Chapter 41: Wild Dogs and the Sewn Beast
A death hound.
It could only be a death hound—the rotting flesh and the stomach-turning stench all proclaimed its identity.
Lucas held his breath; he never wished to see the undead anywhere.
Naturally born undead were extremely rare. In his thirty years of life, Lucas had only seen them four times in total.
Such dangerous creatures only emerged where death congregated.
They were symbols of disaster and curse; wherever the undead appeared, plague and death inevitably followed.
Wild graves, heaps of corpses on battlefields… those restless souls dragged their decaying bodies forward, fiercely aggressive toward all living beings, recklessly lunging to tear apart any living person they encountered.
Even if one defeated an undead with a sword, infection from their plague and curses was unavoidable.
Could this be the work of a necromancer?
Could Bronte Village have encountered a terrifying necromancer?
In a split second, Lucas’s mind raced with many thoughts.
If it was a necromancer who had slaughtered an entire small mountain village, it wouldn’t be so strange and could explain why Bronte Village was so silent.
This forbidden profession, harshly banned and wanted by the Twilight Church, was a blasphemous madness defiling the dead and souls.
They were among the most dangerous groups in the world. No nation welcomed a necromancer; anyone caught secretly researching necromancy would be sent to the stake by noon the next day, burned alive into charcoal.
Lucas had grown up hearing terrifying rumors about necromancers—evil people who dug up graves, wandered battlefields’ edges, and sometimes went to remote places to dismember the living.
He wanted to leave the village immediately. If a necromancer had really come here, their situation was more dangerous than facing Viking pirates!
Lucas’s instincts told him to detour, to abandon the main road, even the cattle and sheep, and discard excess luggage. The only choice was to travel through the Ravine Creek Forest toward Alvado.
There, they could report the traces of Viking pirates and necromancers.
The rest was for the Twilight Church and the border viscount to handle. This was no longer an affair for people of their rank.
He only hoped the possible necromancer was not currently in the village.
Retreat…
Lucas gave a thumbs-up signal, motioning Wade to quietly retreat without disturbing the death hound before them.
However, the death hound suddenly lifted its head and looked at Lucas.
Its mouth was full of black raven feathers; it lowly snarled, fangs dripping fresh blood, arching its back to threaten Lucas.
They had been discovered!
Lucas’s heart plummeted to the bottom of the valley with a thud.
His heart pounded fiercely. Legend said necromancers could see through the undead they controlled. He felt exposed to the necromancer’s gaze.
The corpse dug out from the snowy ground earlier flashed before his eyes. For a moment, he felt that shattered, pocked appearance would be his fate.
If Lucas were a civilian or a novice adventurer, he would have been so scared his legs would give out and his hands tremble too much to hold a weapon steady.
But seventeen years as an adventurer taught him to react quickly. He still gripped his spear, aiming its tip at the undead’s head, preparing to pierce the death hound’s skull with one thrust.
Yet someone moved faster than him—a black-clad wandering knight flashed forward.
A gleam of sword light passed, the ferocious dog’s head flew high and landed in the snow.
Lucas only saw Wade’s back, his slightly tattered clothes shielding him from the heavily rotted dog corpse.
He saw Wade hold the sword with both hands, blade pointing down, driving the sword fiercely through.
It seemed he stomped on the death hound and pierced it with the sword.
Then, there was no further movement.
Lucas’s tense nerves relaxed a bit.
Having a reliable and powerful teammate really brought much peace of mind.
He was incredibly grateful to have met such a strong and admirable knight on the road.
After killing the death hound, Wade beckoned again, motioning for Lucas to follow him forward.
Lucas was stunned for a moment, but unknowingly followed behind Wade.
Originally, he was the guide, but their roles had reversed.
This gentleman from Nidran, even without speaking, carried a commanding charisma through his actions that made Lucas follow involuntarily.
In fact, Lucas wasn’t very familiar with Bronte Village either.
He had only been here five or six times, using it as a transit point to resupply and rest.
He barely knew the open areas’ terrain, but like the wandering knight, both were outsiders to the village’s inner paths.
That death hound had been discovered first by Wade, so Wade should lead the way.
Lucas thought Wade’s insight must be much broader than his own as a low-tier adventurer who had never left Tania.
Since Wade wanted to gather more information, he would follow.
A seasoned adventurer always carefully considered the details before accepting a mission and prepared thoroughly.
Knowing more about the enemy meant greater chances of victory.
The two weaved through this village with steep ups and downs along stone steps.
Lucas was surprised by the wandering knight’s keen insight. Every time Wade stopped, something awaited them ahead.
After encountering the death hound, they fought twice more.
Both times, Lucas had no chance to act.
Wade’s sword easily pierced the heads of those undead wild dogs.
Besides the initial single death hound, they encountered two packs of undead dogs—three in the first pack, four in the second—each swiftly dispatched by Wade’s one sword per dog.
The wandering knight treated the death hounds like chickens, stabbing or smashing their heads with his sword, then the monsters stopped moving.
Lucas’s unease slowly dissipated under Wade’s calm.
This time, Wade raised his hand again, no words needed; Lucas instinctively stopped and raised his spear.
They still had about twenty steps before the next corner, but Wade had already raised his sword early.
Lucas sensed the creature ahead was different from the feeble death hounds; otherwise, Wade wouldn’t have prepared so early.
Gripping his spear tightly, Lucas counted ten steps when Wade stopped, turned to him, and pressed his palm downward.
He pointed at himself, then ahead, then at Lucas, pressing down again.
Fearing Lucas might not understand, he wrote in the snow:
“I go, you stay.”
Four simple words, very direct.
Lucas hesitated slightly. Wade seemed to intend to handle the creature ahead alone.
Did he think Lucas would be a hindrance?
After all, Lucas was an iron-rank professional warrior. Even wounded, he was still capable of fighting—just not at full strength. He was confident he could solo a militia under ten people even while injured.
But looking at that rust-stained black helmet, he finally chose to trust him.
“If you need help, please tap your sword on your shoulder armor. If I hear it, I’ll come assist,” Lucas said.
Wade nodded and gave a thumbs-up, then went alone.
He walked neither fast nor slow, like a warrior tempered by countless battles in blood and fire.
His silhouette was weathered yet full of strength.
Wade indeed had fought many battles. In his dreams, his clashes with Sven totaled one thousand three hundred sixty-three times, each etched in his heart.
He did not fear combat, but when he stepped out of the alley and saw the creature, he still felt pressure.
Its silver-white fur stained with filth, three sewn-together heads with stitches, broken limbs, and rotting flesh falling off due to decay.
It was a horrifying creation—a necromantic sewn beast made from a winter wolf’s body.
Wade sensed the soul trapped in pain and struggle, howling but unable to end its hellish torment. Only time could free it, though no one knew when the pain would cease.
“A pitiful soul.”
As fellow undead, it did not notice Wade’s arrival and still crawled among the charred corpses, weeping tearlessly.
Mia floated beside Wade. Wade sheathed his iron sword and drew the radiant-grade longsword.
Since entering the village, he had felt vibrations from this longsword. He did not know how to wield a radiant-grade longsword, but the runes on the blade lit up on their own when facing the necromantic sewn beast, releasing pure white faint light.