Global Survival: I Have Endless Skeletons-Chapter 76: When Rumors Walked at Dawn

Morning arrived quietly.

Too quietly.

A pale golden brightness spilled over the town as it always did, bathing the stone streets, tiled roofs, and wooden signboards in gentle warmth.

Awakeners stirred from their nightly rest and stepped outside, stretching their limbs and yawning as they prepared for another day of battle.

Yet something was wrong.

They did not greet one another with loud voices or casual laughter.

They spoke in whispers.

A pair of healers stood near the entrance of a small clinic, leaning far closer than usual as they murmured to one another.

Their eyes darted around instinctively, as if the walls themselves might overhear their conversation.

Then the rumors began to move.

Not loudly.

Not openly.

They spread like smoke, thin, silent, and impossible to stop once released.

Inside an alchemist’s shop near the eastern street, glass bottles clinked softly as an alchemist leaned toward one of his regular customers.

His voice was barely above a breath.

"Did you hear what happened at the Ghost Scream last night?"

The mage stiffened.

"...You mean that Ghost Scream Bounty Hunter Party?" he asked slowly, his fingers tightening around the wooden shaft of his staff.

"They’re gone."

The mage froze mid-motion. His brows furrowed as he turned fully toward the alchemist.

"Gone?" he repeated. "What do you mean, gone?"

The alchemist swallowed. His Adam’s apple bobbed as his voice dropped even further.

"Dead. All of them."

A sharp, disbelieving laugh escaped the mage before he could stop himself.

"That’s not funny."

"I’m not joking," the alchemist replied quietly. "I was there. I saw it with my own eyes."

Color drained from the mage’s face.

"That... that doesn’t make sense," he said shakily.

"The Ghost Scream Bounty Hunters had several high-level awakeners. Even their boss was a powerful elite. Groups like that don’t just vanish overnight."

"They did," the alchemist said grimly.

"Had."

When the mage left the shop, his steps were unsteady.

By the time he reached the end of the street, the rumor had already leaped from mouth to mouth, spreading faster than wildfire.

At a tavern near the guild district, mugs froze halfway to lips as a group of adventurers leaned closer around a scarred wooden table.

"Say that again," a rogue demanded.

"They provoked a necromancer," a battle-worn warrior whispered. "A young one. Silver hair. Blue eyes."

A knight scoffed loudly, slamming his mug onto the table.

"A necromancer? Don’t be ridiculous. Those cowards barely survive long enough to reach mid-tier."

"That’s what the Ghost Scream thought too," the warrior replied quietly.

"They were wrong."

Someone else leaned forward, lowering their voice.

"How wrong?"

The warrior hesitated, his jaw tightening.

"They say he walked into their headquarters alone."

Laughter erupted around the table.

"Bullshit."

"No way."

"That’s a damn fairy tale."

"I heard that too," another voice cut in. "But that’s not all."

The laughter slowly died.

"He didn’t just kill them," the speaker continued. "His undead servants hunted them down one by one."

The speaker paused, clearly debating whether to continue.

Then he did.

"He didn’t just kill them," he said again. "He tortured every one of their captains."

The words hung heavy in the air.

"Bones crushed slowly," he added. "Agonizingly."

Silence descended upon the table.

A tank-class awakener swallowed hard.

"That’s... exaggerated, right?"

"No," came the quiet reply. "They say the boss—a Level 15 Hunter—killed himself."

The table erupted.

"That’s impossible!"

"Why would he—?"

"Because what was waiting for him was worse than death."

Terrifying.

That word lingered in the air like a curse.

Across the town, guild halls reacted swiftly. Notices bearing Thoren’s name were torn down from mission boards without hesitation.

No one questioned the decision. Only a fool would leave such a bounty hanging.

Bounty hunters who had once bragged about capturing him slammed their doors shut and barred their windows.

Nearby, a Level 14 Hunter listened to the whispers with a pale face and trembling hands.

He remembered it clearly.

A low-level tracking request involving a silver-haired necromancer.

He had laughed.

Declined.

Called it beneath him.

Now, cold sweat soaked his back.

’Thank the gods,’ he thought shakily.

By mid-morning, the rumors had reached every nook and cranny of the town.

Thoren’s actions from the previous night were on everyone’s lips.

Inside an old inn tucked away in an obscure corner of town, the atmosphere remained strangely calm.

It was as if the rumors themselves feared crossing its threshold.

The girls had woken earlier than usual.

Fidelia moved back and forth in the kitchen, preparing a meal far more elaborate than their usual fare.

She did not know why she felt compelled to do so, only that her hands refused to stop.

She chose not to dwell on it.

Ophelia and the others cleaned the lobby with unusual thoroughness, scrubbing every surface until it gleamed.

Inside his room, Thoren stood by the window, gazing at the unnaturally empty street.

Although the inn’s location was secluded, it was never this quiet.

He knew why.

Clicking his tongue, he dismissed the thought.

"I’m famished," he muttered.

"I wonder how much she’s going to inflate the price this time."

Chuckling softly, he stepped into the hallway and descended into the lobby.

His steps halted mid-motion.

"...What happened?" he thought.

The lobby was spotless, unnaturally so.

Behind the counter, Ophelia wore a proud grin as she took in his expression.

Before she could speak, Fidelia emerged from the kitchen, a gentle smile on her face.

"I hope you slept well," she said.

"Yes, thank you," Thoren replied with a nod.

His gaze lingered briefly. She wore a tighter robe than usual, one that subtly accentuated her figure.

"You look beautiful in those clothes," he commented offhandedly as he took a seat.

Fidelia froze.

"Ah... thank you," she replied, genuinely startled.

She was accustomed to lecherous gazes and false compliments.

But his eyes were calm.

Pure.

Standing behind the counter, Ophelia stared in disbelief as her big sister’s cheeks flushed.

She loathed men.

Yet a single compliment from him had undone her composure.

’Is she already ensnared by his charm?’ Ophelia thought suspiciously.

"I prepared your meal," Fidelia said, regaining her composure. "It’s on the house."

"Oh?" Thoren smiled lightly. "I thought someone couldn’t wait to charge me."

He glanced at Ophelia teasingly.

While Thoren enjoyed a rare moment of peace, chaos brewed elsewhere.

The Federation.

The Slave Trade Guild. 𝒻𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘸ℯ𝒷𝘯𝘰𝑣ℯ𝑙.𝘤𝑜𝘮

Neither slept easily that morning.