40K: When evil spirits appear

Logan initially thought Ald would revert to his inability to communicate, and he even felt a little annoyed at the thought, wishing he had found out the reason for the problem back in the underground and resolved it all at once. However, when he brought Ald back to the middle level of Et and intended to have someone take him to rest, the latter spoke up on his own initiative.

"No need, I don't need to rest."

Logan Grimner was taken aback, and his hand, which had been stroking his beard, instinctively clenched into a fist and grabbed a handful of his beard.

"You can talk?!"

"Can."

"Why couldn't it have been done in the first place?!"

After a moment's thought, Aldridge replied, "Because I am cursed."

Upon hearing this, the alpha wolf clearly saw the grey hunter he had summoned instinctively clutch the Morkai insignia at his waist. He angrily slapped the man on the back, utterly exasperated by this deeply ingrained superstition. The latter grumbled and turned away, consciously stepping aside.

Logan glared at him, still furious, then turned and immediately demanded, "What curse?"

"The demons'."

"Ruth's beard! Why didn't you say so sooner?"

"You didn't ask..." Old replied cautiously.

Logan didn't need to recall; he only needed to think for a moment to realize he was right. He took a deep breath and, with the resolve to die, repeated, "I know I was wrong and I will correct it," before asking, "Then how come you can talk now? Is it because of those ghosts? I thought they were just guarding your tomb."

Old shook his head, then nodded, and extended his right hand: "They are with me now."

Logan looked down and saw a pure white patch in the center of his outstretched palm. He didn't want to investigate what it was; since there was no psionic scent, he simply nodded.

"Alright, let's leave it at that for now—" The alpha wolf raised his hands, rubbing his forehead. "—Ulka, he doesn't want to rest, so find him something to do. I need to go find the old leader; we must discuss this with him..."

"Bjorn just fell asleep, Big Wolf," the Grey Hunter, known as Urka, whispered a reminder.

Logan Grimner glanced down at him and nodded indifferently.

"Then I'll wake him up again," he said. "He can't just stab me to death with his claws, can he?"

Urkagan smiled but didn't say anything.

-----------------

Finally, the Grey Hunter led Ald into a hall filled with the aroma of mead.

The place was teeming with wolves, from the young and impetuous Bloodclaw to the highly respected Wolf Guards, but only a few were eating. The rest were either sharpening knives or axes with gloomy expressions, or fighting amongst themselves, their fists brimming with obvious anger. The thick carpet laid on the black stones was already soaked with wine and blood, which should have caused trouble for the servants who kept bringing drinks, but they were already familiar with every hole in the ground, and their agility and reflexes were so great that they even had time to stop and watch while they worked.

"This is the council hall of the Dragon Slayers of Dalian," Ulka introduced him. "Also, Lord Krom Wolf wishes to see you."

Old nodded with a puzzled expression, it was unclear whether he had truly understood.

Grey Hunter sighed, looking rather troubled. He raised a hand to scratch his cheek and muttered, "Listen, Dragon Slayer, perhaps you didn't mean it, but you took away Krom and his pack's chance to reclaim their honor and wash away their shame, and they are very unhappy about it."

"I don't understand," Ald said, his voice still clearly audible amidst the noise. "Why do you call me the Dragon Slayer?"

Urka's expression instantly turned serious.

"Because you killed that frost dragon. Draco Steelborn told me himself, and I heard his story. I know you killed it with a single blow. You are a powerful warrior who deserves a resounding title, so we call you Dragon Slayer."

Old looked even more puzzled, but still nodded.

Then he asked, "So, where is this Krom you mentioned?"

Urka was taken aback and asked, "What do you want to do?"

"You said I stole his and his pack's honor, and I intend to apologize to him for that."

These words changed Urka's expression, making him look somewhere between awe and blankness. Finally, he raised his hand and pointed to a spot in the center of the hall. There, a giant with orange-red hair was sullenly drinking mead, his right eye replaced by a mechanical prosthetic eye that gleamed with a fierce, deep green light.

Without hesitation, Olde strode toward him.

Ulka stood frozen in place, taking several seconds to catch up, his pace almost like a run. Several people greeted him during this time, but he ignored them all.

Ald stopped behind the giant.

"Excuse me, are you Lord Krom Wolf?"

The one-eyed wolf lord stiffly turned his head to the side, frowning as he replied, "Yes, and who are you? A new servant of the warband? I don't remember ordering any wine."

"No, I'm not a servant; I've come to apologize to you."

"Lord Krom—!" Ulka finally arrived. "I apologize on his behalf!"

The Wolf Lord, nicknamed "Fierce Eyes," was amused, even though he was known for his fiery temper. He laughed heartily, raised his wine glass, downed the mead in one gulp, and then slammed it onto the table, creating a sound like a war drum.

"What day is it today?" he roared. "Two people have come to me at the same time, inexplicably apologizing?"

After saying that, he suddenly stopped smiling and looked at Urka.

"Did you do what I told you to do, kid? Didn't I tell you to find a chance to bring that Dragon Slayer to me?"

Ald calmly interrupted him: "I am the Dragon Slayer."

The hall suddenly fell silent.

The fierce-eyed man slowly raised the eyebrow above his undamaged left eye, looked at Ald, and repeated his words.

"So you're the Dragon Slayer?"

"Yes."

"You killed that frost dragon with a single punch?"

"It was actually two punches," Old said. "The first punch was to its neck; I didn't want it to breathe."

He stared at him fiercely—or rather, glared at him—for a long while, then suddenly nodded heavily.

"You've got guts." He suddenly laughed. "But you've got one thing wrong. I didn't expect you to apologize. Although it did annoy me that you killed that dragon before us, I just wanted to see you for myself and see if you lived up to your reputation. And now it seems..."

He stood up, stroking his chin. Ulka immediately sensed something was wrong from his expression; he didn't recall Krom Dragon's Gaze being so agreeable, so he must have something on his mind. The Grey Hunter frowned, stepped forward, and was about to speak to defuse the situation when the Wolf Lord's next words cut him off.

“We have a funeral to hold in two days, right here,” Crom said, his fierce face softening slightly. “It’s for our wolf priests and those candidates who couldn’t make it. I had intended to personally slay the dragon and offer its head as a sacrifice at the funeral, but I can’t do it. So I wanted you to come, Dragon Slayer. You avenged Karik Kedor, and according to our tradition, you must tell a story at his funeral… a story that should be about him, but you’ve never met him, so tell one about yourself.”

After he finished speaking, he grinned, looked at the Grey Hunter beside him, pointed at him, and his expression became mischievous.

"Did you think I was going to throw a tantrum, huh? Ulka? Don't worry about that, I'm not stupid. Now come sit down, I want to have a drink with you two."

He reached out and forcibly pulled Olde and Urka to sit down beside him, then called over two servants and ordered them to bring four barrels of mead.

Upon hearing the number, Urka knew he probably wouldn't have anything else to do that day. Meanwhile, the wolves of the Dragon Slayers slowly gathered around, most of them observing Urd beneath the frost wolf pelts, with only a few venting their frustration at being ignored to the Grey Hunters. Urka reached for an offered goblet, tilted his head back, and downed it in one gulp. He then gestured, indicating that the grudges were settled.

He received a chorus of approving shouts, as well as a puzzled question from Olde beside him.

"Why did you drink the poison?" he asked.

The cacophony of the wolves fell silent at that moment.

"Poison?" Chrome Dragon's Gaze repeated his words, his smile wide and radiant. "Ha! You have a good nose! But I have to correct you on one thing: mead isn't just a simple poison; while it is poisonous, it is indeed alcohol!"

He laughed and stretched out his right foot, kicking a wine barrel that the servants had swept up, causing it to land heavily on the table. He then turned on the water valve at the bottom, filled his large wine glass to the brim, and handed it to Alder.

"Take a sip!" the wolf lord exclaimed. "One sip and you'll know how wonderful it is!"

Ald reached out and took the glass, staring at the murky liquid, his expression still puzzled, but he still tilted his head back. For a good ten seconds, he held the thick glass up, never putting it down, and the wolves began to cheer, clapping or stomping rhythmically, even the wolf lord himself joined in.

Half a minute later, Ald calmly put down his glass. Meeting the wolves' gaze, he said, "There is indeed alcohol in it."

"He can drink!" Krom roared with elation. "This man knows how to drink and make merry!"

Four and a half Terra hours later, the Slayer Ulric found Ald drinking with Krom Dragon's Gaze in the Dalian Council Hall, where the Dragon Slayers were either drunk or poisoned. The former had become dissolute, even wiping the edge of the barrel with his armor cloak, telling everyone how much he loved the mead brewed from this barrel... Ald, on the other hand, still seemed normal, as if he were the one who had spent a century or two accompanying the mead.

The elderly wolf priest approached them with a frown, raised his hand, and struck the wolf lord hard on the neck, sending him sprawling onto the table and instantly into a deep sleep. Then, he pulled Ald up, looked at him seriously, even sniffing him for a moment, before finally releasing him.

"Next time, remember not to drink with Crom. He's a born idiot. Do you know how he lost that eye? Some other idiot challenged him to a contest to see who could stare at the sun the longest... Anyway, don't hang out with him."

Old looked at him, then down at the unconscious Wolf Lord, and said, "I think he's a pretty good person."

The wolf priest snorted coldly, turned and walked away, his tone indifferent: "Then you'd better give them a decent story at the funeral in two days, otherwise you'll know why I called him a fool... Now come with me, Dragon Slayer, we have someone who needs your help."

Ten minutes later, they arrived at a stone chamber on the upper level of Et. The room was filled with the scent of herbs, and in the center of the room was even a cauldron in which a thick ointment was boiling. On a bed in one corner of the room, the wise man Irnist lay with his eyes closed.

Old Wolf led Ald to his side, pointed at him, and said, "You should remember him, right? That fool who tried to communicate with you using psionic magic..."

"What's wrong with him?" Olde stared at him and asked softly.

“He’s not here,” Ulric replied somberly. “His soul has left his body, and no matter how hard we try, we can’t call it back. Dalros Iceclaw says it’s because he refuses to return.”

He looked down at Olde.

Do you know where he is?

The latter did not speak at first, but simply reached out and grasped half of the wise man's hand. A few seconds later, the lines under his eyes brightened for a moment, as if he were breathing.

He raised his head.

"how?"

“He was on my battlefield, but that place is gone, just an echo,” Old said. “He lingers there…something is watching him.”

"Evil spirits."

The killers whispered this all along, but Old shook his head.

"No, it's not an evil spirit," he said. "It's one of my own people."

-----------------

Irnist wandered in the darkness.

He had lost his way, yet he persisted in searching for a way out. The powerful intuition he had honed over years of working with runes was struggling to guide him, while simultaneously issuing loud warnings and constantly offering him revelations...

Or multiple illusions.

The further he walked, the stronger the stench became, like something rotting, and then he could hear the low breathing of the decaying body. Finally, he could even catch a glimpse of its form.

Irnist's reason wouldn't allow him to truly observe the thing, but with each passing moment, with each step he took forward, this longing subtly deepened... Unconsciously, he had seen its profile several times: first a twisted, needle-like leg, then a blood-red torso like flesh turned inside out, and arms as numerous as spiders. And of course, its face. That face was incredibly old, densely covered with eyes, but all were tightly closed.

It is currently asleep, but it will wake up soon.

Irnist had no idea what would happen then.

He dared not think about it.