Chapter 42: The Twisted Creature

Wade positioned himself behind the sewn beast. The reason he didn’t allow Lucas to follow was due to the undead’s unique perception of living beings. 

If Lucas had also stepped out of that alley, the sewn beast wouldn’t have remained motionless as it was now. The moment it sensed living humans approaching, it would have gone berserk under its bloodthirsty impulses.

In that case, Wade couldn’t have quietly reached the sewn beast’s side.

Upon closer inspection, the artificial cuts and stitches covering its entire body became clearly visible.

Where fur had fallen off and limbs connected, they were sewn together with some kind of white thread.

Perhaps the necromancer was trying to imitate Cerberus, the legendary three-headed hellhound that could spew three different magical flames. The necromancer had stitched two additional wolf heads onto the main body of a male winter wolf.

Its limbs were abnormally thick – not wolf forepaws, but hooves covered with keratin, resembling those of another magical beast.

Additionally, there were patches of multicolored fur identical to those undead wild dogs.

To fill gaps from the cutting, the necromancer had used flesh and skin from wild dogs.

Not only that, within that rotting carcass, Wade could sense a soul distinctly different from a beast’s.

It was a human soul. Probably to grant this sewn beast greater intelligence, the necromancer had merged human and beast souls together.

It seemed… to be a young soul…

From a necromancer’s perspective, young souls should be easier to control and more suitable for taming.

Any normal person seeing this sewn beast would only find it bizarre and twisted, experiencing physical revulsion.

Wade was no exception. As a skeleton retaining memories from life, with his soul continuing within him, the things that had long constituted his being didn’t change just because he died.

He couldn’t accept this twisted sewn beast before him.

Struggling against other lives for survival was necessary.

Tanians raised sheep – shearing wool when needing warmth, milking them when needing food, or slaughtering them. Wade saw nothing wrong with this.

But this sewn beast was absolutely unnecessary – it was forged through suffering and misery.

Did he feel anger?

Somewhat. But more than that, it was sorrow.

Sorrow for the wailing, tormented soul within this carcass.

If Lucas stood here, he’d only find it terrifying, but Wade could hear the weeping in the darkness.

Wade held his sword in his right hand while placing his left on the sewn beast’s back.

The sewn beast didn’t become enraged; it remained lying atop the pile of corpses.

After quietly observing for a second, Wade raised his glowing sword and slashed down.

When blade met rotting flesh, it produced a sizzling sound like water poured on red-hot iron.

The sword’s glow intensified, radiating some holy power. Finally burned by the strike, the sewn beast stood up, emitting hoarse, indistinct sounds.

The crude stitches couldn’t properly function as skin or tendons – chunks of rotting flesh fell to the ground as it rose.

Pain drove it mad. It kicked at Wade, attacking whatever had struck it.

Wade bent down to dodge. The sewn beast was larger than him, with too many mismatched limbs and flesh chunks crammed onto its body, making it appear bloated and enormous.

Its movements weren’t agile – far inferior to Sven’s – but its strength was tremendous.

The sewn beast’s kick hit a stone wall nearby. The wall, constructed from clay-straw mortar and heavy rocks, collapsed from the impact.

Had that kick landed on Wade, he likely would have been sent flying several meters like that stone, crashing down hard with his bones shattered.

However, its movements were too predictable, too sluggish.

Its massive size meant it needed obvious wind-up to gather strength.

Thanks to his combat experience with Sven, Wade excelled at evading such sweeping attacks.

The sewn beast’s pounces, kicks, and bites were all dodged by Wade with minimal movements.

After each attack, when it couldn’t reposition, Wade would counter with his sword.

Yellowish liquid gushed from its wounds. Lucas, hiding in the alley, suddenly smelled an indescribable stench. Nauseated, he vomited uncontrollably.

What was that smell?

Lucas felt his stomach convulse. Hearing those bizarre, low growls, he wondered – was Sir Wade fighting that thing?

Should he go help?

Feeling dizzy, Lucas realized the stench contained some toxin. He immediately held his breath, pouring water from his canteen onto a towel to cover his nose and mouth.

Was Sir Wade really alright?

He heard no clanging of metal, yet desperately wanted to see what was happening.

But in his current state, going out would only cause trouble.

Leaning weakly on his spear, he stared down the alley.

It was getting dark; night would fall soon. Snow still drifted down, and he suddenly felt unbearably cold, shivering violently.

He feared those growls might continue endlessly. If Sir Wade didn’t return, what should he do?

Flee recklessly back the way they came?

Again he felt lost and uneasy, but soon heard something heavy collapse.

The stench remained, but quiet returned to the alley’s end.

Wade had thrust his sword into the sewn beast’s central head. The blade’s power burned away the evil energy within this undead creation.

The stench and toxins had no effect on a skeleton. Unaffected, Wade felled the sewn beast.

This twisted body could no longer maintain form, collapsing like mud in heavy rain.

Wade sheathed his sword. Mia floated before the pile and, with Wade’s permission, extended her small hand to release the trapped souls.

To spare those pitiful souls further suffering, Wade allowed Mia to break them down into basic magical energy.

Several clusters of light merged into the translucent little ghost.

Mia transformed back into mist, entering Wade’s helmet and curling into her tiny sleeping bag to focus on freeing those entangled souls.

No other undead monsters remained in this village – this was the largest one.

Or perhaps it had been abandoned here. Throughout their journey, Wade and Lucas found anything valuable had already been taken.

The necromancer likely considered this sewn beast a failed experiment, carelessly leaving it in this deserted village to rot.

Wade cleaned his sword in the snow. The blade bore no stains, its glow extinguishing as vibrations ceased.

Sheathing his sword, Wade returned to the alley.

An anxious Lucas saw the black-clad wandering knight emerge unscathed from that narrow passage. His helmet bore some filth – he wiped it casually with a cloth before approaching Lucas.

Lucas grasped the knight’s outstretched hand. Those cold iron gauntlets pulled him upright.

Following Wade, he emerged from the alley to the square, where the collapsed stone wall, that horrifying twisted monster, and charred corpse pile filled him with terror.

In awe, he thought – Sir Wade actually defeated such a monster alone.

A necromancer had truly been here, leaving behind such a dreadful sewn abomination.

He suddenly recalled the winter wolves they’d encountered before entering the mountain path. Now he realized that pack likely shared connections with this monstrosity before him.