Episode 108
“…Damn, I’m losing it.”

Beric muttered, barely able to steady his trembling body. They’d set off boldly on horseback, but the winter night’s biting wind was far harsher than expected. If only they’d come on foot, it wouldn’t have been this bad.

“If we catch those bastards who stole our stuff, they’re dead meat. Ugh. If only we’d taken the carriage, huh? It wouldn’t be this cold.”

“If we’d had a carriage, we wouldn’t have come out here in the first place.”

“Oh, right.”

Beric hadn’t thought of that and kept sniffling. Ian turned back toward the path where the carriage had been, scanning the surroundings. The only light came from the bright, shining moon.

“Beric, where did you first see that dog?”

“Just a bit up that way. I went to take care of business. Damn, I forgot the lantern.”

Ian blinked at that, as if wondering why Beric was worried when he himself was a magic user.

“Stick close and don’t fall behind. It’s dark.”

“You can do that too?”

“Basic stuff. I’m condensing magic to hold onto you.”

“Then why the hell have you been using a lantern all this time?!”

“…If you have a lantern, you use it. I thought magic was only weak against heat, but apparently it’s weak against cold too. You just keep spouting nonsense.”

Ian condensed his magic and led the way. Wherever his footsteps landed, a bright light flickered briefly before fading. The sleeping forest was silent except for the rustling of leaves stirred by the wind—no cuckoo calls or other sounds.

“Here! This is the place.”

“Hmm.”

Reaching a familiar spot, Beric cupped his hands and shouted,

“You bastard! Come out! Let’s talk about what you didn’t say earlier!”

But only a weak echo returned. Ian looked down the opposite side of the hill and gestured.

“Looks like we should check the village.”

“The village? Yeah, let’s get out of the wind.”

A narrow path connected directly to the village. If the dog had a place there, it could have come up here without using the carriage road. Ian headed down without hesitation, and Beric quickly followed.

Sliding into the village, they held their breath at the strange atmosphere. Any noise might wake the residents at any moment.

Despite being abandoned long ago, the village was surprisingly well maintained.

“Nobody lives here, right?”

“Yeah. They said it’s too difficult to demolish, so it’s just left as is. But why are you whispering so much?”

“Don’t know. Feels like we’re trespassing.”

The Ministry of Magic had declared the cause of the mass deaths here to be food poisoning. No signs of battle or attack were visible anywhere in the village.

“Beric.”

“Yeah?”

Halfway through the village, Ian stopped in front of a small, quaint one-story cabin. He nodded toward it.

“Go inside.”

“Here? Me?”

“Yeah? Me?”

Beric groaned but gripped his sword and stepped into the yard. He grabbed the doorknob and glanced back at Ian.

“But why here? At least tell me why.”

Ian nodded gracefully and looked down at the base of the door. There was a small pet door, just big enough for a small animal to come and go freely.

“This is the first house I’ve seen with a pet door.”

“Okay, makes sense. Fits that dog’s size. You opening it?”

“Better be careful. It’s a suspicious place.”

Despite Ian’s warning, Beric flung the door open with all his might. He immediately drew his sword and took a defensive stance, but the room was empty to the point of anticlimax.

“There’s nothing here.”

“Let’s look around. Maybe we’ll find something.”

Beric plopped down on the sofa and glanced around. No warmth, but still clean. Then he noticed a photo hanging on the wall: an elderly man with white hair and a boy with bright blue hair, both smiling widely.

“Ian, look. These must be the people who lived here.”

Ian narrowed his eyes and frowned. The blue hair was unusual, but more striking was the pointed shape of their ears. Judging by their clothes and overall appearance…

—Those bastards!

“Arrgh!”

Suddenly, a strange yet familiar voice rang out. Beric jumped up in shock, nearly having a seizure, while Ian calmly turned around. A dog sat there, looking proud.

—How rude, barging into someone’s home like this!

“Could you at least announce yourself next time?”

—Impudent intruder, and your tongue is sharp too!

Ian noticed the voice sounded oddly youthful. He set the photo down on the table and called to the dog.

“Are you the guardian beast living here? The people in the photo seem to be your owners. It’s a nice sight.”

The dog looked solemn and unmoving, but its wagging tail betrayed its composure.

“I apologize for the rudeness earlier today.”

“I’m the one who got bitten, so why are you apologizing?”

“I heard you wanted to talk? Perhaps you have a request? I also have questions for you. This could be meaningful for both of us.”

Ian ignored Beric’s muttered protests and made the offer. The dog slowly moved, its shadow stretching in the moonlight.

‘…A human shadow.’

Though it looked like a dog, its shadow was that of a person.

Ian realized things were more complicated than he thought. It wasn’t a curse on the beast or the dog itself—it was a soul inhabiting it.

—First, I need to confirm something. What’s your connection to the Ministry of Magic?

The dog’s tone carried hostility at the mention of the Ministry. Ian answered before Beric could say anything.

“I’m a magic user, but not affiliated with the Ministry. In fact, I’m on a different path from them.”

The dog’s eyes narrowed, clearly uncomfortable with the mention of a magic user. Ian deliberately held up the photo to change the subject.

“Are your owners from Astana, by any chance?”

When hostility is high, finding a crack in the tension is key. Ian hadn’t missed the tail wag when he mentioned the owners earlier.

—You know Astana!?

The dog’s eyes widened at the mention of Astana. It seemed surprised that someone in Bariel knew of it.

“Yes. The blue hair and clothing gave it away. I’ve heard it’s a beautiful country, and I’ve always wanted to visit.”

The tail wagged even more vigorously.

This might be easier to handle than I thought.

“They say those who live in the distant canyons at the edge of the world are more relaxed than the clouds and more natural than the wind. Is that true?”

—It’s true! You know your stuff!

The dog couldn’t contain its excitement and jumped up, accidentally landing on Ian’s lap. Ian hugged the dog tightly and smiled.

“And you’ve inherited the tradition of necromancy, right?”

—Yes.

“Tell me more. I’m Ian, and this is Beric.”

Ian hesitated over how to shake hands, then decided to grasp the dog’s paw and shake it lightly. Worried it might dislike the gesture, he was surprised to see the dog seemed pleased by the courtesy.

—I’m Hasha Tokundai. Call me Hasha.

“Nice to meet you, Hasha. Let me ask first—how did you guess I was connected to the Ministry? Did you see me use magic?”

—Yes. I saw it through undead eyes.

“So it was yours. Then, are you a thief too?”

—Nonsense!

“Then is your owner a thief?”

—No! I am the boy in the photo!

Beric studied the photo again, then stretched the dog’s cheek in disbelief.

“Why do you talk like that? How old are you? You look about ten.”

—How could I not be? Do you think I count my days like you?

“Damn brat. Remember when you bit me earlier? Come here. You have four paws, but three should be enough, right?”

“Ian, Astana’s time flows differently. Their average lifespan is 300 years, so that appearance would be about thirty years old.”

Ian’s explanation made Beric stop stretching the dog’s cheek. The dog growled indignantly and bit Beric’s hand again.

“Ow!”

—Even up close, my teeth are just like a tiger’s!

Ian separated the two excited beasts and quickly changed the subject.

“But Hasha, if you’re from Astana, how did you end up here? And what’s with that form?”

Hasha’s growling subsided. His dark eyes sparkled in the moonlight as he seemed to recall a long story.

—There was a woman named Wesley.

“Wesley, the Minister of Magic?”

Wesley was the lover of the second prince Gale and the current head of the Ministry. Ian couldn’t hide his surprise at the sudden, clear mention.

—We received an invitation to Astana for cultural and academic exchange. My grandmother was the head of the largest sect there, and under royal command, she brought me to Bariel.

At first, everything was new and exciting.

I learned there were buildings as tall as cliffs, and the wind howling over the rocks could be drowned out by the sound of speech.

But the joy didn’t last long.

—Wesley proposed trying necromancy on the living. She kept pressuring my grandmother to do the impossible.

“I don’t get it. Can someone explain, Ian or you, dog?”

Beric scratched his ear and asked, clearly unfamiliar with terms like necromancy and undead—words he’d never heard in his life. Ian, sorting through his thoughts, muttered quietly.

“Necromancy is supposed to be cast on corpses. Using it on the living? That’s not just a matter of life and death—it’s defying the natural order. No one knows what might happen.”

—The cornerstone of misfortune, the root of destruction. Ahem! Grandma was different from other sorcerers—she was wise.

Faced with Wesley’s reckless proposal, they seemed to have fled. Why they didn’t return to Astana but came to this remote area, Ian didn’t know, only guessed there must be a reason.

Ian fiddled with Hasha’s nape and asked, “Alright. I think I understand why you’re here. And when you say other sorcerers, you mean Wesley’s still researching necromancy, right?”

—Those obsessed with necromancy have always brought bloodshed and war.

Surprisingly sharp. Preparing a rebellion—it all fit together. But in the history Ian knew of Bariel, there was no mention of undead in Gale’s rebellion.

“So? What happened after that?”

Hasha’s tail, which had been swaying gently, suddenly stopped. It was clear she remembered that day when the villagers were slaughtered.

—Wesley eventually found us.

From that brief answer, Ian could guess a lot. In Hasha’s shining eyes flickered the shadows of the past.

—And in the end, he confirmed what happens when necromancy is cast on the living. I am the proof.