Chapter Sixty-Three: Potions and Intelligence

“Before you arrived, York spent several days observing the surroundings of Alvado.”

“Controlling corpses—this is originally a third-circle necromancy spell. A third-circle mage can control fewer than ten corpses, but a fourth-circle can manage a hundred, and a fifth-circle can command thousands,” York explained. “Twelve years ago, when Quasimodo fled from Thorn Bay, the church rated him as a third-circle necromancer, but now, without a doubt, he’s at least fifth-circle.”

“In Alvado, he’s deployed over a hundred undead hounds as his eyes.”

“He also has eyes in the sky. York saw night owls swooping overhead; it was those owls that led the Icelanders here and caught York. If you enter Alvado unprepared, even if the Icelanders don’t notice you, the undead hounds and night owls will spot your presence.”

“Do you have a way to hide from the undead?” Lukas asked.

York took a gray potion from the bottle on the table. “This is Ash Elixir, distilled from shroud moss, mourner’s lily, grave soil, and tobacco. Douse yourselves in it, and it will temporarily mask the scent of the living. York uses this whenever he travels by night.”

“As long as you’re not seen directly by undead creatures, you can evade Quasimodo’s surveillance.”

Lukas took the potion and asked, “Old York, do you think daytime or nighttime is better for action?”

“York recommends night,” said Old York. “With York’s potion, darkness will conceal you, and the Icelanders sleep at night, so they send fewer soldiers on patrol. It seems they’ve left most of the guard duties to Quasimodo.”

Lukas nodded. “Is there anything else we should be careful about?”

“Beware Quasimodo’s corpse poison spell,” Old York said, producing a pale green antidote. “This is a detoxifying potion I made. York hopes you won’t encounter any combat and can make it back safely, but if you must fight Quasimodo’s undead, be cautious of his corpse poison and corpse explosion spells.”

“In addition to controlling corpses in battle, he can make any corpse emit terrible toxins. Some only reek, but others can cause unconsciousness, and some are as corrosive as the saliva of a twin-headed wyvern, deadly and lethal.”

“Quasimodo has a unique mastery of corpse poison. On the day he escaped Thorn Bay, he released dreadful corpse poison into the bay and waterways, causing tens of thousands of Thornwick citizens to collapse with diarrhea and fainting. Amid the chaos, he made his escape.”

“As for corpse explosion, it’s far more terrifying than a Viking warship’s cannonball. It’s the most direct attack spell of the Construct branch, causing corpses to explode. The power depends on the size of the body and the necromancer’s magic.”

“If it’s an undead hound, a close-range corpse explosion won’t kill you outright, but the toxins and stench will immediately sap your strength. If you must fight, drink the antidote beforehand. It will help you hold out longer and temporarily dull your sense of smell, protecting you from the stench.”

“Let’s hope we never need it,” Lukas said, taking another bottle of antidote. “But if things go bad, I’ll certainly need it.”

Lukas recalled the stench of the stitched beast he encountered in Bronte Village, which still made his stomach churn. If he’d had this potion back then, he would have fared much better.

“Finally, there’s York’s healing potion,” York said. “Porter, you should be familiar with it. These are just hastily made healing potions—sorry, York didn’t have the materials or time to make a fifty-silver potion. These are low-grade, priced at five silver each. York made six bottles. You always loved these, taking one every visit.”

“Five silver for a potion isn’t cheap for an iron-ranked adventurer,” Lukas laughed, “but York, your potions are worth every coin. It’s a bargain, which is why I always buy from you.”

“You finally sound like the Porter York knows,” said the dwarf, breaking into a smile.

“I’m thirty-three now, Old York,” Lukas looked at his hands, “youth and vigor have long left me. How can a thirty-three-year-old man compare to a seventeen-year-old lad?”

“If there’s still a chance, York would love to share another drink with you, hear about the thrilling adventures you had after leaving Alvado.”

“There have been plenty of thrilling moments, just not as entertaining,” Lukas said. “Truth be told, this adventure is the most heart-stopping I’ve ever had in my life.”

“An iron-ranked retired adventurer, about to challenge a necromancer matching the gold rank and a thousand-strong Icelandic warband. If I make it back alive, I think I could write a book—maybe finally fulfill my youthful dream, have the bards sing of the legend of Lukas Porter.”

“That’s your dream?”

“What else? Did you think I left the village for some other reason?” Lukas joked. “This is the closest I’ve ever come to my dream. I have to consider whether this is my only chance in life.”

“York prays you become a legend.”

Lukas didn’t reply. He merely gazed at his hands, rough and calloused, bearing old wounds.

“Do you want Old York to check your injuries again?” Old York asked. “York heard you fractured a bone. That potion is advanced, but for fractures, York has a special skill.”

“You can treat ribs, too?” Lukas asked.

“I can set them with my hands,” Old York replied.

“I’ll trouble you, then.” Lukas bared his chest.

The dwarf hopped down from his stool and massaged Lukas’s injuries. Lukas grunted a few times as the misaligned bones shifted back into place. The healing potion continued to work its magic, and with enough rest and food, his wounds began to heal rapidly, the medicine still taking effect.

“Has Lord Veid decided when to depart?” Lukas asked.

“Tonight,” said the dwarf. “His lordship said that if they delay any longer, the Icelandic soldiers’ odd behavior might be noticed, tightening security. So he plans to leave tonight. It’s deep into the night outside.”

“Perfect. I can guide Lord Veid myself.” Lukas took a deep breath, clenched his fist, closed his eyes, and felt his strength return. “Alvado—I still remember every street, every path.”

“The Mist Stone is hidden under York’s bed. Enter the workshop, walk straight to the back, and under the bed, count from the wall outward: pry up the sixth loose stone in the third row, and you’ll find it.”

“I’ve already given the key to his lordship. If you bring back the Mist Stone, York can shroud the mountains and Alvado in fog within ten minutes. Even a necromancer will struggle to track us in such a mist.”

“When I find the stone, I’ll run—with everything I have,” Lukas said.