Chapter 67: Mia's Growth
Wade had Mia leave his helmet. The little ghost materialized behind the two of them, dimming her natural glow.
This was actually the time when the little ghost would normally be sleeping. Ever since Wade destroyed that sewn beast and Mia absorbed its soul, she had been spending more time curled up in her sleeping bag.
She slept about three-quarters of each day now, only remaining awake for the remaining quarter. During her soul digestion periods, she wasn’t very active – which was fortunate, given her restless nature. Keeping her confined for too long would make her visibly frustrated.
But today, she had finally finished breaking down and absorbing the sewn beast’s soul energy.
Her vitality was palpable – not a trace of sleepiness remained as boundless energy coursed through her. She seemed to have grown slightly again, learning how to conceal the faint glow that normally accompanied her presence in complete darkness.
However, since joining the Tanian refugees’ group, she hadn’t had any opportunities to play. Her free-spirited nature had been bottled up with no outlet, and the pent-up Mia seemed desperate for some way to vent.
Unfortunately, neither the time nor place was appropriate. This wasn’t an environment where she could freely float about.
Wade had called her out for one specific purpose – to lure away that death hound.
Both he and Lucas were doused in Ash Potion. The death hound had only heard some noise rather than detecting intruders. Any alternative disturbance that could draw it away would prevent Quasimodo from noticing them.
A mischievous ghost happened to be perfect for this job.
Following Wade’s instructions, Mia floated upward, crossing over to the other side of the mottled wall.
Wade and Lucas currently hid in the brewery courtyard, concealed behind the remains of an apple tree stump while pressing against the stone wall. Just ahead stood the brewery’s aged wooden fence, through whose gaps they could see the death hound stitched together with necrotic threads.
The death hounds in Alvado were markedly different from those in Bronte Village.
Bronte Village’s death hounds were severely decayed, with patches of rotting flesh revealing pale bones beneath. While terrifying in appearance, ignoring their stench and potential disease transmission revealed their actual combat capability fell short of a healthy wild dog’s.
Those death hounds in Bronte Village, along with that twisted sewn beast, were likely just casual amusements created by some necromancer.
But Alvado’s death hounds were entirely different from those rotting abandoned creations.
The death hound before Wade and Lucas was hairless, its skin pallid and gray yet completely free of decay – one might even describe it as “taut.” The skin clung tightly to prominent muscles. While similar in size to ordinary wild dogs, its aura of power and threat dwarfed any natural canine.
The necromancer had extensively reconstructed this creature, likely preserving only the basic skeletal structure and outward form. What lay inside could no longer be called a “dog.”
Among its rows of sharp fangs were teeth resembling those of a winter wolf. Its gaping maw was fitted with a steel muzzle – a weapon secured by leather straps and chains that functioned like a collar around its neck, with metal plates protecting its head. When it bit down, those sharp metal implements would pierce and slice through targets like blades.
These death hounds had been transformed into terrifying weapons. Their undead nature meant even being bisected wouldn’t stop them from maintaining their deadly grip.
Combined with the necromancer’s corpse explosion and corpse poison spells, at close range they could detonate like living bombs, releasing lethal toxins.
A simple comparison with winter wolf packs revealed their terrifying combat capability.
A low-level adventurer team capable of handling winter wolves would likely face complete annihilation against an equal number of these death hounds. They’d need items like York’s antidote potions just to stand a chance.
The combat and destructive power ratings of a fifth circle necromancer’s creations exceeded ordinary Iron-rank standards.
Yet Wade believed these death hounds still fell short of Silver-rank. If Sven encountered a pack, unfamiliarity might let him take minor injuries initially. But once he ignited his flames, victory would be certain. Had Sven been surrounded by fire from the start, these death hounds wouldn’t have gotten near him.
In any case, entering Alvado had heightened Wade’s awareness of Quasimodo’s danger.
He wanted no alert to reach that mage. Being discovered by a necromancer in his own stronghold would be the stuff of horror stories. They’d likely be torn apart by swarming undead minions before even glimpsing Quasimodo’s face.
So Wade pressed Lucas’s hand down, instructing Mia to create some disturbance at the upcoming corner.
Beyond the wall lay one of Alvado’s streets – a dilapidated, deserted old road still bearing dark red bloodstains on its walls.
Wade sensed Mia floating over to a rooftop. The little ghost observed from midair before selecting a snow shelter supported by wooden frames.
Beneath that shelter would have been where vendors once sold goods – perhaps alcohol, bread, or skewered meat.
Now, with no one left to sell anything there, collapsing the shelter wouldn’t matter.
Mia drifted lightly onto the shelter. The structure was already overloaded – heavy snow had weighed it down until the brown tarpaulin sagged inward. Left unattended, it would have collapsed on its own within days.
It was likely only erected during business hours, but the owner would never return to store it indoors or clear it off.
Where Wade and Lucas couldn’t see, the little ghost extended her tiny hand, releasing a faint glow.
Magic gathered in her palm, but this time, it wasn’t frost magic.
Creating snowflakes to collapse the shelter would be too slow. Wade’s instructions demanded immediate noise, so she employed a different method.
Suddenly, the accumulated snow on the shelter began stirring.
The packed white snow seemed to gain life, dancing and “jumping” in response to the little ghost’s movements.
Then – CRASH! The entire shelter collapsed, snow and tarpaulin tumbling to the ground as the wooden frame splintered with sharp cracks.
The death hound that had been slowly approaching the brewery jerked its head up and bolted toward the source of the noise.
Lucas internally sighed in relief. Though unaware of what exactly had occurred, the sound suggested something had toppled over.
As he mentally celebrated their good fortune, he didn’t notice the little ghost floating back into Wade’s palm.
Wade scratched the little one’s forehead as she clung to his finger, radiating a “praise me, hurry and praise me” expression.
Unable to sense any specific demands about how to praise her, Wade simply patted her head as usual.
“We’ll play together once we’re back,” Wade mentally communicated.
The little ghost nodded before dissolving into mist and retreating back into his helmet, hiding away in that small cloth bag.
Such a well-behaved child – never noisy or troublesome.