Chapter 65: Alvado
Lucas and Wade re-entered the ravine. On the evening of the seventh day, they encountered a squad of ten Icelandic soldiers there.
All ten Icelandic soldiers were killed by them. Before leaving the ravine, they did their best to erase traces of their presence. The soldiers’ bodies were buried in the forest outside the ravine. The ice bear’s corpse was too massive to bury, so they pushed both the bear and their cart down the mountainside, letting them tumble into the rugged terrain and dense pine forests below.
Among the soldiers’ belongings, they only took the lightweight swords and bows, leaving everything else behind.
Although full plate armor was valuable, unfortunately none among them could wear those heavy suits weighing dozens of kilograms while still moving freely.
Neither Wade nor Lucas wanted to wear such armor. Wade disliked equipment that restricted his mobility – the plate armor would immobilize his joints, preventing him from utilizing his skeletal advantages when needed.
For Lucas, it was the same. Plate armor was purely defensive, and wearing it would reduce his agility.
Moreover, against a necromancer, plate armor wasn’t impervious defense anyway.
Rather than burdening themselves with such cumbersome gear, they preferred moving in their most familiar styles.
The two carefully traversed the ravine. This place served as a common route from Alvado into Creek Forest. Exiting here would lead to roads where Icelandic patrols might pass.
They hugged the cliffside as they moved. Fortunately, Wade didn’t detect any living presences.
Tania’s winters were lethally cold – no soldier would willingly stand guard so far from camp at night.
This area was already quite distant from Alvado town anyway – no sentry would be posted this far out. That squad had only come to this remote area to hunt the ice bear. Had Quasimodo not ordered them, they would never have made such a long trek.
Before actually reaching the Prague River and Alvado’s streets, the two didn’t need to be overly tense.
The mountain pines’ shadows completely concealed their traces. Even the night owls above couldn’t discern what moved beneath the forest canopy.
Yet when emerging from the ravine, Lucas couldn’t help pausing mid-step.
Before him lay the descending mountain path. The ravine was roughly an hour’s walk from Alvado – mostly downhill. From the ravine’s edge, the scenery below was clearly visible in the moonlight.
The Prague River’s main channel shimmered silver under moonlight, with Iceland’s majestic warships towering like mountains along both sides of the stone arched bridge.
Looking out, Alvado’s houses appeared as small as pebbles. The Icelandic warships and gray-canvas tents seemed miniature, as if one could pluck them up by hand.
Regimental tents surrounded Alvado. Even from this distance, sentries could be seen atop the warships’ mast platforms. Though midnight had passed, fires still burned – likely Icelanders gathered around roasting meat and drinking. Flickering lights dotted both riverbanks.
The aura of war pressed heavily. This familiar homeland, now occupied by foreigners, filled Lucas with sudden discomfort.
“Please come this way, Sir Wade,” Lucas gestured. “The descending path has iced over – mind your footing to avoid slipping.”
A stone seemed lodged in Lucas’s chest as he suppressed his unease to guide Wade.
Wade followed silently behind, mentally calculating time. This was the eighth night. On the seventh evening they’d encountered Icelandic soldiers in the ravine, then taken shelter in the gnome’s secret cave.
On the eighth morning, he’d discovered the gnome’s secret. Then Lucas had slept in a corner until just now when he awoke.
He still had one day left – tomorrow would be the ninth day. At dawn on the tenth, he’d return to the wasteland, so tonight wasn’t urgent.
Any further delay would complicate matters. By tomorrow night, he might have less than half a night remaining – hence choosing to depart on the eighth night.
He still had a full day’s buffer time.
Facing Quasimodo Vic – a fifth circle necromancer – head-on would be extremely difficult.
Fortunately their mission wasn’t to kill Quasimodo, just retrieve the Mist Stone.
This journey prioritized stealth and speed over combat.
Wade excelled at moving unseen in darkness. The two swiftly traversed the mountain path.
They encountered night owls once more along the way, but reached the foothills without incident.
Arriving at Alvado’s main road, they hid behind an old stone house’s shadow. The small, unwalled town lay just ahead.
Built along the Prague River’s banks, the town had the main channel flowing beside its buildings – far broader and swifter than Creek Forest’s tributaries.
Estimating by eye, it was roughly a hundred-meter-wide river, its rushing waters endlessly flowing. Lucas could smell the river wind and earthy water scent.
Actually this was already one of Prague River’s narrower stretches. Its estuary reportedly spanned a kilometer wide, with most sections two to three hundred meters across – truly a major river.
An ancient stone arched bridge connected both riverbanks.
Before Iceland’s occupation, Alvado’s guards would stand along the main road and bridge by day, collecting passage and goods taxes from merchants, adventurers and travelers.
Ordinary pedestrians paid just a few copper coins, while merchants paid additional taxes based on cargo weight and number of carriages.
Now both bridge and main road were occupied by Icelanders, with sentries posted even at night.
Drawing closer, Lucas and Wade saw gangplanks extending from warship decks to shore. Even this late, people were unloading cargo – bundled bows and arrows, military provisions.
Icelanders had planted torches along both riverbanks, continuously transporting war supplies ashore.
Apparently they intended to turn this town into a logistics base.
No death hounds were seen in the Icelandic activity zones.
But on the cobblestone official road leading into Alvado, a pack of death hounds guarded the entrance.
The Icelandic encampment kept considerable distance from the death hounds. Though Quasimodo had joined their ranks as an officer, the soldiers clearly avoided close proximity with a necromancer.
Whether this was good or bad remained unclear. While it suggested fewer Icelanders in town, it also confirmed Quasimodo Vic’s presence somewhere within Alvado.
Those death hounds stood like his personal guards, watching over his castle.
Any intruders entering without permission would be torn to shreds by those vicious undead creatures.