Chapter Seventy-One: The Ice Golem

More undead hounds and night owls gathered at the mouth of the alley. In addition to the hounds, there were zombies—those tasked with carrying corpses had now appeared before Wade as well.

The necromancer’s servants completely blocked the road ahead. The packs of hounds wandering Alvado converged from all directions like a surging tide, and the circling flocks of black birds obscured the moonlight as if shrouded by ominous clouds.

Wade faced Casimodo’s army of the dead alone. He gripped his sword with both hands and raised Azureglow high; a sacred white flame burst forth from the sword’s tip, waves of heat and cold air twisting into a whirlwind. His tattered gray sheepskin coat fluttered in the wind, and his rusted iron helmet reflected a metallic sheen.

The holy fire in his grasp drove back the encroaching darkness. Though his gear was ragged, at this moment he looked every bit a knight of divine radiance stepped out of legend—solemn and hallowed.

He alone held the alley’s entrance, and with a sweep of his blade, traced a circle of fire that instantly cowed all those wicked creatures.

These undead instinctively feared Azureglow’s power to dispel magic, just as rats accustomed to darkness instinctively shy away from blinding sunlight—they dared not approach the scorching sacred flames.

Wade held the undead at bay, making no move to attack. His aim was to buy time, to draw attention, and give Lukas a chance to escape.

If he could drive back these hounds and zombies with fire, that would be ideal.

Yet the souls of these undead were bound by curses and spells, unable to control their own actions and forced to obey their master.

When the master commands, they must charge without hesitation.

The undead hounds split into two ranks, and the flocks of birds above divided as well.

The first ranks of hounds and birds lunged toward the white flames.

They threw their very souls and bodies against the fire, burning with holy power. They did not combust violently; before the sacred flames could utterly consume them, their shells burst apart with a bang.

Dull, visible toxins sprayed from their decaying flesh and blood, snuffing out the flames. The sacred fire, once roaring, quickly diminished under the onslaught of these servants.

Wade understood he could not afford to deplete the flames so recklessly. Starfire could only harness the power of existing fire; unlike a mage, he could not conjure flames from nothing.

Because of this flaw, Swain had insisted every member of his squad carry oil pouches to quickly provide fuel whenever Wade needed a blaze.

But Wade had no squad of dozens to stoke his flames—he was alone. Once the fire around him was gone, he would have no means to strengthen Azureglow’s power against evil.

He gathered the remaining fire, drawing all that was left to himself, coalescing it upon Azureglow.

The second wave of hounds and night owls charged at him. He stood his ground, calm before the surging undead, feet shoulder-width apart, knees bent, waist twisting into a cross-guard stance.

The sword’s edge traced a spiraling arc, the pure white sacred flame shining bright, forming a circle. Dazzling light spilled from the arc’s edge.

He compressed every last ember into a single point, his hand seeming to grasp the sun itself; the noonday sun manifested at his sword’s tip. He stepped forward, no longer resorting to any flamboyant maneuvers—just a single, full-force swing.

Every undead facing him burst into flames. With his sword, he shattered the necromancer’s servants, liberating those bound souls.

Sacred power burned those profaned bodies to brilliant white ash; Azureglow’s inner strength was fully unleashed. Forged of mythril and obsidian, this holy sword wielded overwhelming power against evil.

Wade swung as he pleased, recalling the thousands of deadly duels with Swain in his dreams. He had internalized the rhythm of the blade, and now that he remembered how to swing, his body would never falter.

He could execute precisely any motion his mind envisioned. Whether it was a lunging hound or a swooping owl, he parried or dodged with minimal effort, and every slash cleaved through the undead.

It seemed as if the undead did not come to slay him, but rather were drawn by some invisible force towards his sword, whereupon they would fall apart, undone.

Azureglow glowed red-hot; each swing sent showers of dazzling sparks flying.

Corpse poison and stench were meaningless to a skeleton.

He crushed his foes like a mounted knight trampling the enemy, the searing gale sweeping up ash and sparks. He held the alley’s entrance by sheer force, tearing a breach in the encirclement.

If this were a true war, his enemies would feel nothing but terror before him—such overwhelming psychological pressure would shatter morale, make soldiers cast down their weapons and flee in panic.

But the necromancer’s servants no longer owned their souls. Even as their spirits writhed and wept in agony, they could only press on.

Against such numbers, Azureglow’s flames inevitably began to dim.

Perhaps he ought not to have slain that little fire demon so quickly. He should have let it cast a few more fireballs.

But there was no room for regret. He kept swinging. Few night owls and hounds remained. The zombies began to move—they carried no weapons.

Each zombie’s face was sickly pale; their bodies draped in thin white burlap. They did not seem made for combat, simply servants for Casimodo.

The zombies stretched out their arms, encircling Wade.

The gesture was familiar—he remembered the skeletal brothers out on the wasteland, who always reached for him, trying to seize and gnaw at his bones.

Clearly, these zombies meant to get close—the necromancer intended to use them for Corpse Explosion.

Old York had said the power of Corpse Explosion was proportional to the size of the corpse and the amount of magic infused within it.

The zombies were several times the size of the hounds, and likely filled with even more magic. Their detonation would rival a fireball spell.

To endure such blasts at close range would surely end his journey.

He called out to Mia in his heart. Subtle white mist bloomed outward, magic gathering atop the snow.

Ice began to form—one zombie’s ankle froze fast, causing it to lose balance and fall. All the zombies were frozen in place, unable to advance.

Wade sensed Mia’s intention.

“You want the magic from that undead heart?”

Mia seemed to have a plan. She had witnessed Wade’s battle with these undead and understood that these were her enemies as well.

Somewhat puzzled, Wade nevertheless followed her will, gripping the murky crystal in his pouch.

Magic flowed from the stone through him into the little ghost, and the entirety of the undead heart’s power was drained by her.

The vast energy gathered within Mia. She floated out, alighting upon the snow.

The snow at her feet began to swirl and gather, compacting inward, and then taking shape.

Mia infused her power into the mass of snow, which grew larger than Wade himself. Its shadow enveloped him. In seconds, the snow became solid ice, molding into a human figure.

Using a certain person as her model, Mia created a towering ice golem.

Wade looked at its build and stature and could not help but marvel.

Swain Floyd—he never imagined he would see that man’s form again, in this fashion.