CHAPTER 140: THE BLACK SMOKE OF THE DEAD

Chapter 138 – The Black Smoke of the Dead

Ethan wasted no time. With a swift motion, he stored the four orc corpses into his inventory, and the group dashed toward the direction of the echoing cries hidden within the forest’s thick cover.

Branches whipped past their faces as they ran, boots crushing dead leaves and roots. Soon, the coppery tang of blood reached Ethan’s nose, sharp and heavy, mingling with the damp, earthy scent of the woods.

When they broke into a clearing, the scene stopped them cold.

Two massive black-furred wolves lay sprawled on the ground, their hulking bodies riddled with savage cuts. Around them were the mangled corpses of eight smaller, greyish wolves, each bearing deep claw marks and hacked-open wounds. The stench of iron and rot hung in the air. It wasn’t just death—it was brutality.

And beyond the massacre...

Ten orcs stood in two ragged groups, hurling guttural insults back and forth, tusks bared and muscles taut with aggression. Four snarled together on one side, while six loomed opposite them. Ethan couldn’t understand their language, but the hostility was clear. Judging from the way they pointed and gestured at the wolf corpses, they were fighting over the spoils.

But Ethan’s eyes narrowed. Something else was wrong.

Dark, wispy smoke curled upward from the wolves’ bodies, especially from the largest of the two black beasts. The smoke was thick, oily, and unnaturally cold-looking, like shadows made solid. It writhed skyward as though it had a will of its own.

Ethan’s chest tightened. That’s... not normal.

Then, a translucent blue prompt flickered before his eyes:

[Undead Revival Possible]

The message hovered ominously over each wolf corpse.

Ethan’s gaze hardened. "We deal with the orcs first. Lirael, take your position."

The elf nodded sharply, bow already in hand, slipping into the shadows at the edge of the clearing.

Without a sound, Ethan launched forward.

One heartbeat he was hidden in the brush. The next, he materialized in front of the four nearest orcs like a phantom of death. Before they even realized, his blade flashed—a single sweeping arc cleaving through flesh and bone. Heads toppled, blood spraying hot into the air.

Orc Slain (level - 22 -25) – 59,500 XP

Level Up!

Level 12 - 48,605 / 268,545

+10 Unassigned stat points

The other six froze, eyes widening in shock. One fumbled for his axe, another roared.

Thwip! Thwip!

Two arrows whistled through the air, clean and precise. They pierced the skulls of two orcs, dropping them before their weapons could rise.

+14,500 SP

+15,500 SP

Ethan surged again. His blade carved into one chest, slashing deep and wide, then turned to ram straight through the temple of another. A third tried to raise his club in panic—Ethan’s fist smashed into his head with such force the skull caved inward like cracked pottery.

Orc slain ×3 – 44,500 XP

The last orc bellowed and spun, but an arrow buried itself through his eye, snapping his cry into silence.

+13,500 SP

The clearing went still.

It had taken less than twenty seconds.

Ethan stood among the carnage, his blade dripping, breath steady as if it had cost him no effort at all. The coppery stench of orc blood mingled with the already heavy air, thick and suffocating.

Behind him, Sylvie’s lips parted in awe. Her hands clutched the hem of her robe, knuckles pale.

"H-how... fast..." she whispered, eyes wide with wonder.

Her gaze fixed on Ethan’s back, on the way he stood unshaken amid the slaughter, every movement efficient, lethal. Her heart pounded in her chest, not with fear—but with admiration.

"They move like one," she breathed, watching how Ethan and Lirael had struck in perfect rhythm. "Their coordination is flawless..."

Her cheeks warmed. She lowered her voice, almost reverent, almost shy.

"A-and Master... He’s so... awesome."

Ethan wasted no time, slipping the orc corpses into his inventory with practiced ease. But his eyes didn’t linger on them—what drew his focus now were the wolves.

That black smoke still leaked from their torn bodies, thinner than before yet stubbornly lingering, as though clinging to their flesh. It swirled lazily upward, like dying embers refusing to extinguish.

A familiar chime resonated within his mind.

[Undead Revive]

Death itself bends to the Steelweaver’s call. With permission of the fallen—or the force of emotions so consuming that the soul refuses to fade—he can wrench them back into form. Monsters. Men. Beasts. If their hatred, sorrow, or desire burns strong enough, they can barter their eternity for his command and their irrevocable and absolute loyalty.

(Condition: Their wish must be fulfilled.)

(Maximum Slots: 20)

The words scrolled before Ethan’s eyes, heavy with significance. His throat tightened. He glanced again at the wolf corpses—yes, even the smaller ones exhaled that blackish mist, as though their souls hadn’t fully departed.

"Ethan?" Lirael’s voice cut softly into his thoughts. Her sharp eyes had already read the shift in his expression. "What happened? You look... tense."

He inhaled slowly, then answered. "I’m going to use one of my skills now. You do know what my skills revolve around... right?"

Lirael stiffened, understanding dawning instantly. She stepped closer to Sylvie, resting a steadying hand on the younger girl’s shoulder. "Sylvie, listen carefully. Ethan is about to do something... unusual. Don’t panic, alright?"

Sylvie blinked, but to Lirael’s surprise, the girl nodded with surprising steadiness. "I know, big sister. It’s... related to those wolves, isn’t it?" Her voice wavered, but her chin didn’t. "I’ll be prepared."

Ethan gave her a faint, approving nod. "Good."

He extended his hand toward the corpses, and the air seemed to tighten.

[Undead Revival]

A rush of golden shadow burst forth from him, luminous yet dark at its edges, like sunlight bleeding into smoke. It surged across the clearing and wrapped around the broken bodies of the wolves.

For a heartbeat, silence reigned.

Then, spectral silhouettes began to stir. Wisps of translucent forms peeled themselves from the corpses—phantom images rising from both the massive wolves and their smaller kin. The clearing shimmered with a cold, otherworldly presence.

The air grew sharp, biting, and Sylvie clutched Lirael’s arm, her eyes wide with wonder and dread.

Ethan himself stood frozen. This was the first time he had ever dared to activate this ability.

And then... it happened.

One of the specters—towering, lupine, black-furred and enormous—stepped forward. It loomed only a few meters from Ethan, its translucent body radiating both menace and sorrow.

The sisters gasped audibly, and even Ethan felt his breath hold.

The wolf’s jaws never moved, yet its voice echoed directly into their minds, resonant and ethereal.

"...Oathkeeper."

-------

Ethan Cross

Level 12 - (93,105 / 268,545)

SP: 211,060

+10 Unassigned Stat Points

--

Lirael Vaerune

Level 10 - (78,742 / 117,353)

--

Sylvie Hartwell

Level 10 - ( 432 / 117,353)

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