Chapter 6: Reason

Wade moved along the shadowed side of the house. 

As a skeleton without life signatures, his body was lightweight and his footsteps completely silent.

Wade had always thought that if skeletons could consciously conceal themselves, they would make perfect natural assassins.

His soul vision allowed him to clearly observe every movement of living creatures even in complete darkness, seeing right through walls as if they weren’t there.

Even now, while positioned behind the house, Wade could track the pirates’ movements with perfect clarity.

He could locate living beings by their vital energy signatures.

Not just the pirates – he could also see the villagers hiding in cellars or under beds.

In the wooden house to his right, two people were concealed.

He vaguely perceived two flickering flames of life – one significantly smaller, likely a child. Probably a mother and child huddled together under a bed, their trembling visible through their wavering life flames indicating their fear.

But their fear was unnecessary – no pirates stood outside their door.

Below ground on the other side, a group of life flames clustered together.

There must be some able-bodied men among them, using their bodies to barricade the cellar door. Wade could feel the vibrations of the door being battered against.

Pirates were trying to break it down. Besides those attacking the door, three or five pirates waited by the cellar steps, likely aiming crossbows and bows at the entrance.

The moment that door gave way, they’d release a volley of arrows before charging in to slaughter everyone, perhaps sparing one or two for interrogation about valuables.

Judging by the carnage already visible in the village, these pirates probably intended to leave no survivors – men, women, elderly or children. Wade had already seen dozens of innocent corpses staining the snow crimson.

Taking lives and wealth for personal pleasure – this was the pirates’ code.

The Vikings worshipped Tyr, god of war, believing everything was theirs for the taking.

True Vikings believed only those who died gloriously in battle could enter Tyr’s hall of Valhalla, achieving eternal life for their souls.

But judging by the pirate who’d wet himself earlier, these weren’t devout Vikings.

They lacked the courage to die in battle – just cowardly bullies preying on the weak.

Wade had encountered many such people in his past life – they existed everywhere.

He’d always kept his distance from such types.

Even when witnessing acts of bullying, he’d at most quietly report it to the nearest guards before moving on – never getting involved in the aftermath.

He’d had enough troubles of his own – who had time to meddle in others’ affairs?

Truth be told, he currently had many pressing questions demanding his attention:

Where exactly was he?

Why had he come to this place?

How could he see colors?

Had some subtle change occurred in him?

What was the deal with that ghost girl?

What did that symbiotic-like connection mean?

Was it beneficial or harmful?

…

Numerous mysteries concerning himself needed solving.

He could have focused entirely on these personal matters instead of coming to this blood-soaked village.

No one would blame him or demand he act out of justice or morality.

Rationally speaking, Wade didn’t consider charging into the village a wise choice.

He was just a lone skeleton – slightly stronger than those freshly risen from the mud perhaps, but still no match for numbers. If the pirates surrounded him, even his two fists couldn’t defeat their many hands.

Yet here he was.

Without any particularly noble reason.

He’d simply been reminded of the past.

Many years ago, when he first arrived in these lands.

Dressed strangely and speaking a foreign tongue, his mere presence in town had gotten him arrested and thrown in jail without doing anything wrong.

Later he became a slave sent to the mines.

Those were dark days without hope – daily meals of coarse rye bread mixed with chaff and bark, no bathing, sleeping on shared hay bedding crawling with rats and roaches amidst overwhelming stench of sweat, filth and waste.

Overseers would whip the slaves to ensure they met minimum mining quotas.

The thin lashes stung terribly without breaking skin – slaves were valuable property after all, the whips merely tools to motivate productivity.

Even sick slaves received treatment – albeit just random herbs to see if they’d survive.

Wade remembered those torturous days clearly. Unable to communicate due to language barriers and physically weaker than other slaves, he became a frequent target of bullying – his bread often stolen until he bit a chunk of flesh from someone’s hand to end it.

Despite the hardships, he never gave up, constantly studying his surroundings for escape opportunities.

He endured whippings to secretly hoard a pickaxe, memorized guard rotations and habits, used every spare moment to learn the language and writing.

He single-handedly prepared his escape – route, food, tools and weapons all ready.

But before he could act, he was miraculously rescued.

Someone overthrew the mine’s corrupt owners and overseers – cliché as it sounded, justice prevailed and innocent slaves were freed.

A golden-haired, long-eared elven mage waved her wand, removing Wade’s heavy shackles before healing his bruises, whip marks and wounds with magic.

That elf never smiled nor spoke kindly, but her help was genuine.

On that day of rescue, Wade had clumsily asked the elf mage in broken language:

“Why save me?”

He’d assumed the mine owners had crossed some rival faction, or perhaps some important person among the slaves was being retrieved, or maybe it was just official crackdown on illegal operations…

He’d imagined many reactions – cold indifference, religious recruitment, disgusted dismissal…

But the elf’s answer was simple: “Because people were suffering.”

People were suffering, so they came.

This possibility had never occurred to Wade – that he’d simply been rescued by good people.

Hard to believe, but subsequent experiences convinced him it was true.

Perhaps that truth was why he stood here now.

Silently, Wade entered a dark corner behind burning buildings with poor visibility.

His foot stepped on something soft – warm entrails from a gutted man in simple cloth garments lying in the snow, his vacant eyes staring forward as his hand left claw marks in the snow as if reaching for something.

Ahead came cruel laughter and helpless sobs.

A lone pirate had a woman’s wrists bound behind her back, beating her head and back with his sword hilt to subdue her.

“Stop struggling!”

His sword pointed threateningly at a swaddled infant on the ground.

Grabbing the woman’s hair, she carefully stayed silent despite her tears.

The infant whimpered weakly.

The woman stopped resisting and closed her eyes.

As the pirate fumbled with his belt, Wade approached unnoticed from behind.

Without hesitation, Wade struck.

Steel flashed, and something small thudded onto the snow.

Wade’s sharp skinning knife slit the pirate’s throat before he could scream, his terrified face hitting the ground as blood gushed from neck and groin.

A second thrust pierced his heart.

After killing the pirate, Wade cut the woman’s bonds and placed the infant in her arms.

The nearby house was empty of both villagers and pirates.

Wade broke the lock with his sword and motioned for her to hide inside.

The woman bowed slightly and entered.

Whether she saw the skeleton beneath his hood was doubtful – Wade had kept his back turned in the dim light where faces were hard to discern.

But he heard her words clearly:

“Thank you.”

The same words Wade had first spoken when rescued.

During those unbearable nights, he’d often wished for a hero to save him.

He remembered how blue the sky looked when the elf removed his shackles, how white the clouds, how beautiful the sunlight.

Wade believed those rescuers never regretted saving him.

He’d do what he could now – not to kill many pirates, but to save more suffering people like his past self.