Chapter 46: The Water Ghost

“Luckily, I made it in time,” Joan breathed a sigh of relief, focusing her mind to remotely control the “Hand of the High Mage,” pushing aside the will-o’-wisp and preventing it from approaching Dick.

“Joan, well done!” The old dwarf cast a look of appreciation at the young mage, then shouted orders: “Listen up, little ones! Will-o’-wisps are incorporeal undead; non-magical weapons can’t harm them. Roger, don’t waste your bullets—drag your big brother to safety! Tom, stay back; your hammer is useless against the will-o’-wisp. Leave that damned undead to me!”

The old dwarf hurled his war hammer with all his might. The enchanted weapon spun and soared like a silver wheel through the shadowy night sky, smashing into the will-o’-wisp with a thunderous roar that made the trees tremble. The ghostly fire was visibly wounded; countless vengeful souls perished beneath the hammer, its phosphorescent glow dimmed, and its size shrank.

Flint recalled his war hammer, pressing the attack by hurling it again. The second throw struck the will-o’-wisp as well, but passed through it like air, failing to inflict any real damage.

The old dwarf frowned, forced to accept a harsh truth: even magical weapons did not always deal substantial harm to incorporeal undead. Fortunately, Joan still maintained the “Hand of the High Mage,” using it to slap away the will-o’-wisp as it tried to pounce on Flint.

The will-o’-wisp’s incorporeal nature allowed it to pass through walls and most physical obstacles, dodging most weapons and spells, but it could not breach invisible force barriers. The “Hand of the High Mage” was a spell with force attributes, ensuring Joan’s every strike landed true.

The “Hand of the High Mage” could muster only forty pounds of force—insufficient to destroy the will-o’-wisp, but enough to hinder it. When Flint Iron Anvil let out a third furious roar and hurled his magical war hammer, the will-o’-wisp met its doom, shattered by the heavy flying weapon.

Boom!

In its final instant, the will-o’-wisp exploded, releasing a surge of concentrated negative energy. Within a ten-foot radius, grass and trees withered and shriveled, as if drained dry, the blast echoing throughout the forest.

Witnessing the destruction wrought by the will-o’-wisp’s self-detonation, everyone felt a chill of fear but also gratitude for keeping their distance. Had they been closer, they surely would have been dragged down with it.

Once he confirmed the will-o’-wisp was utterly destroyed, Joan ceased his spellcasting focus and turned to Conti, who was tending the wounded: “How’s Dick?”

“He’s awake, but still very weak.”

The aftereffects of the shock left Dick’s limbs numb; he managed to stand, but could not lift his weapon.

“I’m sorry; it was careless of me. Not only did I fail to help, I became a burden to everyone,” Dick’s eyes shimmered with tears.

“Don’t be upset—you’ll recover soon.” Conti drew a handful of olives from her belt pouch and softly chanted a divine prayer. Nature’s power infused the fruit, turning the little berries lush and fragrant. After blessing them, Conti handed the olives to Dick, urging him to eat.

Dick disliked the bitter taste of green olives, but faced with Conti’s encouraging gaze, he forced himself to swallow four in one go. To his delight, the numbness in his limbs faded and his strength returned. He thanked the druid girl gratefully.

Seeing Dick recover, everyone was about to relax when, from the lakeshore across the woods, there came a splash and shrill, monstrous cries, rapidly approaching.

Two small figures dashed toward them—it was the pixie siblings, faces anxious and fearful.

“Watch out, everyone! A horde of water ghouls is coming!”

“The will-o’-wisp’s explosion must have alerted the water ghouls lurking in the lake. They’re attacking before we’re ready,” Dick said bitterly.

“Kid, can you still swing your axe?” Flint clapped Dick on the shoulder.

“Of course!” Dick straightened his chest, eager to redeem his earlier disgrace through battle.

“Good. We need to organize a defensive formation before the water ghouls arrive.”

The old dwarf, seasoned and unflappable, surveyed the young companions and calmly began arranging their positions.

“Joan, Conti, and Roger, fall back! Anyone who can climb, get up the trees—without armor or shields, you can’t withstand the water ghouls’ claws! Dick and Tom, come to me; show your weapons and shields, and help form a shield wall to resist the enemy. That way, our mage, druid, and gunner can safely pick off those stinking ghouls!”

Jamie barked urgently, as if displeased by the commander’s oversight.

“Right, there’s Jamie, our brave little hunting dog,” the old dwarf chuckled, stroking the half-blood winter wolf’s head. “Stay beneath the trees. If any water ghoul breaks through and tries to climb up after our people, you pull it down—bite its leg like you do with bones.”

Jamie barked twice, as if promising to carry out the task.

“Uncle Dwarf, don’t forget Jerry and me! What can we do to help?” At this dangerous moment, the pixie siblings showed admirable courage. Flint thought it best not to let them face the water ghouls directly, so he put them in charge of watching everyone’s mounts, lest they be harmed.

Sissi and Jerry gladly took up the task, leading the frightened horses into the dense woods.

Joan, Roger, and Conti each climbed a tall tree, finding comfortable spots to settle, freeing their hands for spellcasting or sniping. Conti noticed the dim light among the trees and cast a cantrip of “Light” upon a branch. As her fingers touched the wood, a magical glow bloomed. The small orb of light hung like an orange lantern, driving back the darkness and soothing the tense companions.

Jamie was the first to catch the scent of decay on the night wind, growling softly in disgust. Across the clearing, the underbrush shook, and a group of hideous monsters burst forth, shrieking.

These abominable undead were mostly the corpses of drowned victims, transformed after death. Though they retained their human shape, they had mutated, growing long, sharp teeth and claws. Their pallid flesh stretched tight over withered bones, hollow eye sockets flickering with pale soul fire, radiating greed and cruelty.

These ravenous undead were the infamous waterborne ghouls, commonly called “water ghouls”!