Chapter 68: Cheaper Than Grass

The undead hellhound was lured away, making this the perfect opportunity to escape.  

Lucas and Wade slipped sideways, leaving through the gates of the abandoned brewery and stepping onto the street.  

“We’re very close to Old York’s alchemy workshop,” Lucas said. “Just three more blocks ahead, and you’ll see the Oak Tavern. The Sage Alchemy Workshop is in the alley right beside the tavern.”  

Wade nodded and followed behind Lucas, weaving through the town that was as silent as a grave.  

Wade couldn’t sense the undead hellhounds the way he could sense living beings. His soul vision was ineffective against the undead, and the snow covering the ground also disrupted his hearing.  

He had no way to pinpoint the hellhounds’ locations like having a third eye opened, nor was he willing to let Mia leave his immediate vicinity to scout ahead.  

Although Mia was intangible to ordinary people, who knew if a necromancer would have unique methods to detect ghosts?  

Mia had been born less than a month ago. Exposing such a newborn little ghost to a necromancer who had studied magic for at least twelve years was too risky.  

Lucas and Wade took it step by step, relying on Lucas’s familiarity with Alvado to avoid the packs of hellhounds roaming the town.  

The town looked centuries old, with clear marks of renovations and expansions everywhere. It wasn’t like Helburg, a large city with urban planning. This town was densely populated, full of intricate alleys and narrow passages.  

Wade felt like he was walking inside a labyrinth. Lucas kept leading him back and forth through those narrow spaces. There were paths between stone houses and even on rooftops. Places that seemed impassable became traversable by placing a nearby crate as a step.  

If he had come alone, he would never have taken such shortcuts. A newcomer wandering into this place would have no idea how long it would take to find an exit.  

Thanks to having someone familiar with the terrain, they could avoid the hellhounds patrolling the main roads.  

A necromancer who had been on the run from the church for twelve years was understandably overly cautious. Even with the Icelanders’ military camp right nearby, he ordered his servants to patrol around him nonstop from day to night.  

The night owls circling over Alvado far outnumbered those around the mountains. The closer to the town center, the denser the night owls swarmed, forming a flock.  

It was certain that Casimodo was inside some building at the town center.  

Coincidentally, Old York’s alchemy workshop was also located in the heart of the town.  

The two stopped. Ahead was the exit of the alley, and a pair of undead hellhounds were passing through that narrow spot.  

The closer they got to the center, the more careful they had to be. If discovered by the hellhounds or night owls, they would have to face Casimodo’s army of servants directly. The Icelanders outside would also be alerted.  

“That’s the Oak Tavern.”  

They hid behind a pile of debris. The street outside was originally a commercial street where merchants and vendors set up stalls, so many booths were clustered together.  

There were enough obstacles to conceal their figures. Lucas pointed to a building outside, where a wooden sign carved with an oak tree hung in view of Wade.  

It was a two-story tavern made of pine wood. The lodging area was spacious, and it seemed the entire row of buildings belonged to the tavern’s accommodations.  

One could imagine how lively it had once been, with drunken Tanians laughing through the night.  

Next to the tavern, Wade also spotted the emblem of the Adventurers Guild—a pair of crossed longswords over an iris-shaped shield, with a star embedded in the center. Below the plaque, a curved ancient inscription was carved. Translated into the common tongue, it meant “Bound by Iron and Star.”  

It looked like a proper branch of the guild. In some smaller places, the “Adventurers Guild” was merely a local lord’s “trouble reporting office.” Although workers got paid, they didn’t enjoy the full benefits and conveniences of a real guild.  

Places with such emblems were the real deal, but this small branch had also fallen utterly silent.  

Many houses and buildings in Alvado’s central area bore marks of swords and blades. The doors and windows of the guild and the Oak Tavern were even more dilapidated. The unsupported windows and doors creaked in the cold wind, bloodstains and cracked wood visible at a glance.  

Most of the Adventurers Guild had been scorched by fire, and the Oak Tavern was no exception. Charred wood was soaked in the white snow, and Lucas could still smell the scent of gunpowder.  

After waiting for the two hellhounds to leave, they stepped forward once more. As their vision widened, their hearts jolted violently.  

Both were stunned by the scene. Wade especially had never imagined corpses piled like sheaves of grain.  

It was surreal. No one knew how many bodies were stacked in that square. They lay in disorder, arranged haphazardly with no order, as if a sack of wheat had been spilled on the ground and casually swept together with a broom.  

Perhaps all the dead in Alvado had been gathered in that central square.  

A single corpse occupied very little space. Thousands piled like stones wouldn’t take up much area.  

Yet the pile of bodies was taller than the Oak Tavern. The dead were treated like garbage, carelessly discarded. The necromancer seemed to have made no efforts to preserve or conceal the corpses, leaving them in their original, raw state.  

The Tania winter was a natural preservative, freezing everything. White snow lay on those pale faces—men’s faces, women’s faces, youthful faces, faces lined with wrinkles. Broken limbs were pressed into the middle of the corpse heap.  

Some faces were ferocious, some peaceful, some with sunken eyes, and others missing heads altogether.  

People are worth less than grass.  

For the first time, Wade directly felt the weight of this saying.  

This looked like a scene from hell. Wade saw modified zombies picking through the pile. Five or six tall male zombies were rummaging among the corpses.  

Casimodo had commanded the zombies to dig through the dead as if choosing merchandise, searching for suitable bodies.  

Wade and Lucas were both frozen by the sight. A chill surged deep inside them. Lucas even felt numbness in his hands and feet, his limbs turning ice cold.  

The only good news was that the zombies hadn’t dragged corpses into the alley where the Sage Alchemy Workshop was. They were carrying the bodies away, likely to bring them to their master.  

“That’s the residence of the political officer,” Lucas whispered.  

Casimodo Vic was inside that gray-white limestone tower. The narrow, towering pointed-arch windows were inset with diamond-shaped leaded glass. The window sills were carved with the purple bauhinia pattern of Viscount Quentin.  

The necromancer was less than five hundred meters away from where Wade and Lucas stood—close enough to make it hard to breathe.