton couldn’t communicate with pirates; pirates showed no mercy, not even to their own kind. Expecting them to hug it out and then return to their own homes was a pipe dream.  

There was no choice. Wade hid the curved blade in his hand, lifted the oil lamp, and actively opened the door.  

The cold wind howled, snowflakes fluttered down.  

Wade couldn’t see the faces of the two men clearly, but the torches cast soft circles of light around them.  

Conical iron helmets and bloodstained iron swords reflected cold light in the firelight.  

The little ghost hid deep inside the hood, almost behind Wade’s head.  

Wade stood still, not moving.  

Although he had taken down the longbow, the wind outside was strong. He wasn’t sure if he could shoot well; missing would be worse than not shooting at all.  

He deliberately held the oil lamp out, hoping his appearance would scare the pirates.  

Actually, he should have taken off the hood to reveal his bony bald skull, but he was afraid the little ghost hiding inside the hood would be frightened.  

He didn’t know if the pirates were just bold or if they simply didn’t see that a skeleton was standing in front of them. They showed no sign of retreat and walked forward resolutely.  

One of them raised a longbow and shot an arrow at Wade.  

The archer was very accurate; the arrow pierced Wade’s chest, the wooden shaft stabbing through the sheepskin and slightly grazing his ribs, stopping in the chest cavity.  

Well, it seemed they really hadn’t realized they were facing a skeleton.  

Using arrows against a skeleton was really stupid; no matter how fast or accurate, arrows couldn’t harm a bare bone frame exposed to the wind. They took Wade for a reckless villager.  

In the pirates’ eyes, Wade was just a treasure chest stumbled upon by chance. Kill him, and they could “open the chest” to loot all the gold and silver inside.  

If so, he might as well use their plan against them.  

Wade pretended to be seriously wounded by the arrow, dropped the oil lamp, and clutched his chest.  

With a thud, he lay face down in the snow.  

Not far away, the pirate Hobart cheered loudly.  

“See that, Nelson!” Hobart boastfully waved his bow and arrow, “Even forest elves couldn’t shoot straighter than me. You’ll never learn archery like mine in your whole life!”  

Nelson didn’t reply, just strode toward the fallen villager.  

“Stop, Nelson!” Hobart’s expression changed, “That’s my prey. You’re not allowed to pick the spoils before me!”  

Everyone said Nelson was a fool, but Nelson knew who the real fool was.  

His steps were long; short-legged Hobart couldn’t catch up. He reached the cabin faster than his partner.  

Nelson saw Hobart’s arrow pierced this man’s chest. Even if he wasn’t dead yet, he wouldn’t be able to resist. The priority was to grab the valuable items first.  

Once in his pocket, don’t expect Nelson to spit them out. He bent down with a harmless smile to loot the corpse. That smile was innocent and honest.  

Suddenly, a chill and sting came from his ankle. He saw a skeletal hand like a withered branch stretch out from the sleeve and grab his ankle.  

Bones!  

Nelson’s hair stood on end. He raised his sword to chop down while a curved blade suddenly shot out from under the large hoodie, slicing an arc across his throat.  

Blood splattered onto the snow. He was too close; one cut severed his neck. The long sword dropped from his hand and stuck in the snow.  

Wade had severed the pirate’s carotid artery; the blood sprayed out like a fountain, unstoppable.  

Life and death sometimes hung by a thread.  

The tall pirate collapsed. Wade, still pierced by an arrow, stood up in a strange posture.  

Hobart was stunned; that was not a position a human could achieve. Wade didn’t get up on his own but seemed to be “lifted” by something.  

Hobart’s heart pounded wildly. He turned around and fled, sprinting away from charging forward to running away.  

Wade raised the longbow. He was a skeleton. Skeletons don’t run fast; although lighter than living people, they lost the muscles needed for agile movement.  

He could do some difficult moves that normal people couldn’t, like splits, and could maintain a horse stance all day, but fast alternating leg runs? No, that would cause joints to dislocate or wear out quickly.  

He understood he couldn’t catch a pirate in such difficult snowy terrain.  

He could only hope his arrow was accurate. If not, there was nothing to do but let the pirate go back and warn others.  

Of course, Wade did not want to expose himself. He nocked the arrow, the bowstring twanged, and the arrow flew out.  

Wade felt an indescribable sense of harmony. The arrow perfectly struck the pirate’s back, probably piercing his lung.  

The pirate fell, flinging fan-shaped snow tracks in the snow.  

The two flames of life extinguished. Wade killed two people with little effort.  

Surprisingly easy.  

He focused on listening in the darkness; no more living breaths nearby. He crouched down and searched the pirates’ pockets.  

These two tried to shoot him and loot his corpse; he had equal right to take their valuables.  

He hoped to find something useful, preferably a map or something to know exactly where he was.  

Unfortunately, he found no written items. The only somewhat valuable thing was a pouch of silver coins sewn inside the clothing.  

Besides that, there was oil.  

Each pirate had a pouch of oil tied to their waist—not animal fat that congeals in cold weather but some kind of plant or mineral oil. If Wade had a sense of smell, he might have recognized it, but skeletons have no noses.  

He thought this might be oil used by the pirates to keep their torches burning. More than that, something else caught his attention.  

He turned to look at the pair of eyes inside his hood. Since earlier, the little ghost’s gaze had not left the pirate corpses, as if something there held her attention captive.  

“You want… to eat?”  

Wade vaguely sensed her thoughts. He wasn’t sure but responded affirmatively.  

“If you’re hungry, go ahead and eat.”  

Then he saw an amazing scene.  

The little ghost crawled out from under his hood and floated above the corpses.  

A pale ball of flame drifted out from the not-yet-cold body of the pirate. Inside the fire was a distorted human face—the pirate’s soul, which seemed to be in great pain, its expression twisted as if burning.  

But his suffering soon ended. His soul was swallowed by the ghost in one gulp. Although only a bit was consumed, the ghost’s body solidified a little more.  

After devouring the pirate’s soul, the ghost returned to Wade’s side, attaching to the bone on his right shoulder.  

A faint warmth spread through him; it felt like Wade had knocked down a skeleton and absorbed its soul fire.  

This confirmed once again that he was not dreaming. He had truly left the wasteland and come to a land where the sun rose.  

If all of this was real…  

He turned to look at the village burning under the night sky. After a moment, he bent down and picked up the pirate’s sword.  

Right, there was one more thing he couldn’t forget.  

Wade returned to the cabin and gently touched the girl’s closed eyes.  

He pulled out the wooden arrow from her abdomen and carefully wiped the blood from the corner of her mouth with gauze, laying her body flat on the wooden floor.  

She looked as if she were asleep.  

Good night.  

Wade said quietly in his heart, closed the cabin door, and headed toward the village…