Chapter 43: The Hound and the Necromantic Core

“Sir Wade, did you retrieve the necromantic core from the sewn beast?” Lucas asked.

Necromantic core? What was that?

It sounded like something that functioned as the beast’s heart, providing it with energy.

Wade shook his head. He hadn’t searched through the creature’s remains.

“We should find that thing,” Lucas said. “If we deliver the necromantic core to the Twilight Church, they’ll immediately understand the severity of the situation.”

Lucas paused before adding, “And there might be a reward from the church too.”

Wade nodded. Might as well look for it then.

Lucas tied a wet cloth around his face as a makeshift mask.

Gritting his teeth against the stench, he used his spear to sift through the rotting flesh.

Wade casually poked around with his iron sword.

Not knowing what the necromantic core looked like, he just pretended to search for anything unusual.

It didn’t take long before Lucas dug out a grayish crystal from the beast’s torso.

About the size of a chicken egg, the round crystal contained swirling murky liquid like thick mud inside.

“This is it!” Lucas exclaimed.

He maneuvered the core onto the snow with his spear, then knelt down to clean it with fresh snow wrapped in a clean cloth before handing it to Wade.

“Sir Wade, this is your spoils of war. You should be the one to keep it.”

The moment Wade touched it, he sensed magical energy pulsing within the crystal.

Strangely, he felt he could channel the magic stored inside.

If the “necromantic core” was a magical crystal that powered undead creatures, then theoretically, as a skeleton, Wade should be able to use it too.

He’d find some private time and place to test that theory later.

Wade stored the gray crystal in the pouch at his waist.

Night was falling. Having explored most of Bronte Village and completed their investigation, Lucas suggested returning to regroup with the other villagers.

He figured Sir Wade must be exhausted after such a fierce battle, even if uninjured.

A single necromantic core would be proof enough of their encounter.

After hearing about the horrors they witnessed in Bronte Village – the rotting undead – no villager would doubt their story anymore.

Seeing nothing left to explore, Wade made no gesture to continue forward and turned back with Lucas.

Where their initial approach had been cautious and halting, their return journey was quicker.

Soon they reached the alley where they’d encountered the first death hound.

Wade paused, pointing between his legs to indicate he needed to relieve himself.

Lucas waited outside the alley, tactfully turning his back and moving out of sight.

The wandering knight was particular about privacy, always keeping himself fully covered. He surely wouldn’t appreciate company during such moments.

Lucas knew how to read situations – a skill honed through middle age.

Wade found Lucas pleasant company. During the Viking raid, he’d seen the man stand his ground. When the winter wolf attacked, he’d shielded the oxcart.

This Tanian might lack extraordinary talent, but he was the kind of reliable companion you could trust at your back – someone worth befriending.

Had Wade still been alive and met Lucas in some peaceful town, he might have invited him for drinks at a tavern, perhaps getting thoroughly drunk together.

But such opportunities were gone forever.

Now Wade needed to fabricate an excuse to send Lucas away.

There was unfinished business here.

Approaching the “corpse” of the death hound, Wade picked up its severed head and reattached it to the body.

During their fight, he’d taken care not to damage the dog’s skull.

These death hounds shared skeletal structures with undead – their soul fires resided in the skull. Once the flesh rotted away, you could see the soul fire burning in their eye sockets.

As long as the skull remained intact, they weren’t truly dead.

The body was unharmed too. When Wade had raised his sword, he’d actually stabbed the snow beside the dog – a small sword mark remained visible nearby.

Upon closer inspection, one could spot a collar around the dog’s neck.

Unlike the wild packs they’d encountered later, this wasn’t a stray. It had been someone’s pet.

Not a soul bound by necromancer’s curse, but a rare naturally occurring undead.

Wade could clearly sense the difference. Those corpse-eating packs, like the sewn beast, existed only in torment, so he’d released them with his blade. But this little dog was different – it had arched its back upon seeing Lucas out of fear.

When Wade first saw it, the dog had only been chasing ravens, not feeding on corpses.

Wade understood why the dog lingered here. Brushing aside snow nearby, he uncovered a frozen corpse – an elderly woman with deep wrinkles.

A severe sword wound marked her abdomen. Someone had cut her down in this remote alley.

The dog bore a similar wound. Both had been slain by blades.

The old woman still clutched a wooden basket, as if she’d gone out shopping – perhaps for meat to celebrate the New Year with her companion.

But someone had murdered them both, leaving their bodies abandoned as the entire village was slaughtered and looted.

When decay set in, the dead dog became undead.

The transformed dog never left its master. It didn’t understand why it had changed, nor why its owner lay motionless in snow, no longer patting its head or playing.

Since its master remained, so did the dog, guarding this corner.

When ravens descended to peck at its owner, the dog lunged, killing them.

It kept unwavering vigil over the deceased, even as flesh rotted away, even without hearing its name called, even with only fragments of soul remaining – still driving off those ravens.

Wade hadn’t wanted to harm this once-beloved pet, hence his performance for Lucas earlier.

Now he reattached the head, using soul fire to fuse it back. The dog stood again.

As Wade stroked its head, the creature showed no aggression – at least not toward him.

Its first act upon reviving was to nudge its master’s stiff, cold hand.

With soft whimpers, it sat down resuming its loyal, foolish vigil.

“Sorry to disturb you,” Wade thought silently.

He gave the dog’s ears one final pat before leaving.

This place would likely remain undisturbed. Let the dog keep its eternal watch.

This was its wish. When touching it, Wade had glimpsed sunlit memories:

On some distant bright day, a stray puppy hiding under trees was scooped up by an old woman.

“Don’t you have anyone for Harvest Festival either?”

“Would you like to come home with me?”

A voice aged yet gentle, like lilies blooming in spring.