Chapter Thirty-Seven: The True Knight

As evening fell, the villagers set up camp on a clearing before the Klawi mountain pass. They unloaded iron stew pots, oilcloths, and wooden frames from their ox carts. Gray canvas, brushed with tung oil, was stretched into triangular tents. A few nimble young men used double axes to fell a dead black pine, gathering dry branches and charcoal from wooden crates, then stoked the fire tubes to ignite a bonfire.

Cattle and sheep were gathered together, encircled by ropes of grass. Someone fed and soothed them with hay. The encounter with the winter wolves had only been a few hours ago, and in the winter dusk, daylight faded quickly. Before entering the mountain pass, Lukas had directed the villagers to halt the carts and rest at a suitable spot.

The villagers melted a pot of snow, filling an iron kettle with pristine white snow and setting it above orange-yellow flames. As the icy snow melted, the weary, parched travelers—after a day’s journey—each took up a bowl or water pouch to quench their thirst.

The four winter wolves were dragged down. Lukas stood before the beasts, instructing the villagers on how to properly dissect such magical creatures. He invited Vaid over to distribute the spoils.

“Sir Vaid, the two on the right are those we killed; the two on the left are your trophies.”

The wolves slain by Vaid were relatively intact—the most valuable pelts almost unblemished—while the ones felled by the villagers’ arrows were sadly much worse for wear. This distinction made it easy to divide the spoils without dispute.

Vaid nodded. Not long ago, he had written his name in the common tongue upon the snow. As expected, the Tania folk used the common language, and Lukas recognized the script. Vaid briefly introduced himself, saying he was a lone adventurer returning to town.

Lukas then invited him to join their journey, candidly expressing his wish to hire Vaid to escort the mostly ordinary villagers. Vaid’s assistance in slaying the winter wolves had easily won their trust, so he accepted the task and joined their defense.

The task required Vaid to escort them safely to the nearest town with guards and a magistrate—Alvado. It was close; Vaid learned their route, and estimated two or three days’ journey remained. Tomorrow, they would cross the mountain pass and reach a small hamlet named Bronte before nightfall.

On this side of the Klawi pass, settlements were sparse. The closer they drew to Alvado, the more populous the land became—no longer days of travel across barren wastes without supplies.

Lukas produced a pouch of silver coins and handed it to Vaid.

“This is the agreed payment—five Tania silver coins. Once we safely reach Alvado, you’ll receive another five.”

Vaid took the pouch, picking up a coin engraved with a lily on one face, a portrait on the other, and examined it closely. His current persona was that of a poor, wandering knight, meant to be meticulous about money.

He played his part well, scrutinizing the old coins. The villagers had pooled these together, each showing varying degrees of wear, though merely the patterns had faded; Lukas had given him good, uncut coins.

Few people paid in full coins; usually, payments were mixed with clipped or lesser coins. This was a tacit rule across all trades.

When someone promised to pay five silver coins, at least three would be underweight. The same applied when buying goods—merchants inflated prices, so a sword worth eight silver coins would be listed at twelve. Seasoned adventurers bought with clipped coins; novices or wealthy young nobles would be fleeced.

Yet Lukas didn’t try to deceive him, showing genuine sincerity. For a low-risk escort of two or three days, five silver coins would attract many reliable adventurers—Lukas’s offer of ten carried extra gratitude. After all, Vaid had helped them without any prior contract, saving the villagers beyond his duty.

“Soon we’ll process these winter wolves. Tomorrow, the pelts and fangs will be handed over to you,” Lukas said.

Complete wolf pelts, fangs, and bones could fetch six to seven silver coins, depending on the market. Sometimes prices rose, sometimes they sank. All told, Vaid could earn nearly twenty silver coins for accompanying them—a handsome sum compared to ordinary folk. Of course, one needed skill; those with talent could always earn.

Vaid placed the pouch in his coat and watched the Tania villagers skin the wolves. Skinning a sheep or a wolf was much the same: a middle-aged man wielded a hunting knife with practiced skill, splitting the winter wolf open. The wolf’s blood had frozen, so there was little mess.

Winter wolf meat carried a strong earthy and sour taste, laced with mild toxins—nobody would eat it unless starving. The most valuable material from the wolf was its silvery pelt. To keep the pelts whole, the Tania skinned them carefully—a patient, technical task that would take some time. Vaid, entertained by the novelty, soon lost interest.

Night fell completely. The villagers took out butchered lamb from their crates; the cold winter served as a perfect preservative. They gathered around the fire for warmth. Chopped lamb, pickled radish, and pork sausages were poured into the stew pot, along with crumbled black rye bread.

Steam rose from the pot, the broth bubbling merrily. The weary, frostbitten villagers held their bowls with both hands, tilting their heads back to pour hot lamb soup into their mouths. Their pallid faces grew flushed and warm.

In years past, meat was reserved for festivals. This dinner was sumptuous—rare comfort amid disaster.

Beside Lukas, a young man named Avery carried a bowl of meat soup to Vaid, who sat alone in a corner. Vaid waved it away, opening his own deerskin pouch and extracting dried herring and cheese, indicating he had his own food and would not eat theirs.

“Please, try it, Sir Vaid,” Avery urged.

Vaid still declined, refusing the soup. He was joking—how could a skeleton drink soup? If he tried to keep up appearances and poured the soup into his helmet, it would simply spill onto his body. The undead have no organs, nor could they digest human food.

Seeing Vaid’s persistent refusal, Avery scratched his head and glanced at Lukas, who gestured for him to return.

Among adventurers, odd habits were common. Some simply refused to eat others’ food. Lukas wondered if, perhaps, Vaid had been betrayed before—turned on his teammates for a share of loot. This was hardly rare, especially in temporary parties.

It seemed this wandering knight harbored suspicion toward many things. Fully armored, without a single companion, he trudged alone across the wilderness.

Perhaps it wasn’t that he didn’t want allies, but that he could no longer trust. Had he been stabbed in the back by someone close? Perhaps so—but even so, he had selflessly saved the villagers.

Lukas’s impression of Vaid shifted again: a mysterious wandering knight, strong enough to travel alone, burdened with a complex past. A true knight, wounded but still possessed of mercy and virtue.