Chapter 44: Rekindling Hope

“They’re back! Father, Uncle Lucas and the others have returned!” Avery, who had been keeping watch, called down to the people below the slope.

Bardel let out a sigh of relief. Night was falling, and he had been about to order everyone to turn back toward the mountain path. Fortunately, Lucas and Wade returned before they had to retrace their steps.

The two men descended the slope and rejoined the villagers.

“Sir Wade, you should rest first,” Lucas said. “I’ll explain the details. Tonight we’ll make camp here and change our route tomorrow.”

Wade nodded and went off by himself to find his deerskin pack. He retrieved a dry cloth and fetched some water from the large pot, intending to thoroughly wipe away the filth on his body—the stench was simply unbearable. Though he couldn’t smell it himself, the expression on the old woman ladling out the water made it clear the rotting odor still lingered.

While Wade cleaned his gear, many villagers gathered around Lucas, eager to learn what had happened in Bronte Village.

“Lucas, what’s the situation?” Bardel asked.

“Terrible,” Lucas replied.

Those two words sent the atmosphere plummeting.

“First, let’s prepare to camp. We’ll spend the night here.”

“Avery, take some people to set up the tents,” Bardel instructed. “Get the fire going.”

“Yes, Father.” Avery called some men away to retrieve the canvas from the ox carts. The young men took up axes to chop deadwood and light the bonfire.

“What exactly happened?” Bardel pressed.

“A necromancer,” Lucas said grimly.

“A necromancer…”

Several timid women paled instantly. Some young children burst into tears at the mere mention of those words. Compared to Viking pirates, the name “necromancer” struck far greater fear into the hearts of children. Adults often used necromancers to scare children into obedience, warning that if they didn’t come home before dark, a necromancer would snatch them away and turn them into skeletons or zombies, never to see their parents again.

“A real necromancer?” Even the elder Bardel looked shocked. “Could… could there be a mistake?”

Truthfully, he had already smelled the stench of death on Wade and Lucas, but he still hoped it was just bandits or something else that had invaded Bronte Village. A necromancer was simply too terrifying for ordinary folk. At least with sword-wielding Vikings, one could take up arms and fight for their life. But facing the unfathomable power of a necromancer, Bardel couldn’t even muster the courage to resist.

“No mistake,” Lucas said. “Sir Wade and I saw many corpses in the village. There were no survivors left in Bronte. We encountered rotting undead wild dogs and even faced a massive sewn beast made from magical beast carcasses.”

Lucas described to the villagers what he and Wade had encountered in the village. Beyond the packs of dogs, he focused particularly on the sewn beast.

“You wouldn’t want to meet that monster. It was as big as a stone house, with three wolf heads. The limbs that supported its movement weren’t wolf paws but something like goat hooves.”

“Every time it moved, I felt the ground tremble.”

“The thing had terrifying strength—it could kick down stone walls with a single blow. Yellow liquid oozed from the seams between its flesh, and the stench was worse than anything I’ve ever smelled. It nearly knocked me unconscious.”

“So… after encountering that monster, you just ran back?” a woman asked. “Oh gods, how can we camp here tonight? What if that thing follows us? We’ll all die! Every last one of us!”

An oppressive weight settled over everyone. The woman’s outburst spread anxiety through the group. Both young and old began to panic. The monster Lucas described was too horrifying. These villagers had already fled their homes, seen their villages burned by Viking pirates, trudged exhausted through snow for ten days, and encountered winter wolves. Everyone’s physical and mental endurance was nearing its limit.

It was the hope that “once we cross the Klavi mountain path and reach Bronte Village, we’ll be safe” that had kept them going this far. When they first glimpsed those stone houses, they had finally relaxed—only to now be told they’d fallen into another abyss.

Despair, unease, terror, anxiety…

The pent-up negative emotions threatened to erupt like a volcano. Once that happened, this group would lose all motivation to press forward. People without hope were mere walking corpses—they’d never make it through the Ravine Forest to Alvado on foot. Many would give up along the way.

Lucas understood this, which was why he was deliberately triggering these emotions now. He had to give the villagers a new pillar of support, which was why he’d taken such pains to describe the horrors of the sewn beast.

He declared, “Of course we can camp here tonight! Why? Because that terrifying necromantic sewn beast has already been slain by the valiant Sir Wade!”

“This noble visitor from distant lands defeated that monster without suffering a single scratch. The packs of undead dogs in the village also fell to his sword.”

“To my shame, I didn’t even get a chance to raise my weapon before Sir Wade single-handedly dealt with all those monsters.”

All eyes turned toward Wade, who was polishing his helmet in the distance. Wade paid them no mind and continued with his task. He knew what Lucas was doing—they’d discussed it on their way back.

If Wade were truly a lone adventurer concerned for his own safety, the wisest choice would be to refuse traveling further with these burdens. More people meant a more conspicuous target. Necromancers were universally reviled, and since that one had appeared near Bronte Village, he would undoubtedly try to prevent news of his presence from spreading—which meant killing everyone he encountered. If this villager group was discovered, the necromancer would surely attack.

Traveling alone meant lower chances of detection and greater safety. But if Wade left, it would reduce this group’s chances of survival to virtually zero. They’d never make it forward.

Choosing between one’s own life and the lives of many was difficult. But Wade wasn’t actually an adventurer—he was a skeleton, and this was merely his avatar. He chose to continue with the villagers, having accepted their quest to safely escort them to the nearest town with a magistrate—Alvado. This was his first mission, and he wanted to see it through successfully.

So when the Tanians looked to him with hopeful eyes, what he needed to do was remain calm yet distant, maintaining his air of mystery. He displayed his sword, sharpening the blade with a whetstone. The rhythmic clang of metal on stone synchronized with the villagers’ pounding hearts.

Gradually, the villagers quieted. There was no laughter, but everyone began busying themselves—chopping firewood, pitching tents, setting traps. They cooked meat stew and, following Lucas’s advice, abandoned excess baggage, slaughtering livestock to preserve as food stores.

Wade didn’t participate in these physical tasks, but his mere presence provided hope, helping people regroup. Since ancient times, it had always been this way—every group needed someone to lead them forward.