Chapter 81: The Oath
In the forest blanketed by ice and snow, souls gathered around Lucas.
Lucas looked at those faces, at these souls newly freed. He finally understood the missing pieces, piecing together the entire event.
That night, the hero who helped the villagers kill the pirates…
In the small cabin, laying Little Yisa’s body flat, the noble figure who took away that newborn soul…
The figure who slew the sewn beast and severed the necromancer’s head…
That mysterious person unknown to Lucas overlapped with the wandering knight before him.
He recalled where he had seen that glowing sword before. It turned out, all along, it was this noble soul who had been helping those of them exhausted and fleeing, those who had abandoned their homes.
Lucas bowed deeply, unsure how to express the emotions welling within him.
He saw Little Yisa crying alone in the darkness—that lonely child he had never seen shed tears before. She was strong and stubborn, never accepting aid without reason.
When she died, no one was by her side.
How frightened and cold must she have been to shed such tears?
Yet the noble figure had soothed Little Yisa’s inner pain with his own heart and warmth.
No, she should now be called Mia.
Look, how freely she soars beside Lucas.
That is the nature a child should have, the smile a child deserves.
Those who had died had now been redeemed.
“Lucas Porter, I offer you my highest respect.”
Lucas knelt on one knee, lowering his head as if greeting a king.
He offered his sincerest heart without reservation.
Mia returned to Wade’s side, and the souls gradually faded away.
Wade was about to disappear, but before vanishing, he sensed something wondrous from Lucas.
Lucas’s oath contained no impurities.
He, like the souls who wished to fight alongside Wade, offered his true heart.
But Lucas was still alive—could an oath be sworn between the living and the dead?
Wade did not understand what was happening, but his incarnation was already fading. He felt the clarity of waking from a dream.
He silently watched for a few seconds, then removed Radiance along with its scabbard from his waist.
Many things, he could not take with him.
He was to return to that barren wasteland, but the living must continue moving forward.
The living needed this sword more than he did.
Wade extended his hand, holding Radiance’s scabbard, and placed it before Lucas.
Lucas lifted his head and, without words, understood Wade’s meaning.
From here on, they had to walk the path themselves.
This sword was Wade’s final gift.
The scene resembled an ancient knighting ceremony: in those war-torn times, a king would lightly touch the knight’s left shoulder with his sword, and under the gaze of the deity’s statue, the knight would swear a vow of virtue—promising to always be humble, honest, merciful, brave, and just, forever defending sacrifice, honor, and soul.
Only after swearing to uphold virtue would the king bestow the sword.
Lucas likewise swore: “With my life and soul, I swear to uphold your path, through life and death.”
He accepted Radiance from Wade’s hand. At the moment he swore the oath, Wade felt a connection with him.
This man laid bare his sincere heart, pledging with all he had to defend his oath.
After death, his soul would fight for justice and mercy.
And after death, Wade might fight alongside his soul.
Wade and Lucas had formed a lord and vassal-like oath.
In the final moment, Wade removed his iron helmet.
The skeletal truth was revealed before Lucas’s eyes.
But Lucas showed no surprise, no hesitation. He had seen noble souls and would not be confused by mere flesh and bone.
This was the path he would defend, the way he must walk.
His heart no longer wandered lost like a stray lamb.
He witnessed Wade and the souls vanish together like a dream, as if they had never truly existed.
The iron helmet fell to the ground, leaving Lucas alone.
But Radiance in his hand was heavy with power.
He gathered Wade’s iron helmet and sword, packed the clothes, and continued forward alone.
The dawn’s light rose in the distance.
The pale line of the fish belly sky was visible. Lucas carried the old belongings across the mountains and frozen soil, returning to the rift before noon.
As promised, he brought the Mist Stone. York and Bardel emerged from the trees.
The gnome and Bardel stared blankly at Lucas holding the relics that once belonged to the wandering knight.
Neither asked about the Mist Stone’s whereabouts; both just gaped in silence.
Only when Lucas approached did the gnome with cracked lips tremble and ask, “Where is the esteemed noble?”
“He has departed,” Lucas said solemnly. “But do not grieve. He still exists in this world, and I firmly believe one day, I will meet that noble again.”
Bardel did not understand what Lucas meant, his face confused, but the gnome seemed to see through the truth and felt a sense of relief.
“That noble truly came from elsewhere,” the gnome said.
“You knew from the start, York?” Lucas asked.
“York has studied many things, Porter,” the gnome replied.
When York first saw Wade, he had fallen in the snow.
The Tanians did not understand, but the gnome had studied mysticism for many years.
He was truly shocked then; the presence hidden beneath that iron helmet and tattered clothes was something he dared not contemplate deeply.
He dared not expose it or act rashly because he was timid and fearful.
Only after repeated encounters did he gradually believe maybe it was not what he initially thought—that it was a living man with a truly noble and humble soul.
“The necromancer’s head was severed by that noble, and the deceased of Alvado have been freed,” Lucas said, pulling the Mist Stone from his bosom. “York, let the forest fog arise. We will gather the others and continue forward.”
“Cross the mountains, to a farther place where the rivers are still frozen. We can cross the ice river and reach Purple Thorn Castle.”
“But Porter, your wounds, your eyes…” The gnome looked at the shocking scars and wounds on Lucas’s body.
“Forward lies the way, York,” Lucas said.
The gnome met Lucas’s gaze and saw the will and conviction in his eyes.
“York understands,” the gnome nodded.
He clenched the Mist Stone, sliced his palm with a small knife, and let his blood drip onto the stone.
Fog spread throughout the forest and river, a white mist concealing the land and mountains.
The Icelanders did not understand where this impenetrable fog came from, nor did they know that a group of Tanians had repacked their gear and set off toward the distance.