Chapter 642 (1/2)

The man walked calmly across the dusty battleground. His chainmail armor was spattered with the juices of deceased Wights. There were other people scavenging amongst the remnants of the bodies here, but all of them gave him a wide berth. After all, they had come only after the battle here was won. This man had been there during the thick of the fighting. From the rumors about him, he fought with a manic glee that few could match.

And everyone couldn’t help but stare awkwardly at the man’s left arm, which was tied behind his back. The man didn’t mind the stares; after all, it was much more annoying to attempt normal life with his left arm twitching constantly. Keeping it out of the way when it was not needed was for the best.

“Ho, friend.” Several spear users wearing the distinctive armor of the Spear School stopped the man. “I’m afraid you cannot pass, for all that we have heard rumor of your exploits. The corpse of the Witch King must remain until the Commander has arrived and inspected it. However-”

There were only three of them, and they stood with relaxed postures. The speaker was midsentence when he was interrupted. The man drenched in gore smiled. With a certain sick anticipation that made him tremble, the man reached behind his back and tugged on the end of the string binding his left arm. The binding fell away. His left arm grabbed a spear from his back.

Several minutes later, the man was walking briskly past the grisly bodies that he had left. They had been stronger than he had expected, and he wasn’t able to stealthily kill them. But it really didn’t matter. The man was very experienced at hiding himself in this place. The Death School was especially convenient for that. Their mausoleums and graves were often left undisturbed for years.

Pah, if I had my old body, such a thing would have been simple, the soul inside of the man insisted. But even to the man’s ear, he sounded whiny. Your body might have improved, but it remains inefficient. You can barely execute my Skills.

The man ignored the soul and casually tied his left hand to his belt. It had seized a chunk of a dead man’s flesh and was now massaging it. Hopefully, that would keep it entertained for some time. Instead of wasting time on his spectral passenger, the man continued forward until he arrived at a large crater in the ground. There were no other spear users around, but the man knew it was not for want of trying; the air here simply had a powerful image of death pressed upon it.

Even now, the dirt filled the man with an unavoidable dread. The image burned into this ground oozed power. But the man had grown very accustomed to how his body felt over the past year. Without fanfare, he descended to the body of the Witch King. It was not a pretty sight.

The body had been about as smashed into the ground as it had been sliced in half. So the back part of its flesh had split and the juice of its innards had leaked out. The man pulled aside the torn cloak of the Witch King and regarded its true body. Like all Wights, its frame was scrawny and underwhelming. It was a thing of iron and rebar, but with no true substance. Still, the man produced a dagger that glowed blue. Instantly a layer of frost began to form on the man and the Witch King.

Unwilling to keep the dagger out for any longer than necessary, the man reached down and cut out the heart of the Witch King. One of the weaknesses of the WIghts was that they didn’t handle rapid changes of temperature well. Something about the material they were constructed of destabilized during rapid heats or freezes. So it was surprisingly easy to cut into the chest cavity and retrieve the heart.

The brain was more difficult, but only marginally. Then the man stood and sheathed the dagger.

It was time to leave.

“You, on your knees,” A black-robed spear user growled at the lip of the hole. His eyes were bulging as he gazed down at the man. He was one of those rare individuals with a third eye in the middle of his head. His skin was brown with strange tattoos over him.

Even though he looked very different, that third eye was enough to remind the man of a past he would rather not remember. It instantly soured his mood.

“I’d like to kill this one myself,” The man said softly, his eyes glassy with hate.

Yes well. Don’t get injured or anything foolish. I require your services later. The soul replied. It almost caused the man to chuckle. But the man was no longer the type to laugh. That part of him had died a year ago.

Had it only been a year? It was hard to keep track sometimes. The man’s memory was stained with blood.

As he untied his left arm, he tentatively raised it. Then he flexed the hand with a pleased expression. With his confidence rising, the man drew a spear. It would be a good day.

****

It had only been a month since Lucretia had returned to Tellus, but already her tension was rising rapidly. Because as she began slowly moving the threads around her to give her the power she suspected she needed, something changed inside of her.

It was like something that had long slept in her chest woke up. It called her forward. It was beckoning. It promised peace and rest.