Chapter 69: The Gnome and the Demon
Wade and Lucas hid behind a stack of empty wooden crates and piles of scrap, waiting for an opportunity to cross the corpse-filled square and reach the alley beside the Oak Tavern.
“After obtaining the Mist Stone, we can proceed straight ahead,” Lucas said. “There are alternative paths to exit Alvado—no need to turn back.”
Lucas had already mapped out their route in his mind. His plan was to take a longer detour toward the area far from the Prague River after securing the Mist Stone.
Returning the way they came was too risky. He’d rather spend an extra half-day or full day circling around, approaching the canyon from the mountain paths instead. As long as they could leave Alvado, their chances of being detected would significantly decrease.
Once the heavy fog rolled in, outsiders would struggle to navigate. The only remaining problem was how to overcome their immediate obstacle—several undead hellhounds patrolling the square in what appeared to be a deliberate, systematic pattern.
Though not entirely impossible, the gaps between their patrols were too brief. The risk of being caught was simply too high if they rushed out recklessly, leaving the two men hesitating at the alley’s entrance.
Lucas gnawed at his fingernails. Abandoning this route would require at least two or three additional hours of detour.
Who knew what variables might arise during those extra hours? Moreover, the Ash Potion’s scent was continuously evaporating. Time was of the essence—Old York had only prepared one vial of Ash Potion per person.
The more the potion evaporated, the weaker its effects. York had warned them that the Ash Potion’s full potency would last roughly one night. It was best to distance themselves from Quasimodo’s undead servants before dawn—otherwise, the likelihood of detection would skyrocket during close encounters.
With the moon already two-thirds through its nightly journey, Lucas couldn’t determine whether taking the detour or proceeding directly was the better choice.
He glanced at Wade and whispered, “Sir Wade, we can’t keep waiting like this. If we retreat now, I can find alternative paths to bypass this square and reach the Sage Alchemy Workshop—but it’ll require considerable time. By the time we arrive… dawn might be approaching.”
“What does the knight suggest… should we attempt crossing the square or take the detour?”
Wade didn’t respond by writing in the snow. While observing the undead hellhounds’ movement patterns, he had noticed other details. He tapped Lucas’s shoulder and pointed at some debris in the snow.
Initially confused, Lucas had unconsciously avoided looking directly at the terrifying corpses. But if Sir Wade indicated something, there must be significance. Squinting, he carefully examined the area.
Having traveled through darkness for so long, his eyes had adjusted to the moonlight, allowing him to discern—chewed-up rat heads and what appeared to be crow feathers.
Suddenly understanding Wade’s implication, Lucas realized the night owls above and patrolling hellhounds served dual purposes—not only guarding Quasimodo himself but also protecting the corpse piles from scavenging rodents and birds drawn by the scent of death.
The necromancer treated these corpses as his property, commanding his minions to safeguard them.
Looking down, he saw Wade swiftly sketch a rat in the snow with a few finger strokes. Nodding, Lucas marveled at the wandering knight’s composure and meticulous thinking even in such dire circumstances.
The two men quietly retreated, searching through narrow, damp spaces until they reached an abandoned dwelling—likely a former food establishment, judging by the layer of congealed grease coating the floor.
A perfect haven for rats and cockroaches.
Though unable to sense undead creatures, Wade could detect living rodents. After some searching, his hand shot out with practiced precision, capturing a gray-furred rat—one of the few creatures in Alvado still living undisturbed lives.
As the rat squeaked, Lucas produced cloth strips to muzzle it. Returning to the square’s edge, they exchanged glances before Wade removed the binding and—timing it perfectly between hellhound patrols—hurled the palm-sized rodent toward the center.
Landing in the snow, the already terrified rat scrambled desperately for cover upon finding itself exposed in the open square, scurrying away from the two men.
The undead hellhounds easily detected living creatures like the rat. As soon as it appeared in the square, the patrolling hounds immediately gave chase.
Now!
Without hesitation, they seized the opportunity to advance. Running would be too loud—they had to move slowly along the Oak Tavern’s walls, staying beneath its eaves to avoid the night owls’ sightlines.
Lucas’s heart pounded in his throat. He prayed the rat could buy them a few more seconds—until a piercing squeak signaled its capture by the hellhounds.
They were only halfway across. Holding his breath, afraid even his exhalations might attract the hounds, Lucas felt sweat soaking his back and forehead. This was the most perilous path he’d ever taken—more treacherous than cliffs or log bridges!
The sounds of tearing flesh and crunching bones seemed right beside his ears as the hellhound devoured its prey. Then silence—the hound had finished its meal and resumed patrol.
Ten more steps. The urge to run surged within him, but the wandering knight ahead maintained steady, measured strides even in these final moments.
As they reached the alley’s edge, approaching footsteps signaled danger.
“We’re finished!” Lucas thought—just as snow suddenly slid off a distant rooftop. The noise redirected the hellhound’s attention, allowing Lucas to press himself against the stone wall, heart hammering. Perhaps the goddess of fortune truly favored them today.
“Sir Wade, that’s the Sage Alchemy Workshop.” Lucas finally exhaled slightly in relief.
But Wade tossed him an object—a copper key on a string, York’s key to the workshop. Puzzled by why Wade would hand it to him, Lucas then saw a faintly glowing white sword being drawn from the knight’s waist.
An exquisite blade, its runes humming softly. Familiar somehow, though he couldn’t place where he’d seen it before.
Following the sword’s direction, Lucas spotted a short, blurry figure—a gnome?
It resembled a gnome, matching York’s stature with similarly short limbs—except this creature hunched grotesquely. Who was this? Why would a gnome be here?
The “gnome” uttered incomprehensible words. Then flames erupted behind it as Lucas watched, stunned—a fiery tail rising from its back.
The creature’s form shifted amidst the flames, its disguise burning away to reveal crimson skin beneath. Not a gnome at all, but a demon.
A low-tier demon—a Flame Imp.
Sulfur and fire spewed from its gaping maw as it seemed driven to frenzy by the sword’s presence, gathering searing flames within its mouth.
Lucas barely registered Wade stepping forward with the sword before an ear-splitting explosion rocked the alley.