Chapter 89: Empty Shell
Wade picked up the scale, while Mia floated above the object like a curious child examining it.
Wade turned and carried the scale outside the glowing moss’s area. Even when moved aside, it continued radiating light.
Through his skeletal vision, he could see magical energy gathered on its surface—apparently contaminated by the moss’s magic. This unidentified scale could actually store magical power.
It seemed that during the nine days Wade lay dormant, some peculiar reaction had occurred between the scale and the glowing moss, causing it to illuminate. When Wade lifted it, the gentle glow brightened the narrow cave.
Suddenly, Wade recalled York’s tales about the Silver Moon Elves—of the Fairy Dragon that streaked across night skies, releasing dreamlike radiance. The mage skeleton he’d found while gathering firewood resembled the Silver Moon priest York described, along with Yulia Silvermoon, that mysterious figure who claimed to be the last Silver Moon Elf.
Could this wasteland be that elf’s homeland? Could this scale belong to the legendary Fairy Dragon?
Wade sat down, turning the scale over in his hands before lightly tapping it with his round-headed mace. It showed no special reaction—no jumping like seashells washed ashore by tides. Aside from glowing, it seemed unchanged.
Previously, Wade’s strongest impression of this object was its hardness. When he’d found it near the Nameless Ruins, he’d struck it fiercely with his mace, yet not even a scratch remained.
The scale’s wave-like patterns now gradually dimmed. Originally copper-colored, the circular designs had turned nearly pure white when illuminated. It possessed a jade-like warmth and beauty, resembling a priceless treasure.
Just its appearance alone qualified it as a treasure. As for practical value… well, Wade couldn’t think of uses beyond watering plants or digging dirt.
The three crystals were similar—his knowledge wasn’t profound enough to utilize such extraordinary materials. If only he had a workbench to dump these mysteries into, randomly generating usable weapons or tools.
As a baker, he’d often fantasized about ingredients automatically transforming into bread. But reality wasn’t a game that could skip processes.
A mere fighter couldn’t unlock supernatural materials’ potential. A farmer obtaining a dragon scale would just use it to level a table. Only a master smith could forge it into shoulder armor or blend it into ore for sword-making.
Regrettably, Wade’s only mastery lay in baking bread. Even if this were a genuine Fairy Dragon scale, he couldn’t harness its value.
Though… it could serve as overhead lighting. The scale shone brighter than the moss. Later, he’d carve a hook to hang it—a makeshift bulb when unused, removable for watering duties.
Contemplating this, Wade set the scale down and crawled to the cave entrance, listening intently.
Good—no wind. Calm weather.
He pushed aside the entrance stone and squeezed through the narrow gap. His vision abruptly expanded as Mia flew out behind him.
The little one could finally stretch her wings freely. After being cooped up, she darted excitedly toward the sandy area before shooting vertically skyward.
Wade looked up. Twenty days had passed since he’d seen the blood moon wax full. Now a crescent with one-third missing, he estimated forty more days until near-disappearance before waxing again.
His calculations matched previous observations—about sixty days per phase, with a 120-day lunar cycle.
The magical tide surge seemed past. The wasteland had calmed significantly, with only mild breezes replacing fierce winds.
Climbing his hillock, Wade surveyed the distance.
He spotted a wandering skeleton—the nearest “old buddy”—with scattered black dots farther away indicating others. The wasteland had returned to its familiar state.
The winds must have ceased days ago, allowing storm-scattered skeletons to resume mindless wandering—like ink droplets slowly spreading through water, filling blank spaces.
Observing the skeleton, Wade formulated a plan.
Wasn’t this a mobile shell?
If this fellow wandered near his home, it might block his doorway tomorrow. Sometimes prevention was wiser than reaction.
Rather than waiting for invasion, why not strike first?
After battling the necromancer, he’d crossed a new threshold. By professional warrior standards, he should now be Silver-rank.
Perfect opportunity to test his improvements against an opponent.
Practice was truth’s sole criterion, right?
Nodding, Wade gripped his mace and approached the skeleton.
Mia returned after her aerial loop. Through mental connection, Wade suggested playing over there.
The little one grew excited. Noticing the bare skeleton, she even clenched tiny fists, throwing serious left and right hooks in its direction.
Her violent tendencies were becoming pronounced—but no matter. This wasn’t civilized society.
Wasteland undead were savage, untamed creatures. Here, fists spoke louder than words.
Wade and Mia confronted the mud-caked skeleton. No different from others Wade encountered, it predictably gnashed its jaws and reached out aggressively when he entered its range—as if eager to crack his skull open.
Yet its movements seemed pathetically weak, riddled with openings.
Mia flew circles around it, teasing like a monkey show.
After observing, Wade raised his mace. Avoiding last time’s mistake, he easily cracked the skeleton’s skull—carefully controlling force to merely fracture the temple without total destruction.
As soul fire slowly leaked out, the skeleton kept moving briefly like a bleeding human while Mia taunted it.
Within minutes, the “old buddy’s” eye sockets darkened. With a clatter, it collapsed—motionless, lifeless.
An empty shell.