Chapter Sixty-Nine: The Dwarf and the Demon

Vid and Lucas hid behind a pile of empty wooden crates and discarded debris, waiting for the right moment to cross the heap of corpses and reach the narrow alley beside the Oak Tavern.

"Once we get the Mist Stone, we can go straight ahead," Lucas said. "There are other paths out of Alvado; there's no need to turn back."

Lucas had plotted the route in his mind. After securing the Mist Stone, he planned to take the long way around, heading toward the far side, away from the Brague River.

The risk of retracing their steps was too great. He would rather spend half a day, or even a whole day, circling around through the nearby mountains and returning to the gorge from the side. As long as they could leave Alvado, their chances of being discovered would drop significantly.

Once the thick fog rose, those outsiders would no longer be able to discern directions so easily.

The only problem lay in how to overcome the obstacle before them—several undead hounds patrolled around the square.

The movements of these undead hounds seemed to follow a pattern, patrolling in some established sequence. Yet their intervals and gaps were too short. Though there was a slim chance, barging through was far too risky; neither dared leave the alley.

Lucas bit his fingernail. If they abandoned this route, it would cost at least two or three more hours to circle around.

Who knew what could happen in that time? The scent of the Ash Potion was steadily dissipating.

Time was tight. York had only prepared one bottle of Ash Potion for each of them.

The more the potion evaporated, the weaker its effect. York had said its full efficacy lasted about an entire night; it was best to stay clear of Casimodo’s undead minions before dawn. Otherwise, if they came into close contact, the likelihood of being discovered would skyrocket.

Now the moon stood two-thirds through the night. Whether to take the detour or not, Lucas could not decide which choice was better.

He looked at Vid and whispered, "Sir Vid, this isn’t working. If we retreat now, I can find another path around the square to reach the Sagebrush Workshop, but it’ll take a lot more walking. Perhaps… by the time we get there, dawn will be close."

"Do you think… we should try to cross the square, or take the detour?"

Vid did not reply by writing in the snow. While observing the undead hounds’ patterns, he also noticed other details.

He tapped Lucas on the shoulder and pointed to some debris in the snow.

Lucas didn’t understand what Vid wanted him to see at first. The corpses were so horrifying his gaze instinctively avoided them.

But Sir Vid had his reasons. Lucas squinted and tried to discern.

After walking in darkness for so long, his eyes had grown accustomed to the moonlight, so he could see what lay there.

It was… the gnawed head of a rat, and something like a raven’s feather.

He suddenly understood Vid’s meaning: the night owls above and the patrolling hounds were not only guarding Casimodo himself; they also protected the corpse heaps from scavenging rodents and birds drawn by the scent of the dead.

The necromancer treated the corpses as his property, and commanded his minions to defend them.

He looked down as Vid drew the shape of a rat in the snow with a few strokes of his finger.

Lucas nodded, thinking the wandering knight’s mind was indeed meticulous and calm under pressure, able to reason through crisis and find a solution.

The two of them quietly retreated, searching the narrow, damp space, approaching an empty house that must once have been a restaurant—the floor was coated in years of greasy residue.

It was the perfect haunt for rats and cockroaches.

Though he couldn’t sense the undead hounds, Vid could spot the movements of live rats.

After searching for a while, Vid swiftly reached into a corner and caught a gray-furred rat.

These gray rats were likely the only creatures in Alvado still living undisturbed.

The rat squeaked frantically; Lucas took a strip of cloth and tied its pointed snout.

They returned to the front of the square, exchanged a glance, and Vid tore the cloth from the rat’s mouth, tossing it out during a gap in the hounds’ patrol.

The rat landed in the snow, already frightened. Now exposed in the center of the square, it panicked, scrambling to hide beneath crates or into wall cracks.

It darted quickly across the snow, moving away from Lucas and Vid.

Undead hounds could easily sense living creatures like rats. When the rat appeared in the square’s center, the patrolling hounds immediately sprang into action to chase it.

Now!

Neither hesitated. They seized the chance and slipped out.

Running would make too much noise; they had to move slowly, hugging the Oak Tavern, sheltering under its eaves to avoid the night owls’ gaze.

Lucas’s heart pounded in his throat. He prayed the rat would last a few more seconds. From the far side of the corpse heap came a piercing squeal—the rat must have been caught by a hound.

They were only halfway across. Lucas held his breath, afraid even a gasp would alert the hounds.

Sweat seeped from his back and brow; this was the most perilous path he’d ever walked—more treacherous than cliffs or narrow bridges.

He heard the hounds tearing at the rat, the crunch of bones snapping.

The sound stopped. The hounds had killed the rat and seemed to return to their routine.

About ten steps remained. He desperately wanted to move faster, even to run.

But Sir Vid ahead remained composed.

Even in those final ten steps, the wandering knight did not rush, but paced steadily through.

They reached the alley’s edge, but already the sound of hound footsteps drew near.

“Damn it!” The thought flashed through Lucas’s mind as a chunk of snow suddenly slid from a distant rooftop.

That sound drew the hounds’ attention again. Seizing the moment, Lucas’s heart hammered wildly; he twisted sideways, pressing his back to the stone wall of the alley.

He clutched his chest, feeling their luck was almost too good today—perhaps the goddess of fortune truly watched over them.

“Sir Vid, that must be the Sagebrush Workshop,” Lucas breathed out, finally relaxing a little.

But Vid tossed something into his hands—a copper key tied to a string, York’s key, which could open the workshop’s door.

Lucas was puzzled—why did Vid give him the key?

He saw a sword gleaming with pure white light drawn from the wandering knight’s waist.

It was a beautiful blade; the runes along its length hummed softly. He felt he’d seen it before, but couldn’t recall where.

He looked where the wandering knight pointed; a small, blurry silhouette appeared.

A dwarf?

It truly resembled a dwarf, as short as York, with the same stubby limbs, but the greatest difference was its hunched back.

Who was that?

Why was there a dwarf here?

The “dwarf” spoke in a language Lucas couldn’t understand.

Flames erupted behind the “dwarf.” He froze—a fiery tail rose from the figure’s back.

The “dwarf’s” shape shifted under the burning fire; the earlier appearance was only a disguise. Its true face emerged, skin blazing red.

It was not a dwarf, but a demon.

A lesser demon—a fire imp.

Sulfur and flames spewed from the demon’s mouth.

It seemed to be driven mad by the sight of the sword; its jaws gaped wide as scorching fire gathered in its maw.

Lucas only saw the wandering knight step forward with the sword raised—and then a thunderous explosion, deafening and earth-shattering.